I Stopped Explaining and Started Becoming

“She was powerful not because she wasn’t scared, but because she went on so strongly, despite the fear.” -Atticus

There comes a point where explaining yourself becomes more exhausting than evolving. For so long, I wanted people to understand me—to see my intentions, my heart, my growth. I wanted to be chosen correctly, loved clearly, and understood without distortion. But somewhere along the way, I realized peace was never going to come from convincing people. It came from becoming. Quietly. Consistently. Without permission.

I won’t pretend I fully understand myself to every depth I wish I did. But I do know myself better than anyone else ever could. I used to question how well I truly knew myself, until I realized no one will ever know me better than me.

One of the first things I notice as I write this is how often I overexplain myself as a mode of survival. It makes me feel like I have to validate my own experiences and emotions just to make everyone else feel comfortable. But when is it my turn to feel safe? When am I worthy of being accepted for simply being myself, instead of constantly explaining why I deserve to be valued?

Why am I so afraid of being abandoned, when in reality, I have been abandoning my own soul by neglecting my deepest and most personal needs?

I think overexplaining became my way of trying to control the outcome. If I could just say it the right way, explain myself clearly enough, or make my intentions impossible to misunderstand, maybe I could avoid rejection. Maybe I could prevent people from leaving. Maybe I could make love feel safer. But the truth is, love that requires constant explanation rarely feels like peace.

A big part of me has always wanted the people around me to feel comfortable. I don’t think that will ever change, because I genuinely want to be a safe place for the people I love. But through healing, I’m learning that my own setbacks, struggles, and growth are not meant to be put on display for everyone to understand.

I’m not looking for attention because I’ve experienced trauma. In fact, most of the time, I keep that pain to myself because I’m afraid of how other people will receive it. I think talking about Jayden and losing him makes people uncomfortable sometimes. So, I stay quiet. I keep it in. I protect other people from the weight of it, even when it means carrying it alone.

Somewhere along the way, I realized there is a difference between protecting my peace and disappearing inside myself. Silence can be powerful, but silence can also become self-erasure when I use it to keep everyone else comfortable. Healing has taught me that I don’t have to explain everything—but I also don’t have to abandon myself in the process.

I’m learning that not everything requires an explanation. Not every boundary needs a defense. Not every choice needs approval. There is a quiet kind of confidence that comes from trusting yourself enough to stop performing your pain for people who were never going to understand it anyway. Becoming, for me, has looked a lot less like proving myself and a lot more like protecting my peace.

The hardest part of all of this has been the fear of hurting the people around me — or living with regrets in the way I chose to rebuild my life. The people who truly know me understand that I had to rebuild everything from the ground up. After losing Jayden, losing my sense of family with his daughter, and losing my job, I felt like I had absolutely nothing left.

It was 14 hours. Fourteen hours from the moment I held the person I loved most in my arms as he took his last breath, to losing the only job I had as a nurse that made me feel purposeful. In 14 hours, I felt like I had lost every piece of identity, purpose, and value I thought I had.

There are still moments where silence feels unfamiliar, where not explaining myself feels almost rude, where choosing distance feels like guilt. But I’m learning that discomfort does not always mean I’m doing the wrong thing. Sometimes it means I’m finally doing the right thing. I am not saying that this has been easy to navigate.

My life is no longer an explanation. It is an answer.  

That is exactly it. My life is not meant to be explained to everyone. The only person who truly deserves an explanation from me is… me. When life strips you down to the point where you feel like there is nothing left inside your soul, something in you changes. You stop worrying so much about being understood by everyone, because survival becomes louder than perception.

I didn’t have the luxury of staying the same. I had to rebuild. And rebuilding required me to let go of the version of myself that kept shrinking to make other people comfortable.

I still care deeply about the people around me—even the people who have hurt me along the way. But I’ve learned that not everyone will understand who I’m becoming, and I’m learning that they don’t have to. Peace was never going to come from proving myself to people committed to misunderstanding me. It comes from trusting myself enough to keep growing anyway.

But, as for now, as the great song of Tate McRae says… “Just keep watching.”