Misunderstandings

I hate misunderstandings. Most people do, I expect. It seems so unnecessary and avoidable that flaws in human communication – based on perception, reality and actuality – can cause so much turbulence in one's mind and put a lead balloon in your being. Of course, this only happens if you give a damn (I usually do).

Misunderstandings have always troubled me. I recall, as a young girl, how I'd come home upset and rack my brains as to whywhywhy I felt so out of sorts. I'd analyse. I'd wonder. I'd have butterflies in my belly. And then, I'd recall something that had been said during the day that had troubled me, sometimes at a subtle level that left the matter a bit too deep to immediately grasp. Once pinpointed, I could either decide to dismiss it, deal with it or, as has often been my downfall, I'd make a note of it and squirrel it away where it would be left to curdle and produce new life forms that did me no favours.

As I got older, I realised that this was not good. I learned that what bugged me would not necessarily be of import to others, and if it was, then addressing the matter was no bad thing. To leave things misunderstood robs me of sleep and fills me with heaviness. Years ago, a friend said she was not used to anyone being upfront with her, and seemed perturbed, though she did add that me wanting to air things had made her realise how much she kept back. But you can't win them all.

I don't confront everything, everyone. But if I care about the issue, the person – then I have to say, to ask, to clarify. And it's not really confrontation, not if you care. It's consideration.