Speaker 1: Why do the most respected people you know almost never
Speaker 1: explain their decisions? Notice it once and you'll start seeing
Speaker 1: it everywhere. The people who get pushed back on, argued
Speaker 1: with guilt tripped into changing their mind, they're almost always
Speaker 1: the ones who explain the most. And the people who's
Speaker 1: no just sticks, no argument, no follow up questions, they
Speaker 1: usually said the least. That's backwards from what most of
Speaker 1: us were taught. We assume more explanation equals more respect,
Speaker 1: more understanding, more goodwill. But somewhere along the way it
Speaker 1: starts working against you instead. So what's actually going on?
Speaker 1: And how do you fix it without becoming cold or rude?
Speaker 1: That's what this video is about. Here's what the habit
Speaker 1: usually looks like. Someone invites you to something you can't go,
Speaker 1: and instead of a simple no, you write a paragraph
Speaker 1: a reason, a second reason in case the first isn't
Speaker 1: convincing enough, a soft apologetic close, something like hope that's
Speaker 1: okay even though you've already decided. You hit send and
Speaker 1: you don't feel relieved. You feel like you're waiting for
Speaker 1: a verdict. If that's familiar, stick around, because the reason
Speaker 1: it's happening and the fix aren't what most people assume.
Speaker 1: The first thing worth understanding is that over explaining and
Speaker 1: no is rarely about the other person at all. It
Speaker 1: feels like communication, it feels like you're being clear, considerate, honest,
Speaker 1: But underneath it's usually something else. It's a request for
Speaker 1: permission dressed up as an explanation. You're not just telling
Speaker 1: someone you can't make it. You're asking them to agree
Speaker 1: that your reason is good enough. That distinction matters because
Speaker 1: it points to where the habit actually comes from. Most
Speaker 1: people who over explain didn't learn it as adults. They
Speaker 1: learned it early in a house, a classroom, a friendship,
Speaker 1: wherever it was where being easy to get along with
Speaker 1: felt like the safest thing to be. Maybe disagreement led
Speaker 1: to tension. Maybe having needs of your own got you
Speaker 1: labeled difficult. Maybe the fastest way to keep the peace
Speaker 1: was to make sure everyone understood exactly why you were
Speaker 1: doing what you were doing before they had the chance
Speaker 1: to be upset about it. At the time, that was smart,
Speaker 1: it was adaptive. A kid who can talk their way
Speaker 1: into being understood is a kid who avoids conflict. They
Speaker 1: can't afford to have. The problem is that the habit
Speaker 1: doesn't come with an expiration date. It doesn't check whether
Speaker 1: the situation in front of you now actually carries the
Speaker 1: same risk as the one that built it years ago.
Speaker 1: Your brain isn't running a fresh calculation every time you
Speaker 1: decline a coffee invite. It's running an old script, one
Speaker 1: written for a much higher stakes room than the one
Speaker 1: you're actually standing in. So you find yourself as a
Speaker 1: grown adult with every right to simply not be free
Speaker 1: on Friday explaining yourself to a coworker you barely know
Speaker 1: with the same intensity you'd use to explain yourself to
Speaker 1: someone whose opinion could actually change your life. That mismatch
Speaker 1: is the whole problem. The stakes are old, the reflex
Speaker 1: is current. There's a second reason the pattern sticks around
Speaker 1: long after it's needed. It worked for years. Explaining yourself
Speaker 1: thoroughly probably did keep things calmer. It probably did soften reactions,
Speaker 1: avoid arguments by you. A little goodwill a habit that
Speaker 1: gets rewarded that consistently doesn't just fade out once the
Speaker 1: original situation changes. It gets treated by your brain as
Speaker 1: a reliable strategy, something to keep using because it's proven,
Speaker 1: not because anyone checked whether it's still necessary. You're not
Speaker 1: doing it because you've thought it through. You're doing it
Speaker 1: because it's the thing that's always worked, so why would
Speaker 1: you stop? Which is exactly why it can survive well
Speaker 1: into a life where it no longer serves any real purpose.
