I over-explain

I over-explain because I think I’m the problem and if I tried harder to make sense, things would work out better.

I do it from long-term knowledge based on the experience of other people, that you may find me weird or incomprehensible, and that it is not enough for me to say ‘I need’ or ‘I feel.’ I expect to have to justify what I’m doing or asking for, and to be able to demonstrate what makes it normal, reasonable or proportionate. 

I desperately want to be understood. I want to make sense. I crave understanding. Sometimes I end up writing very long emails, because I need an ‘ok, that makes sense now. I get it.’ I don’t expect to make sense up front, but I’d really like to try and be more coherent and comprensible.

I over-explain because I hope that you care enough to want to listen. I crave acceptance. I aim to be tolerable and I always feel that if I made more sense I would be easier to tolerate. Also most of the time I have a pretty good idea about why the weird things about me are the way they are. 

I invest a lot of effort in trying to understand other people because I really do want to make the best sense I can of whatever’s going on for other people. I’ll happily take your word for it, if there are things you can’t do, or can’t bear or you need me to be patient with. But give me the chance to understand and I’ll try my best. I like it when people explain. I forget sometimes that not everyone even likes explanations.

I have (mostly) learned my lesson, that explanations are not always good, and that long emails seem threatening or invasive to some people. I have learned that asking to be heard and understood can be asking too much. I don’t try to explain as much as I used to. I try to gather evidence that you might be open to that, but it isn’t always easy to tell.

Sometimes I explain and what I get reflected back is a sense of what a broken, ruined thing I am, how hard to deal with. So damaged. I hate the way that explaining sometimes means that all a person then sees is where I am broken, or vulnerable, or limited. I don’t want the explanations to be the sum and total of how I am. But if you decide I’m a pathetic wreck you might not listen when I talk about what I can do, what I am doing.

Sometimes I don’t even try to explain to the person in question, because I am sure I will never make sense, or it just doesn’t matter to them. Too many times along the way I’ve explained my need for a place to belong and offered whatever good I could bring in exchange for a place at the table and that doesn’t reliably play out well. I try to bring my own table, make my own spaces. Sometimes I just blog about it, when I’m especially haunted by memories of trying to explain and not having that go well.

If nothing else, it gives me a chance to check that I do at least make some kind of sense to myself.