I spent decades believing I was a good communicator-until my wife pointed out I never talked through feelings, only around them.
My childhood home was typical: emotions were never discussed. My father worked, watched TV; my mother kept order. No one named their sadness, fear, or longing. That silence shaped me-and countless others like me.
We change the subject when emotions arise. A son shares anxiety about college-I respond with ladder safety tips. Emotions feel unsafe, so we pivot to work, weather, or cars.
We default to anger. It’s not that we’re angry; it’s that anger is the only emotion we’re allowed to show. Fear, grief, disappointment-all get masked as rage.
We lack emotional vocabulary. For years, I could only say “fine,” “tired,” or “hungry.” When asked how I felt about retirement, I wrote “weird” and couldn’t do better.
We act instead of speak. My father never said he loved us-but shoveled driveways at 4 AM. I showed pride by attending every game, never saying the words.
We minimize feelings. “It’s not that bad.” “You’ll get over it.” These phrases shut down pain quickly-because that’s what we learned.
We avoid emotional intimacy. After 40 years of marriage, my wife often faced a wall. She wanted connection; I offered roof repair plans. Love was present-but mute.
We fail to comfort. When my daughter cried over heartbreak, I offered to teach her oil changes. We fix, distract, or solve-anything but sit with the pain.
We deflect with humor. Jokes become shields. Grief? Tell a story. Gratitude? Crack a joke. The moment deepens-we lighten it.
These aren’t flaws. They’re survival tools from homes where emotions were treated like threats.
But they can be unlearned. At 64, I’m still learning-to pause, to listen, to say what I feel, even when I want to flee.
Change begins with awareness. Then comes practice: choosing honesty over habit, one uncomfortable conversation at a time.