When I Stopped Explaining Myself

A Revelation in the Art of Letting Go

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a compulsive explainer. You know the type of the person who feels the need to justify, clarify and overanalyze every single action, decision or even the most mundane choice. Why did I choose oatmeal instead of toast? Let me give you a five minute TED Talk on fiber content and my mood this morning. Why am I five minutes late? Let me recount the entire odyssey of my commute, complete with dramatic pauses and traffic reports.

It’s not that anyone asked for these explanations. Most people didn’t care. But in my mind, there was always an unspoken demand for me to account for myself. The slightest raised eyebrow or prolonged silence was enough to send me into a full-blown monologue. It wasn’t just a habit, it was a reflex.

I think it started when I was a kid. Like many children, I wanted to avoid trouble at all costs. If I could explain my way out of a sticky situation or preemptively justify my actions, I could dodge punishment or disappointment. At least, that’s what I believed. Over time, this survival mechanism became second nature.

But here’s the kicker: no matter how detailed or heartfelt my explanations were, I still got misunderstood. Often. And when that happened, I didn’t just shrug it off. Oh no, I spiraled! I’d spend hours, sometimes days, replaying the situation in my head like an amateur detective analyzing a crime scene. Where had I gone wrong? Did I use the wrong tone? Did I leave out a crucial detail? Was it my fault they didn’t get it? Spoiler alert: I always concluded that it was my fault.

The mental gymnastics were exhausting. I’d tie myself in knots trying to figure out how to be clearer, more concise or more convincing next time. But here’s the thing about people: they’re not predictable algorithms that respond perfectly to input. You can explain yourself until your throat is dry and your brain is fried and they’ll still hear what they want to hear.

One day, after yet another round of self-flagellation over a botched explanation, I snapped. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. There was no grand epiphany or inspirational soundtrack playing in the background. I just thought, What if I didn’t explain myself at all?

So, I tried it. The next time someone gave me that expectant look, the one that usually triggered my verbal avalanche, I simply... didn’t explain. I stopped myself mid-thought, swallowed my words and left it at that.

And you know what happened? NOTHING! Absolutely nothing. The world didn’t implode. Nobody stormed out of the room demanding answers. The sun continued to rise and set and life went on as usual.

At first, it felt strange, like leaving the house without your phone or forgetting to lock the door. But then it felt... liberating. By not explaining myself, I realized something profound: most people don’t need or even want an explanation from you. They’re too busy worrying about their own lives to care why you chose oatmeal over toast or why you were five minutes late.

I also learned that silence can be powerful. When you stop overexplaining, you give others the space to interpret your actions however they want and that’s okay. Their interpretation is their responsibility, not yours.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating for complete radio silence in all situations. There are times when explanations are necessary: apologizing for a mistake, clarifying a misunderstanding or communicating in relationships where transparency matters. But there’s a difference between explaining when it’s needed and explaining as a knee-jerk reaction to perceived judgment or discomfort.

The truth is, overexplaining often stems from insecurity, a need for validation or approval, a fear of being misunderstood or disliked. By letting go of this compulsion, I’ve found a new kind of confidence in myself and my decisions. I don’t need to justify every little thing because I trust myself enough to know that my choices are valid. Even if someone else doesn’t fully understand them.

So, if you’re like me, a chronic explainer, consider this your permission slip to stop. The next time you feel that familiar urge bubbling up inside you, pause for a moment and ask yourself: Do I really need to explain this? If the answer is no, let it go!

Trust me, it’s worth it. Not only will you save yourself countless hours of mental anguish but you’ll also discover just how much energy you’ve been wasting on something that doesn’t matter nearly as much as you thought it did.

And who knows? You might even find that people respect you more when you don’t feel the need to justify yourself all the time. After all, there’s something undeniably intriguing about someone who doesn’t overshare or overexplain, someone who simply is.

So here’s to fewer explanations and more peace of mind. You don’t owe anyone an essay about your choices unless, of course, you’re writing a blog post about it like this one (ironic, isn’t it?).

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If you wish to continue this reflection

This piece is part of a wider inner thread exploring performance, silence and recovery:

• The Self That Performs and the Self That Remains
  This is the frame. It names the split between functioning and being.
• The Illusion of Free Time
  A realization that even rest can become performance in disguise.
• Living in Recovery Mode
  The aftermath. Not insight anymore but consequence.