The last week has been something. I’m stressed over the geopolitical landscape as of late, and possibly a bit more prickly internally than usual. I keep finding our brain circling back to two things: how the system swings in extremes, and the mulling over language. Primarily language.

The “extremes” being generally in patterns of thinking, dare I say dichotomous even; primarily with external relationships. Rigidity I can admit to, and at one point or another yes, more black and white than grey. Though there’s a clear indication that pattern of thought was not as prominent for a number of years. Or perhaps we did not have the self awareness then to see it? We often did our own thought experiments with hypothetical situations in our early teens, testing our ability to see from various angles, and not to be content with limited perspectives. Though it often felt like a rubber band being over stretched.

Our therapist noted how we correct ourself when we say always or never about a topic. I didn’t realize how often we default to this type of cognitive distortion. Cultivating compassion for ourself is still new territory. I know there’s a desire for us to be more mentally flexible.

My brain never stops. It rolls from one thing onto the next thing without much of a pause. Add in the background chatter of parts eyeballing towards the front without ever coming to the front, and it’s a miracle I can manage a sentence. I do love and cherish how quick we can go from talking plainly, to technical, to poetic, to whatever else within a day. I’ve found the reason I adore period pieces so much is because the dialog isn’t simplistic by default. Run-on sentences, brief tirades of clever remarks, and the raw expression is enthralling to me. It matches how some of us speak. It doesn’t feel posh, or arrogant, or old-timey. It feels normal for us to hear and read.

The language aspect is more with speaking than writing. Writing of any form is a preferred for us. There’s no need to strip down everything. We have time to work through our thoughts without pressure. There’s no extreme pressure to simplify and boil down our words. Writing gives us a moment to flex our vocabulary again. We’re well aware we can be quite wordy, and go on length at times. A ramblin’ man more than anything.

At some point in my late teens to early twenties we developed a stutter. While we know our stutter is more anxiety related than anything, it happens more when we’re speaking on a subject that has strong emotion behind it. There again, it also happens if we’re trying to keep up with how quick our brain works as well. At one point we would be fussed at for not getting to the point quick enough, and at other times we would be told that we’re rude for being direct. If we used a more expansive vocabulary we could see understanding going out the window unless we “dumbed” our speech down, which meant being inauthentic to us.

In time the back and forth of it all led us to inevitably hide the “articulate” one for some years. A protector or three picked up the belief of being ignorant because we couldn’t speak without stuttering at times, or struggling to simply find the words. Even if the words were found we still felt, to quote Axel, “dumb as rocks,” with speech. Some would accuse of us being pompous, or “talking down” when there was no such intent if we spoke more naturally.

Too often we felt misunderstood because we had to strip down our own language.

We recognize there is a time and place for “flowery” language, like all things. Writing being one area, dramatized television another. I recently explained to our partner how if we say what we intend up front with our family, most of the time they’ll be hurt. Our flat affect (read: monotone) may be part of it, as the phrase, “it’s not what you said, its how you said it,” was hurled against us. A lot. It wasn’t uncommon for me to ask, “what did I say now?” Hell even my therapist pointed out that I brace for others to twist and conflate what I said into what they think I meant. Healthy direct communication wasn’t modeled in my family.

Direct communication is a gift. And by the Gods am I glad my small circle of companions speak directly, encourage questioning when needed, and gives us all the space to work through the mess that is our thoughts. I won’t always be direct. Some days the best I can manage is a stumbling through brain fog and finding the mere act of putting a sentence together a herculean task. It’s still a messy area for us to sort out, but we’re beginning to.