Because ‘just stop it’ is great advice, and completely useless. Here’s the science behind why.
“Just Stop It.” Oh, Right. Why Didn’t I Think of That?
Last night I was scrolling through reels, as one does at an hour when one should absolutely be asleep, and I came across something that genuinely made me put my phone down and stare at the ceiling.
It went something like this:
“The problem isn’t the problem. It’s the 400 versions of it that you create. You are very creative. Stop it.”
And I just… sat with that for a moment.
Not because it was wrong, exactly. But because it was the kind of statement that sounds profoundly wise for approximately seven seconds, and then you start to unpick it and realise it has all the psychological depth of a fridge magnet.
I mean no disrespect to fridge magnets. Some of them are genuinely excellent.
But here is my problem with “stop it”:
If people could just stop it, they would have stopped it.
The fact that they haven’t isn’t a creativity problem. It isn’t stubbornness. It isn’t a personality flaw dressed up as a quirky habit. It’s actually something far more interesting, and far more human, than that.
So let’s talk about it properly.
The Brain Doesn’t Like Loose Ends. It Really Doesn’t.
Before we get into the 400 imaginary versions of your problem, I want to introduce you to a social psychologist called Arie Kruglanski, who has spent a considerable amount of his academic career studying something called the need for cognitive closure.
In simple terms: the brain hates ambiguity.
Kruglanski and colleagues described the need for cognitive closure as a desire for definite knowledge on some issue, and an equally strong desire to avoid confusion and uncertainty (Kruglanski, 1990; Webster & Kruglanski, 1994). This isn’t a character flaw. It is a motivational drive. The brain treats unresolved uncertainty as threatening, and it responds accordingly, urgently seeking resolution and then holding onto whatever answer it finds.
That’s the part that matters here.
When something in your life is genuinely unresolved, a difficult conversation, a health worry, an uncertain outcome, a relationship in ambiguous territory, your brain doesn’t just note it down and move on. It keeps returning. It prods. It runs simulations. It tests scenarios.
Those “400 versions of the problem”? That’s your brain doing what brains do when faced with something it can’t close, file away, and forget.
It is not creativity. It is not catastrophising for sport.
It is a nervous system trying to find solid ground in shifting sand.
And here is the crucial bit: the very act of ruminating, of running through all the possible versions, is, from the brain’s perspective, an attempt at problem-solving. It’s uncomfortable, yes. It’s often counterproductive, absolutely. But it is not random noise. It has a function, even when that function goes badly wrong.
What Actually Happens When We Ruminate
Rumination has been extensively studied by psychologist Susan Nolen-Hoeksema, whose work fundamentally shaped how we understand repetitive negative thinking. She defined rumination as a pattern of focusing repetitively on the meaning, causes, and consequences of a distressing experience, asking, in essence, “Why do I feel like this?” and “What does this mean?” over and over again (Nolen-Hoeksema, Wisco & Lyubomirsky, 2008).
Now, interestingly, and this is where it connects directly back to Kruglanski, research suggests that people are more likely to ruminate when they feel emotionally unclear and have a low tolerance for that ambiguity (Vine, Aldao & Nolen-Hoeksema, 2014). In other words, rumination and the need for cognitive closure are deeply intertwined. Uncertainty is the trigger. Rumination is the (unsuccessful) attempt to resolve it.
The tragic irony, and there is always a tragic irony in psychology, is that rumination doesn’t actually produce the clarity it’s searching for. Research consistently shows that rumination leads to more negative, maladaptive thinking, less effective problem-solving, and greater paralysis rather than resolution (McLaughlin & Nolen-Hoeksema, 2011). The brain reaches for closure and ends up circling the drain instead.
So when someone says “stop it,” they are essentially suggesting that you stop doing the thing your nervous system is urgently and automatically doing in response to real distress. Which is a bit like telling someone who is shivering in the cold to simply “stop shivering.”
Technically possible, in theory.
Deeply unhelpful as advice, in practice.
“But I Know I’m Overthinking. Why Can’t I Stop?”
This is probably the most common thing I hear, and honestly, one of the most frustrating experiences for people. There is this awful moment of awareness where you can see yourself doing it, you know it isn’t helping, and yet the thoughts keep coming.
Part of the answer lies in the concept of intolerance of uncertainty, which sits at the heart of a great deal of anxiety. Intolerance of uncertainty is essentially a dispositional tendency to find uncertain situations threatening and distressing, even when the probability of a bad outcome is actually quite low (Dugas et al., 2004). Research has found it to be a significant underlying factor in anxiety disorders, not just a symptom, but a kind of engine driving the whole process (Carleton, 2016).
And here is how the loop works:
Something uncertain happens → discomfort with not knowing → brain reaches for resolution → rumination begins → no resolution found → discomfort increases → more rumination → rinse, repeat.
