Why?
No, really. Why do we do it? Not the regular kind, the “I’ll be five minutes late” kind. I mean the self explaining. The kind that turns every opinion, preference, or boundary into a presentation.
“I don’t like blank because when I was seven, I tripped and fell, and that led to blank, which made me feel blah, and that’s why I can’t…”
You know the type. It’s like every thought or choice needs a mini TED Talk attached.
I think the word I’m looking for is unsolicited explanations, if that’s even a real word. (It is now.)
This thought hit me while I was posted up in a crowded space, tuning into a few different conversations like a human satellite dish. You ever do that? Eavesdrop without meaning to? It’s wild how we can zone in on a convo across the room, and then pivot to one dead center in the space like some secret superpower.
Meanwhile, it takes every ounce of that same focus just to turn a project around in 72 hours. Life’s balance is funny like that.
Anyway, back to it, explanations.
This one’s tricky, because I do it too. I wish I could say I had a good reason, but if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I do. If I had to guess though? I’d say it’s because I’ve always believed things, people, moments, decisions, should be understood. Not just acknowledged or heard, but truly comprehended. And that kind of belief often comes wrapped in an explanation.
But the more I live really live the more I’m realizing that this habit has a shadow side.
One of the biggest drawbacks? It makes me feel like I owe people access to my inner world. Even when they haven’t earned it. Even when they aren’t asking. Even when I’m just trying to exist.
And here’s the truth that’s taken me a while to get comfortable with:
You don’t need to explain yourself to be valid.
Not every “no” needs a backstory.
Not every boundary needs a childhood origin.
Not every choice needs a narrative arc.
Sometimes, “this is what I need” is enough.
Sometimes, “this doesn’t feel right” is enough.
Sometimes, you are enough, without the bullet points.
So here’s something to sit with:
What would happen if you let your decisions speak louder than your explanations?
What would shift if you chose peace over performance?
I’m not saying we never explain. But I am saying maybe we stop explaining so much to people who don’t take the time to listen. And start saving our words for those who already get it, or at the very least, are willing to try.
Let’s leave some room for mystery. Some space for simplicity.
Let’s stop offering disclaimers for our existence.
Try saying less. Let it echo.
B,
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