There is a strange assumption people make when emotions are involved.
They assume that if you are paying attention, you must be obsessed.
If you are disappointed, you must be devastated.
If you are setting a boundary, you must be furious.
If you are speaking honestly, you must be deeply invested in the outcome.
Sometimes none of those things are true.
Sometimes the truth is much simpler:
βI think you are assuming a level of intensity and investment from me that is not actually there.β
Not every conversation is a crisis.
Not every disagreement is a declaration of war.
Not every βnoβ is the result of heartbreak.
Many of us move through the world carrying our own emotional weather forecasts. We become convinced that everyone else must be experiencing the same storm we are.
If we are angry, they must be angry.
If we are hurt, they must be hurt.
If we cannot stop thinking about something, surely they must be thinking about it too.
But people are not mirrors.
The person calmly explaining a problem may not be emotionally consumed by it. They may simply be explaining a problem.
The person declining an invitation may not be sending a hidden message. They may simply not want to attend.
The person asking a question may not be trying to start a fight. They may simply want an answer.
We often mistake clarity for intensity because intensity is what we would need in order to say those things ourselves.
Someone who avoids conflict might assume that every difficult conversation requires enormous emotional effort.
Someone who rarely says no might assume every boundary is born from resentment.
Someone who spends weeks replaying a disagreement might imagine the other person is doing the same.
Meanwhile, the other person may have had the conversation, washed the dishes, folded some laundry, and moved on with their day.
This can be a difficult thing to accept because it challenges the fantasy that we occupy a starring role in other peopleβs stories.
Most of the time, we do not.
Most of the time, we are simply fellow travellers.
People are not always motivated by passion, anger, jealousy, revenge, or longing.
Sometimes they are motivated by practicality.
Sometimes by preference.
Sometimes by curiosity.
Sometimes by nothing more dramatic than, βThis seems true, so I said it.β
There is a peculiar freedom in realising that not everything is charged with hidden meaning.
Not every closed door is a punishment.
Not every silence is a strategy.
Not every boundary is a wound.
And not every truth arrives carrying a sword.
Sometimes it arrives wearing gardening gloves, points to a patch of weeds, and says:
βThat needs attention.β
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
