01/12/2026
You were taught that if you just explained yourself better, things would resolve.
If you clarified your intent.
If you gave more context.
If you softened your delivery.
If you showed how reasonable, calm, and well-meaning you were.
So you explained.
You explained your boundaries.
You explained your reactions.
You explained your history.
You explained your tone.
You explained your pain.
Again. And again. And again.
But here’s the truth most people never say out loud:
Explanation only works when the other person is acting in good faith.
In unhealthy dynamics, explanation isn’t communication —
it’s leverage.
Every explanation gives them more material to reinterpret you.
More angles to poke holes in.
More words to twist.
More opportunities to shift the focus away from what actually matters.
Notice the pattern.
You explain why something hurt you.
They respond by critiquing how you expressed it.
You explain your boundary.
They debate whether it’s reasonable.
You explain your feelings.
They interrogate their legitimacy.
Suddenly, you’re no longer talking about the original harm.
You’re defending your right to have been affected at all.
And that’s the trap.
Because as long as you’re explaining,
you’re still operating under the assumption that their understanding is required for your reality to be valid.
It isn’t.
In controlling or emotionally unsafe systems, explanation is rewarded with temporary relief —
just enough to keep you engaged —
but never with real change.
Why?
Because the goal was never understanding.
The goal was containment.
As long as you’re explaining:
• you’re still trying
• you’re still hopeful
• you’re still invested
• you’re still reachable
And reachable people are manageable.
This is why the most self-aware person often stays stuck the longest.
You’re reflective.
You take responsibility.
You want resolution.
So you keep adjusting yourself, believing the breakthrough is one better sentence away.
But one day, something clicks.
You realise you’ve explained yourself perfectly —
many times —
to people who still “don’t get it.”
Not because you’re unclear.
But because clarity would require them to change.
And change would cost them comfort, power, or identity.
So they keep you talking.
Explaining feels active.
It feels mature.
It feels like progress.
But in these dynamics, it’s just movement without exit.
Freedom doesn’t come from being understood by people who benefit from misunderstanding you.
It comes from recognising when explanation has become self-abandonment.
You stop explaining not because you’ve given up —
but because you’ve finally understood the game.