The Misunderstanding that Hurts the Most

 

On Living Well, and Still Being Dismissed

I live a good life now.  Every year, it is a better life not for any material evidence, but for the quality and health within.  I know this and still I can't ignore what is still important and necessary.

I seek growth. I invite discomfort—not because I enjoy it, but because I know it’s the cost of genuine change. I welcome change, even when it brings grief, even when it asks me to let go of things I thought I couldn’t live without.

                                                    Image by beasternchen from Pixabay

There is very little in the material world that unsettles me. Sure, the garage could be tidied. Yes, I’m still looking for the right permanent role—something around .6 that honours my capacity and calls on my skills and experience. And of course, I’d love a dedicated space for music or creativity, a room for crafting and making. Oh! and a conversation pit would be brilliant!!

But none of those things define the goodness of my life.

I don’t need more objects.
I need more honour in my relationships.
More mutuality.
More respect.

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When Misunderstanding Cuts Deeper Than Disagreement

The hardest moments now aren’t about survival.
They’re about dissonance.

Those moments where I speak clearly, thoughtfully—even gently—and still, I’m told I’ve made something “too intense,” “too complicated,” or “all about relationships.” And what hurts most isn’t the disagreement—it’s the implication that my clarity is somehow wrong, my care is excessive, my insight is burdensome.

I check in with myself. I replay what I said. I ask a trusted other or even AI: Was I being harsh? Unfair?

And the answer is no. I wasn’t mean. I wasn’t bad. I was just, once again, unliked. And that alone became enough justification for the other person’s anger. Or sarcasm. Or shutting down.

Some people default to cruelty when they feel discomfort. Others deflect with humour or derision. And still others weaponise the idea of simplicity, as if I’ve failed them simply by offering a deeper engagement than they were ready for.

But I’m not trying to make things complicated.

I’m trying to make things real.

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I Don’t Want to Be Feared for My Depth

What people don’t always see is that I’ve worked for this groundedness.
I’ve trained my nervous system to hold discomfort, not collapse into it.
I’ve learned how to honour my needs without erasing others.
I know how to be with complexity—and not panic.

And yet… I’m still met with responses that imply that I am the problem. Not my words. Not the dynamic. But me.

So I ask again, not in self-pity, but in honesty:

How can I not sometimes doubt myself,
when the consequence of speaking plainly, or loving deeply, or reflecting earnestly—
is being shut down, pushed away, or ridiculed?

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A Life That’s Good, But Still Hurtful

This is what no one tells you about healing:
It doesn’t immunise you against pain.

I live a better life now. I’m proud of the work I’ve done.
I’m not chasing material things.
I’m not asking the world to soften for me.

I’m just longing for the spaces I enter—and the people I love—to meet me without recoil.
To stay in the room.
To be curious, not threatened.

Because I’m not trying to win.
I’m trying to connect.

And if that’s too much for some,
I’ll still keep showing up.
Because I know what kind of life I’m building.
And I know it’s worth it.

Even if it is only for the contribution to this moment.