“What If I Choose Wrong?” The Six’s Struggle With Decision Paralysis

There are two kinds of decisions in life: the ones that matter, and the ones that feel like they might matter and therefore derail your entire day, sense of self, and will to live. If you’re an Enneagram Six, there’s a good chance you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Should you speak up in the meeting? Should you ignore the weird text from your friend that might be passive-aggressive? Should you quit your job? Buy the ethically-sourced quinoa or the regular kind that’s cheaper but makes you feel like a fraud? Each option seems to come wrapped in layers of what ifs and but thens, and by the time you’ve “weighed the pros and cons,” you’ve accidentally spiraled into a parallel universe where one wrong move ruins your life, your friends abandon you, and your dentist is disappointed in you.

So you freeze. Not because you don’t care—oh, you care so much it hurts—but because every possible outcome has a trapdoor, and you’ve read the fine print on all of them.

You’re exhausted from trying to predict the unpredictable in a world that feels increasingly like it’s being run by drunk toddlers and malfunctioning algorithms. You’re trying to be responsible. To be good. To be safe.

But sometimes, trying to make the right decision turns into avoiding any decision at all. And that’s when the downward spiral really starts to whirl.

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Why Enneagram Sixes Sometimes Struggle With Decision-Making

Let’s break this down. Sixes are built to anticipate. You walk through life scanning for potential threats like a security system with legs and unresolved childhood wounds. Your mind is always doing threat assessments: “Is this person trustworthy?” “Will this action get me in trouble?” “Am I allowed to feel sure about this or do I need a second opinion, third opinion, or maybe a full panel of experts?”

You learned, early on, that the world can be unpredictable and painful and full of hidden trapdoors—and that if you just prepared enough, or aligned with the right people, or followed the right rules, you could avoid the worst of it.

So your brain does what it was trained to do: second-guess everything.

You ask for reassurance. You check in. You triple-check. You maybe take a poll. You try to follow the rules (assuming you can figure out whose rules actually apply—spoiler: everyone seems to have different ones). And you try to predict consequences like a personal assistant to the universe who wasn’t given a job description but is somehow still expected to fix everything.

The irony is that in trying to avoid making a bad choice, you end up outsourcing your authority—to friends, to mentors, to Reddit threads, to books written by confident-sounding people who may or may not be sociopaths. And little by little, you start to lose sight of your own voice. The one that says, this feels right, even if it’s scary. The one that remembers: I am capable. I am thoughtful. I’ve made it this far.

Instead, you live in mental gridlock. A traffic jam of possibilities. And no one has the right-of-way because every lane might lead to regret.

This is the root of Six’s decision paralysis: not just fear of getting it wrong, but fear of getting it wrong and being abandoned or punished because of it. At unhealthy levels, this fear becomes so loud it drowns out your reasoning. You lose access to your logic—not because it’s gone, but because it’s buried under 84 “worst case scenario” simulations and a crushing need to be absolutely sure.

But here’s the inconvenient truth: certainty is a myth. The people who seem most confident often don’t know more than you do—they’re just better at pretending they aren’t terrified.

The good news? Self-trust can be built. Not through blind optimism or forced confidence, but through small, lived proof: that you can survive risk. That you can handle consequences. That the voice inside you may be cautious, but it’s not wrong—and it’s yours. And that matters.

The Emotional Cost of Chronic Self-Doubt

Let’s talk fallout. Because as much as you’re trying to avoid disaster by pausing on every decision like it’s a live wire… there’s still a cost. It just hits differently. It’s less like a meteor strike and more like a slow leak in the roof you didn’t notice until your ceiling collapsed.

When you don’t trust yourself, you start outsourcing decisions. You let others weigh in. You delay. You tell yourself you just need a little more time, or a few more facts, or an unambiguous sign from the universe. You wait for the fear to go away before you act.

But it doesn’t go away. It festers.

And now?

