The Lie of Doubt: How To Stop Second-Guessing Yourself

I’ve coached so many women who begin with: “I don’t know.”

They say it about their business. Their relationships. The next move.

And then something happens during the conversation, not because I hand them an answer, but because we slow down long enough to let the truth surface without getting argued with.

Kinnon told me she didn’t know how to take her business full-time. She said it like a closed door. But once we slowed the pace and let the noise settle, she started naming the steps she would take immediately: six clear actions, one after another, as if she were reading notes in the sky.

Dane was ready to close her business. Done. Finished. She couldn’t see a way forward. Until I asked one question: “What would support look like?” And she rattled off the one true thing she needed, like it had been waiting behind her teeth.

Shante felt alone. She was a mother of two who felt like a single mom, even with a spouse. When I asked her what she needed, she said she didn’t know. Seconds later, she spoke with startling clarity, laying out a plan that was as obvious as daylight.

THE REASON WE SECOND-GUESS OURSELVES

Second-guessing yourself isn’t a personality flaw. It’s usually a strategy.

Most women learn early, and often that certainty has consequences.

Certainty can make you “too much.”
Certainty can invite criticism.
Certainty can trigger conflict.
Certainty can cost you belonging.
Certainty can require follow-through, and follow-through raises the stakes.

So second-guessing yourself becomes a way to stay safe.

It’s a pause button you didn’t consciously install, but your system learned it works:

• If I stay unsure, I can’t be fully judged.
• If I don’t commit, I can’t fail publicly.
• If I keep collecting opinions, I don’t have to risk disappointing anyone.
• If I call it “confusion,” I don’t have to name the desire out loud.

Second-guessing yourself protects you from the emotional exposure of choosing.

Not because you’re weak. Because you’re intelligent enough to sense what choosing might cost. And still, there’s a quiet grief that comes with living in that protected place:

You stay safe, but you also stay stalled.

DOUBT CAN BE DESIRE IN DISGUISE

We tend to treat doubt like evidence that we’re unqualified or unclear. But doubt is not always a sign of “wrong.” Sometimes it’s a sign of contact. Doubt shows up when you’re near something that matters.

It often appears when your desire is strong enough to be dangerous. Dangerous to your old identity. Dangerous to the version of you that survived by staying small, agreeable, or adaptable.

Doubt can be a signal that:

• You’re approaching a threshold where your life will actually change.
• You’re trying to make a “big” decision with a stressed nervous system.
• You’re holding too many inputs, and your inner voice can’t get airtime.
• You’re protecting yourself from wanting something you can’t guarantee.

And here’s the twist:

When women say, “I don’t know,” what I often hear is:

• “I am afraid to be wrong.”
• “I don’t trust myself.”
• “I don’t want to ask for too much.”
• “I’m afraid someone will disagree.”

Doubt is frequently a relational emotion.

It’s not just about the decision. It’s about what you believe will happen to you socially, emotionally, or practically once you choose.

So doubt isn’t always a stop sign. Sometimes it’s the nervous system asking for conditions that make truth easier to tell.

YOUR HIDDEN TRUTH

The truth is often present. But it’s quiet. And modern life is loud.

If you’re moving fast, over-functioning, caretaking, producing, consuming, managing, fixing, performing… the internal signal can feel like it’s gone.

But it’s not gone.

It’s just being drowned out. This is why the right conversation changes everything. Not because someone outside you contains the answer, but because the conversation creates a container where your system can finally hear itself.

The right question does something “impossible”. 

It interrupts the mental loop. It gives fear a backseat so desire can step to the stage. It puts you in contact with “the one tiny step.”

When I asked Dane, “What would support look like?” it wasn’t advice. It was a doorway.

When I asked Kinnon what she needed, and then stayed present long enough for the second answer to rise, it wasn’t persuasion. It was permission.

When Shante slowed down, she didn’t become smarter in that moment. She became less interrupted.

That’s the point.

Knowing isn’t always something you “figure out.” Sometimes it’s something you recover.

DOUBT IS NOT RESPONSIBLE

Second-guessing yourself often feels like being responsible.

As if you’re being careful. Wise. Deliberate.

But the cost is that you start treating your own clarity like a suspect.

You interrogate it.
You doubt it.
You ask it to prove itself in advance.
You require certainty before you allow movement.

And clarity rarely speaks under interrogation. Clarity speaks when you create enough internal quiet to actually listen. That’s why the NYC moment mattered.

Because the voice didn’t say: “Go left in three blocks.”

It said something deeper:

“I know the way. Stop interrupting me.”

A TINY SHIFT OUT OF SECOND-GUESSING

This is not a prescription, but something to notice. When you catch yourself saying “I don’t know,” consider that the thought might be a lie. It might be a cover for fear. Or maybe it’s a clever reason to keep you from going for what you really want. 

Or, an excuse for not trusting yourself with your truth.

Sometimes the most impactful next step isn’t to find a clear answer but to discover a powerful question like:

“What if you did, though?”

Then you let the answer arrive in its own timing. 

Not forced. Not rushed. Not performed.

Just revealed.

Because the truth is usually there. It’s just waiting for the right conversation, the right pace, the right safety, and the right permission.

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If you’re ready to stop second-guessing yourself, join the waitlist for Uprooted to Uprising. These conversations can help you turn doubt into power. Join the waitlist.