The Day | Stopped Explaining Myself

For most of my life, believed explanations were a form of love.

l explained why l was late.

l explained why l needed space.

l explained why somerhing hurt me, even when my voice shook and my chest felt tight.

l explained because l thought if people understood, they would stay.

l was wrong.

l grew up learning that silence meant guilt.

lf someone misunderstood you, it was your responsibility to correct it. lf someone was upset, it was your job to soften

yourself until they felt comfortable again.l learned how to turn every

emotion anto a presentation-complete with context, backstory,

and apologies for feeling it in the first place.

"l'm not mad, l just meant-"

"l didn't say it like taht, what l meant was-"

"please don't take it the wrong way, l just-"

l lived my life mid-sentence. The exhausting part wasn't being

misunderstood. it was the constand pressure to prevent misunderstanding, as if love a fragil object that would shatter

the moment l stopped translating myself.

so l kept explaining. Even when no one asked. Even when it didn't

change anything. Especially then.

at some point- l can't pinpoint when- it started to feel like l was begging for permission to exist.

Every "no" needed a paragraph. Every feeling had to be softened

so it wouldn't inconvenience

anyone else. and still, people were angry. still, l was misunderstood.

still, my explanailtion were ether ignored or used against me later.

"you're too sensitive," they'd say, after l explained my pain in detail.

"you think too much," after l laid out my reasons carefully.

"you're overreacting," after made sure my reaction was polite,

cllm, and contained. one day, something in me went quiet. it wasn't

dramatic, there was no speech, no decision made in a moment of rage.

just a tiredrealization: explaining myself wasn't protecting me.

it was erasing me. so l stopped.

The first time it happened. my hands shook. someone questioned my choice

waiting for the familiar defense. l opened my mouth-and colsed it again.

"l don't need to explain," l said instead.

the silence that followed felt enormous.

they looked at me like l had broken an unspoken rule.

As if l had suddenly started speaking a language they didn't recognize.

confusion turned into irritation. lrritation turned into distance.

l told myself it was temporary. people just needed time to adjust. they didn't.

without my explanations, conversations became uncomfortable. people accused me up being cold, distant, changed.

They filled the silence with their own interpretations-and none of them were generous.

"you think you're better than everyone now,"

"you don't care anymore."

"you've become selfish."

l wanted to correct them. God, l wanted to.

The explanations rose in my throat, fully formed, desperate to be heard.

All l had to do was give them what they expected-the familiar comport of my over-clarity. But l didn't.

Because l realized something terrifying: the people who truly cared never needed

the explanations in the first place. they asked questions. they trusted me even when they didn't fully understand.

They others? they needed explanations because they were never trying to understand.

They were trying to control the narrative.

one by one, people drefted away. some left angrily, slamming metaphorical doors, offended that l had taken away their access to my inner world. others faded quietly,

no longer interested once l stopped over-functioning for the relationshep.

it hurt more than l expected. there's a specific kind of grief in losing people not bacause you did something terrible,

but because you finally stopped performing. lt mkes you question evrything were they ever for me? or just the version of my that explained,

apologized, and shrank? At night, l replayed old conversations,

wonbering if l had gone too far. lf maybe a little explaining wouldn't hurt. lf silence was just another way of being misunderstood.

But something else was happening too. l was sleeping brtter. breatging easier.

feeling less like l was on trial all the time.for the first time. my thoughts stayed mine.

my feelings didn't have to be packaged nearly for fublic consumption.

l learned that not everyon deserves access to your reasons, your wounds, your logic.

some people don't want clarity-they want compliance. l didn't lose everyone.

lt just felt that way at first because the room got quieter. the noise of constant iustfication disappeared, and with it, the people who thrived on it.

what remained were a few steady presences. people who understood that silence isn't cruelty,

and boundarise aren't punishment. l finally understood that explaning yourself endlesly doesn't make you hoest-it makes you avalibale to be misunderstood on repeat.

And yes, l lost people when l stopped explaining myself.

But l also lost the version of me who believed love had to be earned through exhaustion.

that loss felt like freedom.