Speaker 1: You might be financially independent, fully capable of handling disagreement,
Speaker 1: surrounded by people who'd respect a plain answer just fine,
Speaker 1: and still catch yourself building a three sentence case for
Speaker 1: why you can't attend a birthday dinner, not because the
Speaker 1: stakes are actually high, because the habit doesn't know they aren't.
Speaker 1: Two objections tend to show up right about now, so
Speaker 1: let's deal with them directly, because if you don't answer
Speaker 1: them for yourself, they'll quietly undo everything else here the
Speaker 1: first time you try to put it into practice, the first.
Speaker 1: If I don't explain, won't they think I don't care?
Speaker 1: It's a fair worry, But notice what it assumes that
Speaker 1: the only way to show you care is to produce evidence,
Speaker 1: as if care were something that has to be proven
Speaker 1: on request, rather than something the other person can simply
Speaker 1: feel in how you treat them Over time. You can
Speaker 1: care about someone deeply and still not owe them a
Speaker 1: paragraph every time you're unavailable warmth is in your tone,
Speaker 1: in how you show up the rest of the time,
Speaker 1: not in your word count on any single message. The second,
Speaker 1: but my reason actually is legitimate. Isn't it a waste
Speaker 1: not to mention it? Sometimes it is worth sharing, And
Speaker 1: we'll get to when that's true. But notice the feeling
Speaker 1: behind the urge before you act on it. If you're
Speaker 1: sharing a reason because you want to because it's genuinely
Speaker 1: useful information for the other person to have, that's one thing.
Speaker 1: If you're sharing it because you're afraid of what happens.
Speaker 1: If you don't afraid they'll think less of you, afraid
Speaker 1: the know alone won't hold up, that's a different thing entirely,
Speaker 1: even though the sentence coming out of your mouth might
Speaker 1: be identical either way. It's worth learning to tell the
Speaker 1: two apart because they lead to very different lives, One
Speaker 1: where you occasionally offer context because it helps, and one
Speaker 1: where you're perpetually building a case because some part of
Speaker 1: you doesn't yet believe your word is enough on its own.
Speaker 1: Here's the part that tends to surprise people because it
Speaker 1: runs against instinct. The more you explain an unwonted answer,
Speaker 1: the less weight that answer tends to carry. This isn't
Speaker 1: a personality quirk. It's a pattern you can observe almost
Speaker 1: anywhere you look. Watch how someone with real authority handles
Speaker 1: a request they're turning down. They don't build a case,
Speaker 1: they don't walk you through their calendar. They say the decision, maybe,
Speaker 1: add a single sentence of context if it's useful, and
Speaker 1: move on. An email that says I won't be able
Speaker 1: to take this on, happy to revisit next quarter reads
Speaker 1: its final. An email that runs eight sentences justifying the
Speaker 1: same decision reads as an opening move, something you could
Speaker 1: probably still talk them out of if you replied with
Speaker 1: the right argument. The length itself becomes information. It tells
Speaker 1: the reader how negotiable this actually is, regardless of what
Speaker 1: the words say. The unspoken message in over explaining is
Speaker 1: my choices require your approval before they're valid. Most people
Speaker 1: don't consciously send that message, but it's what a long
Speaker 1: explanation communicates, whether you intend it or not. And once
Speaker 1: you're signaling that your decisions need sign off, people start
Speaker 1: treating them that way as opening positions in a negotiation,
Speaker 1: rather than as answers. The second piece is simpler and
Speaker 1: a little more uncomfortable. Availability has a price, and if
Speaker 1: there's no price, people stop noticing it's being paid. If
Speaker 1: you're always reachable, always ready to accommodate, always the one
Speaker 1: who bends the schedule to make things work, that ease
Speaker 1: becomes the expectation. Nobody sits around admiring water for being wet.
Speaker 1: The things people value are the things that aren't guaranteed.
