7 things I'm done explaining
A short, sharp list for anyone running out of the energy to defend the obvious.
There’s a moment in your 30s — and earlier for some of us — when you realize you’ve spent a frankly insane amount of time explaining yourself to people who were never going to get it. Here’s a non-exhaustive list of things I’m done explaining.
1. Why I’m not drinking tonight
The follow-up questions are not a conversation. They’re a small interrogation with a smile painted on the front. I don’t want to. That’s the whole sentence. The next one is yours.
2. Why I left that job
It wasn’t one thing. It was thirty-seven things, all small, none worth typing out for someone who’s about to argue with me about whether they were “really that bad.” They were. That’s why I left.
3. Why I don’t want kids / why I do want kids
Whichever side you’ve picked, you’ve fielded this enough. There is no answer that lands. Skip the chapter. Live the life.
4. Why I’m tired
You don’t owe anyone the audit. Tired is a complete sentence and a valid medical complaint. The need to itemize the reasons is a holdover from when we thought exhaustion had to be earned. It doesn’t.
5. Why I unfollowed her
Because I felt better afterward. Hope this helps.
6. Why I went home early
The party was loud. The shoes were a mistake. The conversation was about a podcast I will never listen to. I had a great time. I left when I was done. None of this is a confession.
7. Why I want what I want
This is the big one. Somewhere we got the idea that desires need to be defended in court before they’re allowed to be acted on. They don’t. You can want a quieter life. You can want a louder one. You can want to move. You can want to stay. You can want the soup.
You’re not on trial. You don’t need a closing argument. The want is the reason.
The hardest part of being done explaining isn’t the doing — it’s the silence after. The pause where you’d usually fill in the gap with a justification, and you don’t, and the air gets thick for a second.
Sit through that. The thickness goes away. What’s left underneath is the most surprising thing in the world: peace.
Nothing makes sense. But at least there’s glitter. And a list. And the door, right there.