Overthinking in Action: How Tiny Moments Turn Into Big Stories

You know that moment when someone looks at you a certain way and your brain offers you up a whole story about what’s wrong?

I did this this week.

I was in the kitchen doing something and looked up to see my husband Charlie giving me “a look”. My brain filled in the blanks some with some bogus story.

It was so silly I don’t remember the whole thing now, but the gist was: He’s irritated with me. There goes our night.

Dramatic? Of course.
Common? Definitely.

It happens so fast we barely notice it. One look, one moment, and suddenly there is a whole story that’s driving our mood and behaviors.

If this pattern sounds familiar, nothing has gone wrong. It means you and I have very normal human brains.

I didn’t have words for this pattern until this week. And then there it was in a podcast:

Tiny fact. Big theory.

It is called a “Tifbit”.

This term was coined by Stanford psychology professor Dr. Greg Walton and his brother after his brother was dumped unexpectedly by his girlfriend. The reason? He did not tuck in his shirt when he went into a department store. From that one tiny detail, she built a much larger theory about him and their relationship.

Frankly, I get it. I broke up with a college boyfriend after seeing him wear high socks with flip-flops. Tiny fact. Very big theory about our future.

When Dr. Walton explained Tifbits on Hidden Brain last week, I immediately recognized this pattern in my own life and in my clients’ lives.

I am guessing you can relate too.

You have one awkward conversation at a party and decide the party stinks, the people aren’t friendly, and you never should leave the house on a Friday night again.

A guy doesn’t hold the door as you approach and you decide he’s an ignorant jerk who probably never even calls his mom to say hi.

Or you try a group yoga class for the first time, cannot turn yourself into a pretzel like the person next to you, and decide yoga is not for you.

Tiny facts. Big theories.

Charlie and I recovered quickly from my overreaction to his handsome face looking at me - I mean how dare he!? But it got me wondering how often these Tifbits quietly become our way of looking at the world when we don’t catch them.

We leap to a big theory and then find proof everywhere we look to back it up.

In the yoga example, maybe you do not go back to class. Then you remind yourself you’ve never been able to touch your toes, decide being inflexible is in your genes, and conclude that yoga is clearly not for you.

All of this happens while completely disregarding the ancient wisdom and practice, simply because one person bent themselves into a pretzel and your brain ran with it.

This actually happened to me years ago. Thankfully, I came back around, and now my very inflexible self loves starting the day with a bit of yoga.

What Tifbits really show us are our deeper insecurities.

As Dr. Walton explains in his article, Why we Spiral, there is often a core uncertainty underneath the Tifbit, usually around identity, belonging, or adequacy.

In my kitchen moment, the core questions were “Am I doing something wrong?” and “Am I enough?”
In the yoga class, it might be “Do I belong here?”

There is usually a bigger unspoken worry underneath the Tifbit and when our brains see the opportunity, they grab a tiny fact and use it to bring that worry to the surface in dramatic fashion.

The helpful thing is this: once you know what a Tifbit is, it becomes easier to spot one in real time. Even noticing it after the fact creates a little more space the next time it happens.

So what do we do when we catch ourselves in a Tifbit?

You can never go wrong with curiosity.

When I noticed myself spiraling in the kitchen, I eventually poked a hole in the story by considering a simple question: What is actually true here?

“He looked at me” is a fact.
“He looked at me funny.” Story.
“He looked annoyed.” Story.
“He looked irritated with me.” Also story.

One easy way to tell the difference is this: facts are neutral. Stories are the adjectives piled on top.

This week, see if you can notice a Tifbit when it shows up. Not to get rid of it, but just to name it.

Pause.
Get curious.
What is the tiny fact?
What is the big theory - the story on top?

And what becomes possible when you separate the two?

Sometimes, that small moment of awareness is enough to slow everything down and give you a little more space to choose what happens next.

Xo,

Missy