Speaker 1: When your time, your energy, and your yes are always
Speaker 1: on tap, they stop registering as something given. They start
Speaker 1: registering as something owed. The friend who always says yes
Speaker 1: stops getting a thank you for showing up. Showing up
Speaker 1: just becomes what they do. The friend who's more selective
Speaker 1: gets noticed every single time, precisely because it isn't guaranteed.
Speaker 1: None of this is about becoming unavailable or hard to
Speaker 1: reach as a strategy. It's about understanding that a no
Speaker 1: stated plainly without three supporting paragraphs doesn't come across as cold.
Speaker 1: It comes across as someone who trusts their own decision
Speaker 1: enough to let it stand on its own. None of
Speaker 1: that is a case for going quiet or clipped with
Speaker 1: the people you love talking to. This is where it's
Speaker 1: worth pausing on a different distinction. Entirely there's a real
Speaker 1: difference between two things that can look similar from the
Speaker 1: outside but come from opposite places. The first is sharing
Speaker 1: details because you're genuinely into something, you love the topic,
Speaker 1: you're excited. You want the other person to have the
Speaker 1: full picture because it's fun to give it to them.
Speaker 1: That's not a flawed of fix. If you're the kind
Speaker 1: of person who lights up telling a friend the whole
Speaker 1: story behind a decision, keep doing that. It's a form
Speaker 1: of generosity, not a habit to break. The second is
Speaker 1: explaining because you're afraid of what happens if you don't
Speaker 1: afraid of the silence, afraid of being thought badly, of
Speaker 1: afraid that a short answer will read as rejection. That's
Speaker 1: not sharing. That's managing someone else's reaction in advance, before
Speaker 1: they've even had one. The two can look nearly identical
Speaker 1: from the outside. Someone telling a friend all about a
Speaker 1: new hobby they've picked up and someone justifying why they
Speaker 1: skipped a family event can both sound like a person
Speaker 1: offering a lot of detail. The difference isn't in the
Speaker 1: amount of information, it's in the direction the energy is moving.
Speaker 1: In the first, you're handing something over because you want
Speaker 1: to the words are moving toward connection. In the second,
Speaker 1: you're building a wall out of words because you're afraid
Speaker 1: of what happens if you stop talking. The words are
Speaker 1: moving away from a conversation you're trying to avoid having.
Speaker 1: The test is simple, and it's worth actually pausing to
Speaker 1: ask yourself the next time you feel an explanation building.
Speaker 1: Am I saying this because I want to? Or because
Speaker 1: I'm scared of what happens if I don't. You'll usually
Speaker 1: know the answer within a second or two before you've
Speaker 1: even finished the sentence in your head. Trust that first instinct.
Speaker 1: It's almost always right, and it's a far more reliable
Speaker 1: guide than trying to reason your way to an answer
Speaker 1: after the fact. It's worth learning to tell these a
Speaker 1: part because getting it wrong in either direction costs you something.
Speaker 1: Mistake the first for the second, and you start clamping
Speaker 1: down on a part of yourself that was never the problem.
Speaker 1: You go quiet about things you'd actually enjoy sharing, just
Speaker 1: because sharing anything started to feel risky. Mistake the second
Speaker 1: for the first, and you keep handing people a stream
Speaker 1: of justification you never actually wanted to give, mistaking it
Speaker 1: for openness when it was really just fear. Wearing a
Speaker 1: friendlier outfit. So here's the practical. There's an old framework
Speaker 1: used in recovery and boundary setting circles, built around four
Speaker 1: behaviors to avoid the moment you've said no, Justify, argue, defend, explain.
Speaker 1: The shorthand is jade, and the logic behind it is simple.
Speaker 1: Every one of those four moves reopens a door you
Speaker 1: just closed. The second you justify a decision, you've handed
Speaker 1: the other person something to push against. You've turned a
Speaker 1: closed conversation back into an open negotiation. But the tricky
Speaker 1: part isn't remembering the framework. It's applying it in the
Speaker 1: specific relationships where the poll to over explain is strongest,
Speaker 1: because that poll doesn't feel the same everywhere. At work,
Speaker 1: the fear usually isn't about the relationship. It's about consequences.