• You’ve missed opportunities that actually mattered to you.
• You feel resentful toward the people you asked for advice, because now it’s their fault (and maybe it is, a little).
• You feel increasingly unsure of your own instincts, because you haven’t used them in a while—they’ve been shoved into the junk drawer under someone else’s confidence.
• And maybe worst of all? You don’t feel like yourself anymore. Just a bundle of reactions and rehearsed caution, flinching every time life demands an answer.

Learning to Trust Your Inner Authority

Here’s the plot twist no one tells you about fear: you don’t beat it by being fearless. You beat it by acting anyway.

Because the truth is, you’re probably not looking for the “right” answer. You’re looking for a guarantee. For the kind of clarity that removes risk altogether, like a decision that comes with a warranty and a return policy and maybe a free trial of divine favor.

But that doesn’t exist. There is no answer without risk. There’s only alignment. There’s only what matters to you.

And yes, that sounds terrifying. But it’s also where your power is.

Self-trust doesn’t come from reading more books or polling more people. It comes from building a track record with yourself. From choosing something—anything—and walking it out. From saying, “This might not be perfect, but it’s mine,” and then learning as you go.

You want to know the truth about that authority you’ve been seeking in others? You have it. You’ve always had it. It just got buried under the noise. Under all the opinions and hypotheticals and imagined betrayals and mental war games that left you too tired to hear your own damn voice.

Your job isn’t to kill the fear. It’s to stop making it your compass. To notice it, name it, and then keep walking.

Because here’s the thing: you’ve survived every uncertain decision you’ve made so far. Even the ones that blew up in your face. You’re still here. Still standing. Still scanning the horizon for danger, yes—but also, maybe, starting to realize the only thing scarier than a wrong choice is never choosing at all.

Practical Exercises for Building Self-Trust and Reducing Anxiety

This is the part where I don’t tell you to “just trust yourself!” as if that’s a light switch you forgot to flip. No. Self-trust is more like a feral cat: you have to earn it. Gently. Repeatedly. With snacks.

The Small Decision Challenge

Think of this as exposure therapy for your inner control freak.

For one week, make one small decision every day without consulting anyone—not your friends, not your mom, not your favorite advice columnist. It could be:

• Picking a restaurant
• Choosing what show to watch
• Deciding when to end the phone call with that one emotionally draining coworker

Then afterward, ask yourself:

• Did the world end?
• Was the decision really that dangerous?
• How did it feel to just choose?

This isn’t about doing it perfectly. It’s about flexing the muscle. Repeatedly. Until it stops shaking so much.

So here are some grounded, real-world ways to do that—exercises that don’t promise to erase your fear, but will help you move with it instead of being owned by it.

The Trusted Self Journaling Prompt

When you’re spinning, grab a notebook (or the Notes app), and try this:

• “If I fully trusted myself, what would I do right now?”
• “What’s the next right step—not the entire 47-step outcome, just the next one?”
• “What would I choose if I wasn’t trying to preemptively avoid disappointment, rejection, or spontaneous combustion?”

Bonus: Don’t delete your answers, even if they scare you. Especially if they scare you.

The Anxiety Decoding Chart

Make three columns:
FEAR | FACT | ACTION
Example:

• Fear: If I say no to this project, they’ll think I’m lazy and stop trusting me.
• Fact: I’ve done high-quality work consistently. They trust me because I deliver, not because I say yes to everything.
• Action: Say no respectfully, and let the chips fall where they may.

This gives your brain something to do instead of just spiraling into oblivion. (Brains love structure. Even terrified ones.)

The “You’re Not in Danger” Body Reset

When anxiety hijacks your brain, your body usually tags along for the ride. That’s why calming the nervous system matters. Try this:

• Sit somewhere quiet. Close your eyes.
• Inhale for 4 counts, hold for 4, exhale for 6. Repeat 5 times.
• Gently scan your body: Where am I holding tension? What does that tension want to say?
• Say, out loud if possible: “I am not in danger. I am allowed to pause. I am allowed to choose.”