The “400 versions of the problem” are the brain’s desperate attempts to find the one scenario it can predict, manage, or emotionally prepare for. Each imagined version is a bid for certainty. And because the original uncertainty hasn’t resolved, none of them land. So the brain tries again.
This isn’t stupidity. This isn’t a weakness. This is a nervous system that has learned, often from quite early in life, that uncertainty means danger, and that the way to handle danger is to think your way to safety.
Sometimes that strategy works brilliantly. Sometimes it turns into 2 am catastrophising about a text message that hasn’t been replied to.
So What Actually Helps?
I want to be careful here, because I am not suggesting that insight alone is enough. (If awareness were curative, therapists would be out of a job.) But I think understanding why the brain does this, rather than treating it as a character flaw, changes the relationship with it.
From a person-centred perspective, the question isn’t “how do I stop this?” but “what is this trying to tell me, and what does it need?”
Often, what rumination needs isn’t an answer. It needs acknowledgement of the uncertainty itself. Not resolution, just the acceptance that something is genuinely unresolved, and that it is okay not to know.
This is where approaches like Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) become relevant (Hayes, Strosahl & Wilson, 1999). Rather than attempting to silence or suppress anxious thoughts (which, incidentally, research shows tends to make them louder, see Wegner’s ironic process theory), ACT encourages stepping back from thoughts, noticing them without fusing with them, and making room for uncertainty without it becoming an emergency.
Similarly, mindfulness-based approaches offer a way of interrupting the rumination loop, not by forcing the mind to stop, but by changing the relationship with the content of the thoughts. You don’t have to believe every scenario your brain produces.
Cognitive Behavioural Therapy also offers useful tools, particularly around learning to tolerate uncertainty incrementally, gradually building what researchers call “uncertainty tolerance” rather than demanding the brain simply switch off its alarm (Dugas & Robichaud, 2007).
None of these approaches say “stop it.”
They say: this makes sense, here is what’s happening, and here is a kinder and more effective way to work with it.
A Final Thought (That I May Have Taken Personally)
Here is the thing about reels like the one I described.
They are not entirely wrong. The observation that we catastrophise, that we extrapolate, that we amplify, that’s real. And there is something to the idea that at some point, continued rumination stops serving us and becomes its own problem.
But understanding why something happens is not the same as excusing it. And dismissing a deeply human, neurologically grounded process with “you’re very creative, stop it” doesn’t get anyone closer to actually stopping it.
What might actually help is a little more compassion for the brain that is doing its anxious, over-enthusiastic best, and a little more curiosity about what the uncertainty underneath the rumination actually is.
Because the problem, often, is the problem.
It’s just that the brain is trying very hard to solve it in a way that doesn’t quite work.
And “stop it”, bless its heart, is not the solution.
If you find yourself caught in cycles of overthinking and anxiety, and you’d like to explore what might be driving it, I offer person-centred therapy online. Feel free to get in touch.
References
Carleton, R. N. (2016). Fear of the unknown: One fear to rule them all? Journal of Anxiety Disorders, 41, 5–21.
Dugas, M. J., Buhr, K., & Ladouceur, R. (2004). The role of intolerance of uncertainty in etiology and maintenance of generalised anxiety disorder. In R. G. Heimberg, C. L. Turk & D. S. Mennin (Eds.), Generalised anxiety disorder: Advances in research and practice. Guilford Press.
Dugas, M. J., & Robichaud, M. (2007). Cognitive-behavioural treatment for generalised anxiety disorder: From science to practice. Routledge.
Hayes, S. C., Strosahl, K. D., & Wilson, K. G. (1999). Acceptance and commitment therapy: An experiential approach to behavior change. Guilford Press.
Kruglanski, A. W. (1990). Motivations for judging and knowing: Implications for causal attribution. In E. T. Higgins & R. M. Sorrentino (Eds.), Handbook of motivation and cognition (Vol. 2). Guilford Press.
McLaughlin, K. A., & Nolen-Hoeksema, S. (2011). Rumination as a transdiagnostic factor in depression and anxiety. Behaviour Research and Therapy, 49(3), 186–193.
Nolen-Hoeksema, S., Wisco, B. E., & Lyubomirsky, S. (2008). Rethinking rumination. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 3(5), 400–424.
Vine, V., Aldao, A., & Nolen-Hoeksema, S. (2014). Chasing clarity: Rumination as a strategy for making sense of emotions. Journal of Experimental Psychopathology, 5(3), 229–243.
Webster, D. M., & Kruglanski, A. W. (1994). Individual differences in need for cognitive closure. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 67(6), 1049–1062.
Wegner, D. M. (1994). Ironic processes of mental control. Psychological Review, 101(1), 34–52.