Do You Really Need to Explain Yourself?

Maybe you've been sitting quite happily with a cup of coffee when a message appears on your phone. You read it.

Something about it doesn't sit right. So you read it again.

And suddenly the peaceful morning you were having has disappeared because your mind is now completely inside that message.

What does she mean by that?

Why would he say that?

That's not what happened.

She has completely misunderstood me.

Perhaps you immediately start typing a reply. Or maybe you don't even pick up the phone, but the conversation has already begun in your head.

You are explaining what really happened. Defending the decision you made. Thinking of all the things you should say so they understand your side of it.

Have you noticed how quickly that can happen?

One minute you're getting on with your day and the next you're emotionally involved in a conversation that hasn't even happened yet.

And sometimes it isn't a message at all.

It might be a bill you weren't expecting. A conversation with your partner. Something your adult child says. An email from work. A friend questioning a decision you've made.

Something happens, an emotion arrives and almost immediately we feel as though we need to do something with it.

Have you ever stopped afterwards and wondered why something affected you quite as much as it did? Perhaps someone disagreed with a choice you made and you felt an overwhelming need to explain why you made it.

Maybe somebody was disappointed when you said no and suddenly you were giving them every possible reason why you couldn't say yes.

Or perhaps somebody misunderstood something you said and you couldn't settle until you had made absolutely certain they knew what you really meant.

Why does being misunderstood sometimes feel so uncomfortable?

Could it be that underneath the explanation there is something else happening?

Maybe we aren't only trying to explain the situation.

Maybe we're trying to make sure they don't think we're selfish.

Or difficult.

Or unreasonable.

Maybe we want them to know that we're a good person. That we had a reason. That we weren't trying to hurt anyone.

And perhaps sometimes what we're really looking for isn't understanding at all.

It's approval.

This is where things become interesting.

Because have you ever explained yourself beautifully, given somebody the entire story, told them exactly why you made the decision you made...

…and they still didn't see it your way?

It's frustrating, isn't it?

But perhaps there is a reason for that.

None of us arrives at a conversation as a blank page.

We bring our lives with us.

The relationships we've had. The way we were brought up. Things that have hurt us. Things we've learned to fear. Our expectations, insecurities, values and beliefs.

So the person reading your message isn't necessarily reading only your words.

They're interpreting those words through everything they have experienced too.

And you're doing exactly the same with theirs.

Perhaps that's why two people can walk away from the same conversation with completely different versions of what just happened.

And if that's true, how much energy do we spend trying to control something we were never really capable of controlling in the first place?

Someone else's perception of us.

That's quite a question, isn't it?

Because there's a difference between listening to another person's perspective and needing them to agree with yours.

Perhaps somebody you love thinks you're making the wrong decision. Can you listen to what they have to say without automatically assuming you need to change your mind?

Maybe a friend doesn't understand why you've said no to something. Does she need to understand before you're allowed to keep your no?

Perhaps somebody thinks you should have handled something differently. Could there be something useful in what they're saying?

Possibly.

But could you also listen, consider it and still decide that the choice you made was right for you?

We can become so accustomed to explaining ourselves that we don't even notice we're doing it.

And perhaps the question isn't always:

How can I make them understand?

Maybe sometimes it's:

Why do I need them to?

Imagine receiving that message again.

The one that immediately makes your stomach tighten.

But this time, instead of answering while you're still feeling everything it has brought up, you put the phone down.

Not because you're ignoring the person.

Not because you're playing games.

Not because your feelings aren't valid.

Simply because you don't have to decide what you think about something in the first thirty seconds after it happens.

What might change if you gave yourself ten minutes?

An hour?

Perhaps even a night?

Have you ever noticed that something which felt enormous at three o'clock can look quite different by six?

Maybe the message still bothers you.

Perhaps the boundary still needs to be set.

Maybe the conversation still needs to happen.

You might even decide to say exactly what you wanted to say in the first place.

But there's a difference now.

You're choosing the response rather than the emotion choosing it for you.

Think about an argument you've had that seemed to grow from almost nothing.

Someone says something. You react to what they said. They react to your reaction. You respond to theirs.

And suddenly you're both arguing about something that bears very little resemblance to where the conversation started.

Have you ever looked back afterwards and thought, How on earth did we get there?

Or perhaps you've sent the enormous WhatsApp message.

You know the one.

You write it. Add another paragraph. Remember something else they did three years ago. Add that too. Read it again. Change a sentence. Press send.

And then the emotion settles.

Would you still have sent exactly the same message?

Maybe.

But perhaps not.

That's the little space I'm talking about.

Not learning never to feel.

Not becoming someone who never gets angry or hurt.

Simply allowing the feeling to exist without immediately handing it control of what happens next.

Perhaps this is the question underneath all of it.

When you feel that urge to explain, defend or justify yourself, what are you afraid might happen if you don't?

Will they think badly of you?

Will they misunderstand you?

Will they be disappointed?

Will they think you're selfish?

And if they do...

what does that mean about you?

That's where this becomes about something much deeper than communication.

Because the more secure we feel in the relationship we have with ourselves, perhaps the less urgently we need other people to confirm who we are.

That doesn't mean we stop caring about other people.

It doesn't mean we never apologise.

It doesn't mean we refuse to explain ourselves or decide that our perspective is the only one that matters.

Quite the opposite.

Sometimes listening to someone else helps us realise that perhaps we did get something wrong.

But there is a difference between listening because we are open to understanding and explaining because we are frightened of being misunderstood.

And maybe recognising which one we're doing changes the conversation completely.

Perhaps there is something you can notice the next time you feel that familiar rush.

Before you reply to the message.

Before you defend the decision.

Before you explain why you said no.

Before you try to make somebody understand.

Just notice what's happening inside you.

What am I feeling right now?

What am I trying to make this person understand about me?

And do I need to respond while I'm still feeling this way?

You may still decide that something needs saying.

You may decide that an explanation is important.

You may even realise that you owe somebody an apology.

But perhaps you'll also discover that some things don't need the response you once thought they did.

Because sometimes quiet confidence isn't having the perfect answer.

Sometimes it's being comfortable enough with yourself to know that another person can see things differently...

and you don't have to explain yourself into being understood. ♡