“True love is born of understanding.” ~Buddha
I think one of our strongest desires in life is to feel understood.
We want to know that people see our good intentions and not only get where we’re coming from, but also get there. us.
We want to know them see us. They recognize thoughts, feelings and struggles which underlie our decisions and not only sympathize but perhaps even interact with each other. And maybe they would do the same if they were us.
Perhaps if they had been where we were, if they had seen what we saw, they would be where we are now, in the same circumstances, with the same beliefs, making the same decisions.
Underneath all this maybe the desire to feel validated.
We are social creatures and thrive when we feel like we belong together. This requires a certain sense of security, which depends on the sense of value and accepted. But these feelings don’t always come easily.
There was a time when one of my relationships felt incredibly harmless. I never felt understood or validated, and even worse, I often felt like the other person didn’t care to understand.
If you are the one who refuses the comfort of understanding, it can imbue you with a sense of power. And it also creates a sense of separation, which for some is safer than closeness.
This person often assumed the worst about me—that I was selfish and weak—and interpreted my actions through that lens.
I would downplay my beliefs and opinions as if they didn’t deserve attention or respect.
And they even mocked me when I tried to share my thoughts and feelings, minimizing not only my point of view but my personality. As if I had no value. As if I wasn’t worth hearing. As if I didn’t deserve respect.
Species.
It hurts when you feel like someone doesn’t care to see where you’re coming from or doesn’t hear what you’re saying.
It hurts when you feel that someone is more committed to misunderstanding than to developing the common denominator.
It hurts to feel invalid.
We often take this pain and become angry. Or at least that’s what I did.
I fought. I screamed. i cried I tried to force them to see my basic goodness and see the world from my point of view.
I tried to impose my will on them—the will to be respected and listened to—whether or not they were willing or able to grant me those courtesies. And I caused myself a lot of pain, all the while justifying this madness with an indignant sense of justice.
Because people should try to understand. People should treat each other with respect. People should be kind, loving and open. Because that way the world can feel safe.
But here’s what I learned: Should always a trap. Things will never be exactly as we think they will be, and resisting this will only cause us pain.
But more importantly, there is something more powerful than trying to force others to be who we think they are—and that is being that person ourselves.
In this case, I realized that it means understanding the person who does not, or perhaps cannot, understand me.
Remember what I wrote about how, for some, separation is safer than closeness?
It was actually a huge insight for me. Maybe when someone seems unwilling to embrace you with understanding, it’s more that they can’t let you in, for reasons I may never know.
I’ve actually done a lot of digging to try to understand what it is that makes someone – and specifically this someone – shy away from understanding. What pain could have hardened their hearts so dramatically? As often happens when digging, I found many explanations.
I found unresolved traumas that probably led to a deep sense of shame and vulnerability – which probably resulted in a need to always be strong and appear strong. Impenetrable. And if you’re impenetrable, not much can get through. They are not new ideas, and certainly not attempts at deep connection. Which is pretty sad when you think about it.
Sure, it hurts when you feel like someone doesn’t understand you. But can you imagine the pain of rarely understanding someone because letting someone into your heart actually hurts? Can you imagine living so guarded, so afraid, constantly hiding – and maybe without realizing it?
I’m convinced that when someone doesn’t make an effort to understand us, it’s usually this: deep pain that shuts them off from love.
They may be closed to everyone. Or specific ideas that trigger something from their past. Or maybe we ourselves are the root cause.
Maybe we remind them of something they want to forget. Perhaps our very presence forces them to face something they would rather avoid.
I remember reading an article once about the arguments women have with their mothers-in-law. The author gave the example of a mother-in-law who always complained about her daughter-in-law’s couch, then wrote: “You never know. She might have been raped on a couch that looked just like yours.”
That hit me hard. The idea that everyone has secret, shame-covered pain that often manifests in hurtful behaviors.
I know I’ve been there before. Although I’m not proud to admit it, I’ve shut people out or shut people out because they’ve caused me some pain. Knowing this, I understand how pain can bring out the worst in us.
Taking this into account does not justify any disrespect or mistreatment. It does not condone abuse. But if really will understanding is perhaps the key choose understanding.
Perhaps the secret is to expand our horizons beyond what would make us feel safe in a moment, so that we can contribute to creating a greater sense of security for everyone we meet.
Perhaps by choosing to offer understanding, we can influence the people around us to heal their pain, to one day open their hearts a little wider. When they are ready. When those feel safe.
So what’s the best thing you can say to someone who doesn’t understand you? I think it’s, “I understand that you don’t understand.”
I think it’s accepting the other person where they are, even if you have no idea where they came from or what drives them.
Because even if we don’t know the specifics, we can know there’s some explanation—a complex web of past events and psychological factors that make them who and what they are.
This is not easy to do.
This often requires us to create boundaries, whether it’s avoiding specific conversations or creating physical distance in this relationship.
It requires us to pause and connect with our deepest intentions before reacting impulsively, defensively, with anger.
And it also requires grieving and letting go of the relationship we hoped for, knowing that we are offering someone else compassion and attention that they may never be able to return.
It is comforting to know that this is the higher road, not because I feel on a higher level, but because it is less painful there – for me and for everyone I meet in my life.
When I choose to be the change I want to see, it becomes less important to me that everyone else sees, appreciates, understands, and understands my good intentions—because I do it. Because I I know I come from a place of love, kindness and integrity.
And that’s a strong foundation for navigating a world full of damaged people who aren’t ready or able to love.
** If this resonated with you, I invite you to check out the new one Founder’s Friday: Letters from the Lori newsletter for my stories and insights that don’t appear on the blog. If you want to try it, you can here the first month is free. Your subscription also helps support Tiny Buddha and maintain the site.
