Lessons I’m Learning the Hard Way: Why did I say that?
- Ashley Brown
- May 27
- 4 min read
Why did I say that?
Like, really! What possesses me to say out loud the critique my brain gives while someone is just trying to connect with me? Why am I so critical?
I don’t know if everyone struggles with this, but I do.
In group settings, even one-on-one with my husband or children, I sometimes get so anxious that my thoughts trip over themselves. My tongue gets heavy, and instead of saying something thoughtful, I rush in with something quick, awkward, and often unnecessary. My husband is fun and quick-witted; sometimes, I wonder if I am trying to imitate him, unsuccessfully.
I’m reluctant to admit this, but I have this deep-seated insecurity that I’m not interesting, enough.
I don’t always trust that my presence alone is enjoyable. I don’t believe I’m perceptive or engaging in the way that I wish that I was. So instead of listening, I scramble to prove I have something worth saying. I react instead of connect.
I say things that I think will ‘toot my own horn’. Instead of coming off as insightful, I sound like someone who only cares about what she can add to the conversation.
‘What a dumb question. Let me explain what I know.’
I don’t want to sound like that. But if I’m frank with myself, often, I do.
A moment I can’t shake!
I was listening to someone close to me talk about trying out wigs, mixing things up for herself in a fun but vulnerable new way. I love talking about hair; I cut, highlight, and color my own hair, and I’ve done it for years. People know that about me.
This should have been an easy, exciting, and engaging topic for me to connect with her over. The conversation started great, she was sharing her excitement about trying new hair colors and styles. Oh, how I love when people try new things with their hair. It's a subject that I genuinely enjoy hearing and talking about.
Then she mentioned being unsure about how natural the part on one of the wigs looked. Instead of entertaining the subject and hearing her out, I interrupted her.
“You should just create a new part, that’s usually what people do. I’ve actually watched videos on it. I follow this girl with alopecia, and that’s what she says to do.”
And just like that, the conversation quieted.
She didn’t even finish her sentence, and she wasn’t asking for instruction.
She was opening up, and I was unintentionally shutting it down.
Not because I didn’t care, but because, in that moment, I needed to prove that I knew something on the subject.
And, no, I don’t just look up how to style and wear wigs. I cut her off while she was talking to tell her that I knew a little something about the subject. I mean, really, Ashley?
Why do I do this?
Is this an insecurity? A need for relevance? A need for attention? Or is it arrogance?
None of those possibilities are easy to sit with.
Of course, I don’t want these attributes about myself to be true, but not wanting them to be true doesn’t mean that they aren’t.
Am I attention-seeking or just so arrogant that I think my opinion and expertise need to be heard?
When insecurity turns outward.
Another thing I do, and maybe you do it too, is deflect my insecurity onto others.
I see traits in someone else that trigger something in me, and instead of sitting with it, I will push it back at them, critique style.
“Dramatic much?”
I said that to my mother. She was worried she had said something wrong to my daughter. She was looking for reassurance. This is without much context, but nothing justifies my attitude.
Sarcastically, I responded to her. Instead of approaching the conversation with reassurance and meeting her with grace, I met her with a sharp jab.
I grieved that conversation for days.
No matter how justified I thought I was in the moment, I knew I could have responded with more respect. More patience. More love.
Again, why do I do this?
Why do I feel it is ok to disrespect my mother? Why does a quick jab ever feel appropriate?
What I’m learning.
I’ve been on a journey of self-reflection and discovery for a few years now.
I am learning to slow down and listen more than to speak. To pause before reacting.
I am learning to open up and talk about things, write about them, all while asking God for help and clarity on these subjects, too. I want to finesse the way I treat others in conversation, but I must start with how I think. That is where true growth occurs.
Words carry weight.
Words shape how others feel; often, words can linger longer than we ever expected.
I want to grow as a person who reflects Jesus; growth must start with how I think before words ever reach my mouth. I don’t want to just sound different; I want to be different at the root. I want my heart and mind to be good soil.
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