I used to explain myself
until I ran out of words.
If you misunderstood me,
I tried again.
Different words.
More details.
Another example.
Maybe if I explained it better,
you would finally understand
what I meant.
And if you still didn’t?
I searched for more words.
Surely there was a sentence
I hadn’t tried yet.
A better explanation.
A clearer way to say:
That’s not what I meant.
That’s not what happened.
That’s not who I am.
I thought if I could explain myself
well enough,
I could correct the version of me
that existed in someone else’s mind.
But eventually,
I would run out of words.
And more importantly,
I would run out of energy.
I’m learning that I can speak clearly
without explaining myself endlessly.
I can clarify.
I can listen.
I can consider whether there is something
I need to understand differently too.
And I can recognize
when I’ve said enough.
Because my words belong to me.
What someone chooses to do with them
doesn’t.
Maybe using my voice
also means knowing
when to release it.
The Story Behind the Poem
For a long time, being misunderstood was incredibly difficult for me.
Actually, who am I kidding?
It can still be difficult. 😆
When someone misunderstands what I’m saying, takes my words out of context, or assigns an intention to me that I don’t believe reflects what I meant, my natural response is to clarify.
And then clarify the clarification.
And perhaps provide an example.
And another example.
Then apparently open every vocabulary file stored somewhere in my brain and search for a different combination of words that might finally make everything click.
Because surely we’re just one synonym away from understanding each other. 😆
Except sometimes we’re not.
I’ve had conversations where I kept explaining myself because I genuinely believed that if I could find exactly the right words, the other person would finally understand my intentions.
Sometimes that worked.
Other times, I ended up exhausted, frustrated, and eventually out of things to say.
There have also been times when I experienced what I would later learn to recognize as gaslighting. Before I had language for what was happening, those interactions could leave me incredibly confused. I could know what I remembered, what I meant, or what I experienced, yet somehow leave the conversation questioning myself.
So I explained more.
I thought clarity could solve everything.
But there’s something I’ve had to learn about communication:
I can be responsible for what I say without being able to control how someone receives it.
That’s a difficult distinction for me.
I care about words. I care about communicating effectively. If I realize that I’ve communicated something poorly, I want the opportunity to correct it. If someone offers feedback that reveals something I didn’t consider, I want to remain open enough to think about it.
I don’t want growth to turn into an excuse for refusing correction.
But both belong.
I can remain open to the possibility that I need to communicate differently, while also recognizing that someone else’s perception is not entirely mine to manage.
People don’t receive our words in a vacuum.
We all bring our experiences with us. We have assumptions, expectations, fears, beliefs and biases. We hear things through what we’ve lived, what we’ve learned, and sometimes what we’ve already decided to believe.
That includes me.
Sometimes I may misunderstand someone else.
Sometimes they may misunderstand me.
And sometimes another explanation helps.
The challenge is recognizing when I’ve moved beyond clarification and started trying to control the narrative.
For years, fear of how I might be received was one of the reasons I didn’t publish the book I kept thinking about writing.
Writing privately was one thing.
Publishing those thoughts was different.
Once my words became public, I wouldn’t get to sit beside every reader and explain what I meant. I couldn’t control which sentence resonated with them, which one challenged them, or which one they disagreed with.
I couldn’t control whether someone liked the book.
And I definitely couldn’t show up at everybody’s house with a PowerPoint presentation titled:
What I Actually Meant: A Clarification.
Although, given enough time, I probably could make a very thorough presentation. 😆
Eventually, I had to decide whether fear of being misunderstood was enough reason to keep something meaningful to me hidden.
It wasn’t.
So I published.
Then somehow I found the courage to put my real name on the book.
Then my photograph.
Then I created a website.
And now I’m here, continuing to write things that other people can read and have opinions about.
Look at me creating opportunities to be misunderstood. 😆
But I’m also creating opportunities to connect.
That’s the part I couldn’t receive if I remained hidden.
Someone may read something I’ve written and recognize themselves in it. Another person may encounter an idea that helps them see something differently. Someone else may disagree completely.
All of those possibilities exist when we share our voices.
I would certainly prefer positive feedback. I’m human. 😆 But expecting everyone to receive what I create positively isn’t realistic.
We’re different.
We have different perspectives, experiences and ways of seeing the world. I actually think there’s value in that. We can learn from one another precisely because we don’t all stand in the same place.
So when I share something now, I try to hold it differently.
Take what speaks to where you are. Consider what challenges you. Leave what doesn’t belong to your journey right now.
Maybe you’ll carry something I wrote with you.
Maybe you’ll disagree with me.
Maybe something won’t mean much to you today but will make sense differently several years from now.
I don’t get to decide.
My responsibility is to communicate what I mean as thoughtfully and honestly as I can.
Then comes the harder part.
I have to release it.
Voice Notes
Something to sit with
Have you ever continued explaining yourself long after you had already communicated what you meant?
What were you hoping another explanation would give you?
Understanding?
Agreement?
Validation?
Reassurance that the other person didn’t think badly of you?
Sometimes clarification is necessary. But sometimes we aren’t clarifying anymore. We’re trying to manage someone else’s perception of us.
There is a difference.
If you want to write about it
Think about a recent situation where you felt misunderstood.
What did you originally say?
What did you actually mean?
Did the conversation need clarification, or did you find yourself repeating the same message in increasingly different ways?
What were you afraid might happen if the other person continued to misunderstand you?
And perhaps the harder question:
At what point would it have been okay to say, “I’ve explained what I meant. I can release this now”?
You don’t have to become indifferent to other people’s perspectives.
Consider the feedback.
Correct yourself when necessary.
Clarify when clarification is useful.
Then notice when the conversation has shifted from communicating your perspective to trying to control someone else’s.
Scripture for Meditation
“A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.”
— Proverbs 15:1
Communication matters.
How we speak matters.
And learning when we’ve said enough matters too.
Take This With You
You will be misunderstood sometimes.
You may even misunderstand someone else.
That doesn’t make communication pointless. It makes humility, patience and discernment necessary.
Say what you mean.
Listen.
Clarify when you need to.
Remain willing to learn.
But when you realize you’ve begun searching for your eighth explanation because you’re trying to control a conclusion that exists in someone else’s mind, maybe you’ve already said enough.
You don’t need another synonym.
You might just need to release the outcome.