Speaker 1: Your brain quietly runs the math on whether saying no
Speaker 1: plainly will cost you standing or a project, or how
Speaker 1: you're perceived. If your manager asks whether you can take
Speaker 1: on something outside your plate this week, the anxious version
Speaker 1: of you starts building a case your current workload, your
Speaker 1: other deadlines, a list of everything already on your desk.
Speaker 1: The steadier version says something closer to I can't take
Speaker 1: that on this week. My current projects need the time
Speaker 1: one sentence. If they need more, they'll ask, and you
Speaker 1: can answer the actual question instead of pre answering ten
Speaker 1: questions nobody asked. At home, the pull is different. It's
Speaker 1: less about consequences and more about guilt. A parent asks
Speaker 1: why you didn't call or why you're not coming for
Speaker 1: dinner again, and the instinct is to produce a defense
Speaker 1: thorough enough that they can't possibly be hurt by it.
Speaker 1: But a defense that thorough usually backfires. It treats their
Speaker 1: disappointment as a problem you're responsible for solving, which invites
Speaker 1: exactly the argument you are trying to avoid. Something plainer
Speaker 1: holds up better. I can't make it this weekend, but
Speaker 1: I'd love to see you next week. Warm true, and
Speaker 1: it doesn't open ten new threads for them to pull.
Speaker 1: With friends, the pull often comes from not wanting to
Speaker 1: seem like you're pulling away. A friend invites you to
Speaker 1: something and you're just not up for it. No drama,
Speaker 1: You're simply tired. But the anxious brain treats I'm tired
Speaker 1: as an insufficient reason, so it starts patting it with
Speaker 1: other things. Work, stress, a bad week, anything to make
Speaker 1: the know feel heavier and more justified. It doesn't need
Speaker 1: to be heavier. I'm going to sit this one out,
Speaker 1: but let's grab dinner next week is a complete sentence.
Speaker 1: A real friend doesn't need a case built for them,
Speaker 1: And with a partner, the instinct to over explain often
Speaker 1: comes from the deepest place of all, the fear that
Speaker 1: an unexplained no will be read as distance or as
Speaker 1: something being wrong between you. But constant over explaining inside
Speaker 1: a relationship can quietly do the opposite of what you intend.
Speaker 1: It can start to feel less like closeness and more
Speaker 1: like walking on eggshells, like every small decision needs a permission.
Speaker 1: Slip attached a simple I need a quiet night tonight.
Speaker 1: I'll be better company tomorrow said warmly does more for
Speaker 1: the relationship than a five minute justification ever could, because
Speaker 1: it treats the relationship as sturdy enough to hold a
Speaker 1: plain answer Across every one of these The actual mechanic
Speaker 1: is the same. You say the thing, you stop. You
Speaker 1: let the sentence be the whole message, not the opening
Speaker 1: argument in a longer one. None of this means you
Speaker 1: become someone who never gives reasons, if a reason genuinely helps,
Speaker 1: if sharing it would take two seconds and prevent a
Speaker 1: real misunderstanding, say it once, plainly and then stop. The
Speaker 1: test isn't did I explain? It's did I explain more
Speaker 1: than once to more than one objection after the decision
Speaker 1: was already made. The first sentence of context is often useful.
Speaker 1: The fourth is almost always fear talking. Here's what nobody
Speaker 1: tells you about this. The hard part usually isn't saying no,
Speaker 1: it's what happens in the ten seconds after, because not
Speaker 1: everyone receives a plane no gracefully, and it helps enormously
Speaker 1: to know what you're likely to run into, mostly because
Speaker 1: knowing it's coming makes it far easier to not take
Speaker 1: the bait when it does. The first pattern is the repeat.
