how not being heard turns into something your mind tries to fix over and over
why i couldn’t let it go and why you probably can’t either
I was going to submit my university application. When I informed my mother, she asked me to wait. I wanted to get it over with and not put it off any longer, so I asked why. I got the usual reply.
“It’s not a good time. Wait 3 to 4 hours and it’ll be.”
I knew exactly what would happen if I questioned this. But I couldn’t help myself. I started making my case. I asked how she could possibly know the future from a book written by an astrologer 500 years ago. I wanted to know one rational reason for delaying.
I never got one except deflections and quoting of her beliefs. But the more I fought back, the more she got combative, and the more I was shut off and dismissed. There was zero room for discussion. By then, I had sensed that the conversation had shifted far away from reason. My logic was a mismatch for her conviction, even as the urge to correct her kept rising.
I was fuming. It took me a while to see that this is unwinnable. That humiliation added to the rage. Despite that, I somehow managed to calmly remove myself from the room, so I could go ahead and do what I wanted anyway.
I submitted the application. I got what I wanted while preventing escalation. I felt grown, like someone who finally learned from the past and acted differently. On the inside, though, the knot in my chest was still there. I couldn’t just shake it off. For the next several hours, I was replaying what had happened only to realize nothing had changed—though I had gotten what I wanted.
“If nothing changed, did I learn anything at all? If I did, then why does it still feel like I lost something?”
what didn’t change
Whenever I sense a fight getting worse, I pause. I used to react instantly—especially when something felt like a hit to my ego—and the pause keeps me from losing it. Doing my own thing anyway after leaving such a situation felt like I had solved something.
On the surface, it felt like I had changed for the better, though there are several other things I do that stayed the same. I leave, but I carry the conversation with me. I keep replaying it, trying to fix it, trying to prove something. The worst part is when I can’t control swinging between “I don’t care” on the outside and “I can’t help but care too much” on the inside.
Physically separating myself from draining conversations is not enough. Leaving doesn’t feel like closure. The belief that “This is not over until they understand me” is hard to challenge, because some part of me equates being understood with resolution—and lack of acknowledgment feels like a debt I’m owed.
I always thought I was easygoing and welcoming toward views not my own. But I didn’t expect to find this need in me to not just be heard, but proven right. So it’s embarrassing to admit that I used to roll my eyes at guys who went to great lengths just to prove they were right.
Getting yelled at as a kid never felt small. I couldn’t control what it did to me. I stayed on edge for hours after, expecting it to happen again. I didn’t expect being misunderstood in my adult life to feel the same, sometimes worse.
Psychologists call this classical conditioning. It’s when a reaction gets attached to a situation through repetition. You may have seen Jim train Dwight to put out his hand asking for an Altoid right after Jim restarted his computer in The Office.
Looking back, being misunderstood almost always came right before the yelling. That was enough for my brain to link the two. So even when I leave the conversation now, the overthinking comes with me. I never learned what resolution felt like. So even when it’s over, it doesn’t feel over.
Somewhere along the way, I let my reactions creep into my identity. As a result, it’s now incredibly hard to get rid of them. I think I still see myself as someone who needs to be understood—someone who can explain things clearly enough to be heard. So when that doesn’t happen, it feels unresolved.
what changed instead
I wish someone had taught me, or perhaps showed me, that not every interaction gets closure. I wish I had understood earlier that being understood isn’t guaranteed. Maybe that would have helped me let go of the obsession to end conversations in a way that let me feel right.
I’ve started to see that some conversations will never resolve the way I want them to. And if you’re anything like me, your mind will keep trying to open them—especially when you try to fight it. But following it is still a choice.
What surprised me was realizing how much of this was learned. And if it was learned, it meant I could change it—starting with not following the reaction every time it showed up.
I used to think freedom meant being able to do my own thing regardless of what was happening around me. But if I’m still mentally chained to what already happened—or dreading what’s going to—how free am I?
Maybe freedom starts with being able to feel done, even when nothing outside has resolved.
I thought I was free because I stopped arguing. I was actually still waiting to be understood.
It still doesn’t come naturally to me. I still feel the compulsion to go back and overexplain. But knowing that my reactions were learned changes how I see them. Sometimes it’s enough that I understand what happened, even if no one else does—or especially then.
If you’ve ever had to explain parts of yourself that people weren’t willing to understand, I see you.
What’s something you’ve tried to explain before but gave up because you knew it wouldn’t land?
I read every comment.
—Karthik