The Stories We Tell in the Silence

Almost everything I struggle with interpersonally could be made better or worse by communication alone.

Because communication, when it comes to relationships, really is the foundation of everything.

And I do not just mean the words we speak, although that is a huge part of it.

I mean our nonverbal communication as well.

Our facial expressions.

Our body language.

Even the energy we give off, whether consciously or unconsciously.

It all communicates for us.

And the frustrating thing is that so much of it is hard to control.

I remember the first time someone told me I roll my eyes a lot.

Flabbergasted.

I had no idea.

None.

I genuinely have no recollection of rolling my eyes.

Yet apparently these eyeballs have been freelancing for years.

I still have no idea how often I do it.

But I guarantee it is more than I am aware of.

And I know it communicates a level of annoyance or "IDGAF" that I don't necessarily mean to give off.

Or maybe my eyes are telling the truth...

They're just telling a truth I wasn't planning on sharing with everyone else.

Honestly, I don't know what to do about these eyes of mine, rolling around without my permission.

If you know the remedy, please let me know.

The problem is that communication doesn't require my permission.

If I don't intentionally communicate, people will still receive a message.

My eye rolling communicates.

Silence communicates.

My face communicates.

My body communicates.

My timing communicates.

Even my lack of response communicates.

Everything communicates.

The only question is whether the message people receive is the one I meant to send.

Then there are my words.

Writing is my favorite way to communicate.

Talking on the phone? Negative.

FaceTime? Girl, bye.

In person? Okay...but only if necessary.

Writing is my number one choice.

And even then...

Communication is hard.

Recently at work, we changed one of our leave policies.

We used to pay out unused sick leave at the beginning of each calendar year. As of this year, we no longer do that.

I communicated the policy change through email.

I included it in my weekly email for several weeks afterward.

Then I checked "communicate policy change" off my to-do list and moved on.

Fast forward to July.

I discover that most of my staff now believes we no longer pay out PTO when someone resigns with proper notice.

To me, those are two completely different policies.

I only changed one.

They read it as both.

Intent does not automatically become understanding.

Now, we've talked before about my knee-jerk reaction to conflict.

I want to prove I'm right.

I'm working on it.

I'm not there yet.

So naturally, I marched over to this exact computer—the one where I regularly write essays about not needing to be right—and searched my sent emails to prove that I had, in fact, communicated correctly.

Because if I found the email...

I would be right.

I found it.

And I was right.

I never said both policies were changing.

I only changed one.

I never mentioned PTO payouts after resignation.

I never mentioned resignations at all.

I never communicated that the resignation policy had changed.

But I also never communicated that it hadn't.

So people filled in the blank.

And honestly?

That's what people do.

If communication leaves a blank...

Someone will fill it.

At the end of the day, I had a group of confused employees.

And if I leave a group confused...

Well...

It is my responsibility to clarify.

So I did.

Because I am PAID to do that.

And when someone pays me to do something, I tend to do it a little better than when they don't.

Funny how easily I can look at thirty-five employees and think,

"It is my job to clarify."

But when the confusion exists between me and one other person...

I suddenly become convinced it's their responsibility.

They should clarify.

They should ask.

They should explain.

They should communicate better.

Funny how much responsibility I can take for thirty-five employees...

...and how quickly I surrender it with one person I care about.

Watching my friend plan her wedding made me realize something.

She has a large bridal party.

Because she's a wonderful person with lots of wonderful friends.

Which also means there are lots of personalities.

Lots of schedules.

Lots of expectations.

Lots of opportunities for communication to go sideways.

And it has.

There have been hurt feelings.

Confusion.

Misunderstandings.

The bride doesn't want to overwhelm everyone.

The bridesmaids don't want to bother the bride.

Neither person has enough information.

Neither person asks for it.

So each writes the missing chapters themselves.

And somehow...

Those chapters almost never give the other person the benefit of the doubt.

I think most conflict isn't born from what was said.

It's born from everything that wasn't.

The spaces.

The pauses.

The silence.

The assumptions.

The stories we confidently write using almost no information at all.

Because humans hate empty space.

If communication leaves a blank...

Someone will fill it.

I wish I could tell you I avoid difficult conversations because I don't know what to say.

That would sound better.

Kinder.

Less revealing.

But that's usually not true.

I know exactly what I want to ask.

I'm just afraid of what they'll say back.

I dealt with this very thing recently.

There was a question I needed to ask.

A conversation I knew I needed to have.

But I didn't want the answer.

So I avoided the conversation.

As if avoiding the conversation somehow meant avoiding the answer.

Eventually, I asked.

And the answer wasn't what I wanted.

What did I feel?

Relief.

Well...

Not exactly.

It was anger.

Sadness.

Hurt.

Frustration.

...and relief.

Because not knowing is exhausting.

Assuming is tiring.

Writing stories during someone else's silence takes an incredible amount of energy.

At least communication...

Even when it's messy.

Even when it's awkward.

Even when it's imperfect.

Even when it hurts...

...closes the loop.

It gives me something solid to stand on.

A place to begin.

Maybe communication isn't really about saying the perfect thing.

Maybe it's about giving people less room to write a story that was never true.

Because they will write one.

We all do.

We fill in pauses.

We explain silence.

We assign meaning to delayed texts.

We translate eye rolls.

We finish sentences no one actually said.

Communication doesn't eliminate misunderstanding.

But it gives assumptions fewer places to hide.

I've learned I'd rather stand on painful truth...

...than comfortable assumptions.