It’s not magic. But it helps clear the static so you can actually hear yourself think again.

The Inner Council Visualization

Sixes tend to crowdsource decisions. So let’s use that impulse creatively.

Picture a roundtable in your mind. Sitting at the table:

• Your Inner Critic (probably loud)
• Your Inner Child (probably scared)
• Your Inner Sage (quiet but wise)
• Your Inner Rebel (probably smoking a metaphorical cigarette)
• Your Future Self (watching like they’ve seen how this all plays out)

Let them all weigh in. Then, as the Chairperson—you—listen, take what’s useful, and make the final call. Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s yours.

Ikigai Mapping (With a Six-Twist)

Ikigai is a Japanese concept that roughly means “reason for being.” Usually it’s a Venn diagram with four circles:

• What you love
• What you’re good at
• What the world needs
• What you can be paid for

Let’s add a fifth:

• What feels meaningful even if it scares me

Map it out. Don’t overthink. Just brain-dump. Then step back and see what’s recurring. What pulls at you even through the static. That’s a breadcrumb trail toward your own voice.

Reframing Mistakes and Consequences

Let’s say it flat out: You’re going to mess up.

Not because you’re a failure. Not because you didn’t analyze hard enough. But because you are a person, and people make choices with incomplete information all the time. Welcome to Earth.

I’ve made so many bad decisions in my life. And I’m an INTJ; I’m supposed to be all about making predictions and preparing for the future. I’ve not saved enough money, made poor relationship choices, moved places that made no sense to move.

Being human means making mistakes and learning for them. Sadly, frustratingly, INFURIATINGLY hindsight is 20/20, right?

Sixes tend to treat mistakes like moral failings, as if screwing up a decision means you’re now contractually obligated to spiral into shame, write an apology email to the universe, and never try again. But here’s the truth:

Mistakes are not proof that you can’t be trusted. They’re proof that you’re living.

Mistakes are how we learn. How we gather intel. How we get closer to what does work. You don’t become wise by tiptoeing through life like a bomb-sniffing dog with a guilt complex—you become wise by doing the thing, watching it implode, and going, “Ah. That’s what that button does.”

But Sixes often hold themselves to a higher standard than they’d expect from anyone else. If someone else messes up? You get it. You comfort them. You explain how it wasn’t their fault and everyone’s doing their best and consequences don’t define a person.

But when you mess up? Suddenly it means you’re dangerous. Or incompetent. Or not cut out for adult life and should be supervised forever by a committee of monks, therapists, and emotionally stable golden retrievers.

So let’s rewrite a few scripts, shall we?

Old Belief:
“If I choose wrong, everything will fall apart.”

New Belief:
“If I choose wrong, I’ll learn something important and be more equipped next time.”

Old Belief:
“Mistakes make me untrustworthy.”

New Belief:
“Mistakes make me human. Refusing to try makes me stuck.”

Old Belief:
“If I just think long enough, I can eliminate all risks.”

New Belief:
“No decision is risk-free. But I can handle what comes.”

That last one’s key. Because you don’t need to believe your choices will be perfect. You just need to believe you’re capable of recovering if they aren’t.

Because you are.

You are so much more resilient than you give yourself credit for. You’ve probably already survived things you thought would break you. You’ve lived through people being disappointed in you. You’ve lived through doing the “wrong” thing. And you’re still here. Maybe a little tired. Maybe a little crispy around the edges. But alive. Learning. And still deeply needed in this wild world.

So yes—mistakes will happen. Some will sting. Some will knock the wind out of you. But none of them will destroy the core of who you are. And none of them mean you can’t be trusted. If anything, the ability to recover from failure is exactly what makes you trustworthy.

And the more you act from that place—the place of grounded courage, not fear—the quieter the anxious static gets. The more you remember that you can choose. That you do know what matters. And that nothing—nothing—is more powerful than a person who’s learned to trust their own inner voice, even when it shakes.