I Said What I Said… and Now I Want to Die: Coping With Embarrassment as a Chronic Overthinker

By Trinity Barnette

Let me set the scene: I hit send. I feel confident. For once, I don’t overthink it. And then—boom. The second it’s out in the world, my brain launches a 50-state internal crisis tour.

“Did I spell that wrong?”

“Did that sentence sound off?”

“Did I accidentally come across as unhinged?”

Yes. Yes. Probably.

As someone who prides herself on always having it together—catching the typo before it goes out, reading the room perfectly, knowing what not to say—I’m not built to handle slip-ups. I mean that. I spiral. It doesn’t matter how small the mistake is. A misplaced word, a tone that could be misread, or something I said that didn’t land right… I will sit with it for hours, sometimes days, mentally beating myself up because I should have “known better.”

Why Embarrassment Feels Like the End of the World (Even When It’s Not)

Here’s the thing: I am extremely critical of myself.

Not in a cute, “teehee I’m a perfectionist” way, but in a “my brain believes I am above mistakes and failure is a personal betrayal” way. I’m not proud of that, but it’s my reality. I’ve always been the girl who catches on quickly. The one who notices what others miss. The one who doesn’t need things explained twice. So when I make even the tiniest error, it doesn’t feel minor. It feels like proof that I’m slipping. That I’m not as sharp or capable as I thought.

I know—logically—that everyone makes mistakes. I know typos happen. I know nobody’s perfect. But my brain? She does not accept that. She says, “Not you. You should’ve caught that.” And now you’ve humiliated yourself in front of people who probably weren’t even paying that much attention. But to me? It’s soul-shattering.

I don’t know what the psychological term for this is—maybe some flavor of anxiety or shame—but I do know that once embarrassment hits, it lingers. I stay up at night replaying it. My body clenches with that same wave of shame over and over like a bad loop. And worst of all? I start questioning if I’m still someone who has it all together.

Shower It Off, Walk It Out, Pretend It Didn’t Happen

When I say I don’t have real coping mechanisms, I mean it. I don’t journal about it. I don’t meditate through it. I don’t give myself a TED Talk about how “everyone makes mistakes.” I wish I did. What I do have, though, are a few rituals that feel like I’m at least trying to physically exile the shame from my body.

One of the first things I do when embarrassment hits is get up and walk—literally. I pace, I hit the treadmill, I move. Something about walking makes it feel like I’m leaving the moment behind, even if I’m still internally screaming. And I know it sounds dramatic, but showers? They hit different when you’re trying to rinse the cringe off your soul. I stand there like I’m in a perfume ad, letting the water carry my humiliation down the drain, hoping that when I step out, I’ll be a new person. A less embarrassing one.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But it helps me feel like I’m doing something. Because when you can’t control the past, you start reaching for any little ritual that feels like it’s cleaning your record—even if it’s just soap and sweat.

The Inner Critic and the Impossible Standard I Keep Failing to Meet

I know exactly where this embarrassment spiral comes from—her.

That little voice in my head who thinks she’s better than everyone and worse than everyone at the exact same time. Who believes I should be immune to mistakes because I “know better.” Who says, “Really? You didn’t catch that? Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Together? Sharp? Perfect?”

That voice doesn’t accept accidents. She doesn’t allow grace. She holds me to a standard no one else is even aiming for. I don’t just want to be good—I want to be untouchable. I want to anticipate everything, say the right thing, and make zero errors in the process. Not for praise, but so I never have to feel the hot flush of shame again.

The problem? That standard is fake. It’s a trap. It’s built on the lie that I can outsmart embarrassment if I’m just careful enough. That if I pay attention, double-check, triple-proof, overthink every word—I’ll dodge it. But I never do. Because I’m human. Because something will slip. And every time it does, my brain treats it like a moral failing instead of what it is: a tiny, normal, deeply forgettable moment.

But not to me. Not to the voice. To her, every slip-up is a crack in the glass. And she whispers, “You should’ve known better.”

I’m Still Learning That Being Human Isn’t a Failure

Embarrassment hits me like a wrecking ball because I’ve built my self-worth around never messing up. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to stay ten steps ahead, never drop the ball, never be the girl who forgets something, says something wrong, or looks out of place. And the second I do? That illusion shatters—and I spiral.

But here’s what I’m trying to remember: being human isn’t a flaw. It’s not a weakness. It’s not something I can logic my way out of. I will miss things. I will say something cringe. I will spell something wrong, press send too soon, or think of the perfect comeback five hours too late.

I’m still learning how to be okay with that. How to forgive myself for not being perfect. How to let things be awkward without letting them ruin my whole week. And some days, I fail. Some days, I overthink it into the ground. But other days, I shower, walk it off, and remind myself that no one else is thinking about it as hard as I am.

Embarrassment isn’t the end of the world. It’s just proof that I’m showing up, trying, and living. And that version of me? The one who tries even when she might mess up? She deserves just as much grace as the perfect one I keep chasing.