Speaker 1: You say you can't make it, and they simply act
Speaker 1: as if you hadn't said anything. Come on just for
Speaker 1: a bit, or you can figure it out. This isn't
Speaker 1: necessarily malicious. A lot of people do it out of habit,
Speaker 1: because they've learned that pushing once more usually works on
Speaker 1: you or on someone else. The move here isn't to
Speaker 1: escalate your explanation. It's to repeat your answer almost word
Speaker 1: for word in the same calm tone. I hear you,
Speaker 1: but I can't tonight. If they push a second time,
Speaker 1: you say it again. No new material, no raised voice.
Speaker 1: You are not required to generate a fresh argument for
Speaker 1: the second ask just because the first one didn't land
Speaker 1: the way they wanted. The same answer said twice isn't rude.
Speaker 1: It's just true both times, and repetition without escalation is
Speaker 1: one of the most disarming things you can do, because
Speaker 1: it gives the other person nothing new to argue against.
Speaker 1: The second pattern is the emotional pivot. Instead of pushing
Speaker 1: on the logistics, they shift the conversation onto how your
Speaker 1: no makes them feel. Wow, okay, I guess I just
Speaker 1: won't ask you anything anymore. Or I feel like you
Speaker 1: never make time for me. This one is harder to
Speaker 1: sit with because it's designed to make you feel responsible
Speaker 1: for their reaction, and because it usually comes from someone
Speaker 1: who does genuinely have feelings about it, which makes it
Speaker 1: feel unfair to hold your ground. The instinct is to backpedal,
Speaker 1: to soften the no into a maybe, just to manage
Speaker 1: their feelings. For them resist that you can acknowledge the
Speaker 1: feeling without reversing the decision. I know that's frustrating, and
Speaker 1: I still can't tonight. Notice that sentence does two things
Speaker 1: at once. It doesn't dismiss them, and it doesn't cave.
Speaker 1: Both things can be true in the same breath, and
Speaker 1: most people, once they see you're not going to argue
Speaker 1: about it, drop it faster than you'd expect. The third
Speaker 1: pattern is silence used as pressure. You say no, and
Speaker 1: instead of a reply, there's a pause that goes on
Speaker 1: a beat too long, clearly meant to make you uncomfortable
Speaker 1: enough to fill it with an explanation you didn't originally offer.
Speaker 1: This is the one that catches most people off guard,
Speaker 1: because silence from someone else feels like an open question
Speaker 1: aimed directly at you. Something you're supposed to answer. It isn't.
Speaker 1: You don't owe the silence or response. Let it sit,
Speaker 1: even if it feels like it's stretching longer than it
Speaker 1: actually is. A few seconds of quiet always feels longer
Speaker 1: from the inside than it does from the outside. If
Speaker 1: you truly need to say something, a simple let me
Speaker 1: know if you want to grab time another day closes
Speaker 1: the loop warmly without reopening the case you already closed.
Speaker 1: What all three patterns have in common is that they're
Speaker 1: testing whether your first answer was real or just an
Speaker 1: opening bid. The moment you add a new explanation to
Speaker 1: satisfy any of them, you've confirmed that pushing works, and
Speaker 1: you'll get pushed again next time a little harder. The
Speaker 1: moment you hold the same plain answer through all three.
Speaker 1: Most people recalibrate, often without ever mentioning it. They simply
Speaker 1: start asking differently because they've learned something about you without
Speaker 1: you needing to announce it. There's a specific feeling that
Speaker 1: shows up right after you say no and stop talking.
Speaker 1: It's not comfortable, and it's worth naming so you're not
Speaker 1: caught off guard by it. It's the urge to fill
Speaker 1: the space you've said. You're one sentence, You've held the line,
Speaker 1: and now there's a gap in the conversation, maybe half
Speaker 1: a second, maybe a few, and every instinct you have
Speaker 1: is screaming to say something else, one more reassurance, one
Speaker 1: more detail, anything to soften the edges of what just happened.
Speaker 1: That urge is not a signal that you did something wrong.
Speaker 1: It's just the old reflex firing on schedule, the same
Speaker 1: one that spent years believing silence after a no meant
Speaker 1: danger was coming. It isn't information about the current moment.
