I have a friend who is fixated on the word ruminate. Well, he’s not exactly fixated on the word – he’s commiserating over the fact that he can’t stop doing it. He just published a book and anyone who has written a book knows the grueling, soul-sucking process one goes through to bring a book to life. The researching. The writing. More writing. Editing. Revising. Finding someone to publish it. Then more editing and revising from the publisher. It’s a labor of love, but the operative word is labor. Which is why he is struggling to understand why some people in his inner circle haven’t bothered to read it. He’s receiving support and accolades from strangers, but his immediate family is silent.
The only obvious conclusion one can draw is they hate the book.
Or maybe they haven’t gotten around to buying it yet.
Either way, they don’t care enough about him to support him.
Or maybe none of this is true.
Rumination is when your brain decides to clock in for the night shift without telling you. It loops the same conversation, the same hurt, the same “WTF was that about?” moment over and over like a bad Netflix show you didn’t even like the first time.
It’s the friend who never texts back.
The partner who didn’t notice your new hairstyle.
The coworker who took credit for your idea.
The silence after you bared your soul and got… nothing.
So, we fill the gaps with stories.
They must not care.
They’re selfish.
They should’ve known better.
But those are just that—stories.
And more often than not, they’re fiction.
The Expectation Trap
Disappointment is not about what people do—it’s about what we expect them to do.
We expect people to show up the way we would.
We expect people to just know.
We expect them to behave according to a script they’ve never even seen.
And when they don’t—we hurt.
But here’s the plot twist: They didn’t let us down. Our expectations did.
Dr. Brené Brown says it perfectly: “Disappointment is unmet expectations. And the more significant the expectations, the more significant the disappointment.”
Most of us don’t even communicate our expectations out loud. We just assume people should know. That’s a setup. For them—and for us.
The Agreements We Keep Breaking
This is exactly what Don Miguel Ruiz warns us about in The Four Agreements—two of which are basically being lit on fire when we ruminate.
The first?
Don’t make assumptions.
We do it constantly. We assume people should know what we want. We assume they’re ignoring us on purpose. We assume silence means indifference. We build entire narratives on assumptions and then have the audacity to be offendedby the stories we wrote ourselves.
The second?
Don’t take anything personally.
If someone doesn’t read your book, text you back, compliment your haircut, or acknowledge your effort, it says more about their current bandwidth than your value as a human. But we personalize it. We take their inaction and tattoo it on our self-worth.
Ruiz calls these behaviors a form of self-inflicted suffering.
And he’s right. Because once you start to live by these two agreements—even just 10% of the time—you free up so much emotional energy. You start to see people’s actions (or lack thereof) as their own journey, not a referendum on your worth.
The Storytelling Brain
Cognitive psychologists like Daniel Kahneman (the Nobel Prize guy) remind us that humans are wired to make meaning out of ambiguity. If we don’t have all the information, we’ll fill in the blanks ourselves.
But here’s the kicker: we rarely fill those blanks with generosity.
We fill them with suspicion. With insecurity. With old wounds disguised as present truth.
We turn moments into motives.
We turn behavior into betrayal.
And all of it exists only in our minds.
Disrupt the Narrative
This is where the disruption begins.
Instead of spiraling into “why didn’t they…,” ask yourself:
“What story am I telling myself right now?”
This simple question interrupts the loop. It demands that you fact-check your own fiction. And it might reveal something game-changing:
- They didn’t ghost you—they’re in a spiral of their own.
- They didn’t mean to offend you—they were distracted, overwhelmed, or unaware.
- They’re not heartless—they’re human.
Here’s a disruptive truth: You don’t have to forgive what hurt you, but you do have to challenge the story you’re telling about it—because you are the one living with it.
Rewrite or Release
You have two choices:
- Communicate your expectations (out loud—yes, with actual words), or
- Let them go.
Holding unspoken expectations is emotional blackmail. It keeps the other person unaware and you resentful. That’s not connection—it’s a setup for relational failure.
You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to need things. But don’t expect people to read your mind and then punish them when they fail.
And Finally, Stop Renting Out Mental Real Estate
People will disappoint you. That’s not pessimism—it’s reality. But what you do with that disappointment? That’s on you.
Ruminating is renting out your mental space to someone who may not even realize they wronged you. They’re off living their life—and you’re still mentally arguing with them in the shower.
Let them go. Take back your space. Disrupt the cycle.
Final Thoughts
Disrupters know that rumination is a thief. It steals your time, your joy, your clarity.
My friend spent days—or maybe weeks—caught in the loop of “Why haven’t they read my book?” He told himself a painful story: that the people closest to him didn’t care enough to show support. But that story turned out to be incomplete.
When his sister-in-law finally shared her truth—that the book was sitting on her desk and she hadn’t yet found the courage to read about his pain—everything shifted. Her silence wasn’t rejection. It was reverence. It was fear of what his vulnerability might stir in her. It was… human.
That single moment unraveled an entire false narrative.
So here’s your call to action:
Stop editing a story that was never yours to write.
Stop rehearsing the betrayal.
Stop rewriting the scene.
Stop expecting people to live inside your script.
Instead, write a new one—with clarity, honesty, and curiosity.
The next time your brain starts spiraling, pause and ask:
“Is this true? Or is this just a story I’ve told myself so many times, I’ve started to believe it?”
Disruption doesn’t always mean taking down systems—it sometimes means taking down the lies you’ve built in your own mind.
Because when you disrupt your thoughts, you free yourself.
And that is the kind of disruption that changes everything.
