Said Too Straight

How It Started 

She liked the way I listened. Said she could talk to me about anything. That I was the kind of guy who “held space" for others. Whatever that meant. We met over a quiet dinner, and I remember her saying how refreshing it was to be with someone who didn’t need to fill every silence with words. That stuck with me. So I thought I was doing well.

Conversations flowed easily in the beginning. She shared, I listened. She vented, I nodded. I offered reflections when I could. She’d smile and say I had a calm presence, like talking to someone who didn’t need to fix everything to understand it.

But that changed the moment I started talking about my side of things.

The Shift

It started small. I’d bring something up. A memory, maybe. A thought about how I process things. Or something I need in a relationship. Her face would shift, tense slightly. She’d change the subject, or worse, throw in a sideways comment 

 “Why do you have to be so intense about everything?”

The first few times, I let it slide. Maybe I was being intense. I do have a way of turning thoughts into speeches when I’m trying to be clear. Then it happened again. She asked me a question, I answered, and mid-sentence, she started whistling.

I paused. She didn’t.

Later, I was talking about something mundane. Just the kind of stress that builds up in life. Vented a bit. Nothing dramatic.

And she hit me with it: “You’re not very hearty, are you?”

Hearty. Like I was some flavorless soup.

I laughed it off. Made a joke. But it stayed with me. Because it wasn’t about what I said. It was about how I said it. I wasn’t unkind. Or dramatic. Just direct. Clear. Apparently, that was too much.

The Fallout

Over time, I noticed the pattern. Every time I spoke from a place of reflection or personal experience, without really softening the edges, it got repackaged as something else. Sharp. Over-explained. Heavy.

When I tried to clarify, it made it worse. Like trying to carry water with a fork and offer it to someone’s cup. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t loud. Or rude. Or demanding. She didn’t want clarity. She wanted comfort. And in her mind, those two things couldn’t coexist. So I shut down. Not all at once. Just gradually. Word by word.

Eventually, she told me I seemed distant. Disconnected. I wanted to say, “No. I’m just tired of being misunderstood.”

But I didn’t. I just smiled. And let her talk.

Note to Self 

If someone says they want honesty but flinches when it shows up, that’s not a sign to stay silent, but it is a cue to pay attention to how you’re speaking. Clarity isn’t cruelty. But clarity without curiosity? That’s just a monologue dressed as truth. When your words need to be sugar-coated to be heard, you’re not being met, you’re probably being managed. But if you’ve stopped noticing how your words land, you might be managing the moment in return.  Directness doesn’t need to be diluted. It needs space. Enough room for the other person to stay in the conversation, not feel run over by it. The right relationship, however, won’t punish you for being real. But it might ask you to be less righteous. And more relational.