When I Stopped Saying “I Think”
I read a great essay “My Therapist Gave Me a Strange Assignment. It Changed By Life” by Karen Salmansohn this week. The author described an experiment her therapist gave her: stop saying I think and start saying I feel. It seemed straightforward, but it made me notice how often I default to thinking instead of feeling.
The timing was uncanny. The day before, I met up with someone from Microsoft who is also in the VRP cohort. We worked together years ago and have stayed loosely connected through mutual friends and the occasional chat. It had been a long time since we sat across from each other in person.
We did the usual catch‑up first. Work. Kids. Life. Then we talked about the VRP. They’re taking the package and they feel at peace. Earlier in the week, when we chatted online, I told them I was still vacillating even though I accepted it the first day. But sitting there, I realized that wasn’t entirely true.
My feelings are at peace. My I feel voice is steady. It’s my I think voice that keeps trying to complicate things.
The day I told my manager my decision, a coworker said I looked happy. And they were right. I was happy. I had made my choice. I had a plan. I felt excited for what comes next. My feelings were clear: this is right. I’m ready.
The essay I read had a line that stayed with me:
“‘I think’ people tend to play it safe. And I feel people tend to take more risks, live more boldly.”
I’ve never thought of myself as a risk taker. Stability has always felt like the safest place to stand. But the truth is, stability is a story we tell ourselves. In tech, we say the only constant is change. I joke that I fear change. My husband says it too. But if I look at my actual life, that isn’t true. I’ve tried many new things over the years leaving my comfort zone.
If I feared change, I wouldn’t have moved into a completely new IC role this year. I wouldn’t be learning new skills for both my work and my hobbies. What I fear is surprise change. The kind that arrives without warning and rearranges everything.
But even then, I know myself. I’m resilient. I find my way through. I always have.
So when I hesitate to explain my decision, it isn’t because I’m unsure. It’s because the moment I start explaining, my I think voice tries to take over. It wants to justify, rationalize, defend. It wants to drown out the quieter truth.
And the truth is simple:
I feel ready for a new adventure.
I’ve spent time shaping a vision for what comes next. It isn’t one thing. It’s a collection of things I wouldn’t have considered without the nudges the universe has been sending me.
The first nudge was moving into this new role.
The next was sharing what I was learning on Substack.
That sharing opened something in me I didn’t expect.
I’ve talked more about my feelings in the past three months than I can remember doing in years. And in doing that, I’ve realized something I didn’t know I needed to know: my feelings are strong. I am strong. And when I speak from that place, other people recognize themselves in it. I’m not alone.
Maybe that’s the real shift. Not the decision itself, but the way I’m learning to name what I feel without immediately translating it into what I think.
I feel ready.
I feel steady.
I feel like this is the right next step.
And for once, I’m letting that be enough.
Alison + Marlowe
Love this, thanks for sharing.