Speaker 1: It's a left over alarm from a much earlier one
Speaker 1: going off, the way a smoke detector goes off at
Speaker 1: a little steam from the shower, reacting to something that
Speaker 1: looks similar to danger without actually being danger. If you
Speaker 1: can sit through that discomfort without reaching for an explanation
Speaker 1: to fill it, something interesting happens. The moment passes. It
Speaker 1: always passes, usually faster than it felt like it was
Speaker 1: going to while you were inside it, and on the
Speaker 1: other side of it, you're left with something over explaining
Speaker 1: never actually gave you the quiet knowledge that your answer
Speaker 1: didn't need back up to be valid. Nobody argued, nothing
Speaker 1: fell apart. The world simply continued the way it was
Speaker 1: always going to. This is the part that has to
Speaker 1: be felt to really land, because it can't be explained
Speaker 1: around the first few times you do it, it will
Speaker 1: feel like you're getting away with something, like you skipped
Speaker 1: a step you were supposed to complete, and you're bracing
Speaker 1: for someone to notice and call it out. Nobody does that.
Speaker 1: Feeling a little uncomfortable going in surprisingly solid coming out
Speaker 1: is where the actual change lives not in the words
Speaker 1: you choose, but in your willingness to let a short
Speaker 1: answer stand without chasing it with more, over and over,
Speaker 1: until your body finally believes what your mind already knows
Speaker 1: that you were never in as much danger as it
Speaker 1: felt like you were. It's worse being honest about what's
Speaker 1: actually at stake here, because it's bigger than communication style.
Speaker 1: Every time you shrink a true no into an over explained,
Speaker 1: apologetic version of itself just to keep someone comfortable, you're
Speaker 1: not just managing that one interaction. You're rehearsing a belief
Speaker 1: about yourself that your reasons need to be strong enough
Speaker 1: to earn approval before they're allowed to exist. Do that
Speaker 1: enough times, across enough small moments, and it stops being
Speaker 1: a communication habit. It becomes the operating assumption you carry
Speaker 1: into every relationship that you're only allowed to take up
Speaker 1: space once you've justified it. That assumption doesn't stay contained
Speaker 1: to text messages and dinner invitations either. It's the same
Speaker 1: pattern that shows up when you hesitate to ask for
Speaker 1: a raise without a spreadsheet of justifications ready, the same
Speaker 1: one that has you rehearsing an explanation for why you're
Speaker 1: leaving a job, a relationship, a plan before you've even
Speaker 1: decided you're allowed to leave it. Learning to say no
Speaker 1: plainly in small moments is really practice for something much larger,
Speaker 1: trusting that your own judgment is sufficient reason for the
Speaker 1: decisions you make about your own life. The version of
Speaker 1: this you're building toward isn't colder. It's not about caring less,
Speaker 1: or being harder to reach, or treating people at arm's length.
Speaker 1: If anything, it frees up more warmth than it costs.
Speaker 1: The energy you use to spend building a case for
Speaker 1: every small decision is energy you now get to spend
Speaker 1: actually being present with the people who matter, instead of
Speaker 1: managing what they think of you. It's about reaching a
Speaker 1: point where your decisions don't require a defense to be real.
Speaker 1: Where I can't is a complete sentence, not the first
Speaker 1: line of a negotiation. You don't need a good enough
Speaker 1: reason to have a boundary. You just need the boundary
Speaker 1: practice saying it plainly, letting the silence sit, and trusting
Speaker 1: that a decision stated once, calmly is worth more than
Speaker 1: the same decision defended five different ways. It will feel
Speaker 1: unnatural at first, maybe even a little rude, because you're
Speaker 1: used to measuring politeness in word count. It isn't rude,
Speaker 1: it's just unfamiliar, and unfamiliar fades the more you practice it.
Speaker 1: That's the whole shift. Not louder, not colder, just fewer
Speaker 1: words standing behind something that was already true the first
Speaker 1: time you said it.