LETTING OTHERS SPEAK: An Introspective on Interrupting

It’s funny how silence can be the loudest thing in a room. I realized this yesterday while watching two birds on by the courtyard, just sitting there, existing together in the morning sun. No chirping, no fluttering – just being. And there I was, inside, mentally writing their dialogue like some avian screenplay writer.

That’s always been my thing, hasn’t it? Filling spaces. Creating narratives. Writing scripts for conversations that haven’t happened yet. My mind is like one of those old-time switchboard operators, frantically plugging in responses before the other person has even finished their thought. “You always have to be right,” they’d say, and there I’d go, already planning my defense about how wrong they were about me being right – which, yes, I realize is about as helpful as trying to prove you’re humble by winning a humility contest.

It’s like when someone tells you you’re defensive. What are you supposed to say? “No, I’m not”? That’s like trying to prove you’re not a hypochondriac by showing someone your medical records. These conversational catch-22s used to drive me crazy, make me feel trapped in some cosmic joke where the punchline was always at my expense.

But here’s the thing about cosmic jokes – sometimes you’re so busy trying to explain why they’re not funny that you miss the actual humor. And wisdom. And truth.

My mind has always been like a pinball machine where thoughts are the silver balls, bouncing off every trigger, lighting up every corner with urgency. ADHD sends these thoughts ricocheting at lightning speed, while OCD keeps score of every possible outcome, every potential misunderstanding. Meanwhile, BPD sits there like an overenthusiastic player, hands hovering over the flipper buttons, ready to launch any emotional response at maximum velocity.

It’s exhausting. For me, yes, but now I understand – really understand – how exhausting it must be for others too.

The thing about interrupting isn’t just about being rude or needing to be right. Sometimes it’s about fear – fear that if I don’t get this thought out right now, it’ll evaporate like morning dew. Sometimes it’s about validation – this desperate need to be understood that ironically makes understanding others impossible. And sometimes, let’s be honest, it’s about control – trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable spaces where vulnerability lives.

I used to think self-advocacy meant never letting anyone finish a sentence that might paint me in a less-than-perfect light. Now I’m learning that true self-advocacy often starts with simply letting someone else complete their thought. It’s like trying to read a book while simultaneously writing your own – at some point, you have to choose which one you’re going to do first.

At almost fifty, I’m finally learning that listening isn’t passive – it’s one of the most active things you can do. It’s like meditation for relationships, this practice of letting thoughts come and go without having to chase each one down the rabbit hole of immediate response.

So I’m working on it. Working on letting those birds in the courtyard have their silent conversation without my screenplay. Working on letting people finish their sentences without my mental switchboard operator jumping in. Working on understanding that every conversation doesn’t need to be won – sometimes it just needs to be experienced.

And if you disagree with any of this, you’re completely– wait, no, sorry. Old habits die hard, don’t they? Maybe instead I should just ask: what do you think?