Riffing about an insight from the aftermath of my first divorce, where I had gotten the insight that whatever it was, it would not be accepted by my X, on the grounds of it coming from me.

It wasn’t what I said.
It wasn’t how I said it.

It was that I said it.
Or rather… it was that I said it.

When that was the case, he shut down.
Couldn’t, or wouldn’t, listen.

That was a hard lesson to learn for me.
To be so filled with ideas, feeling as if I had the fix for whatever the problem was, all the while realizing that there was nothing, bar telepathy, that I could use to share them.

It took me a few more years to internalize this in a way that I feel is beneficial and benevolent, because to start with this just gave rise to frustration and resentment. A malevolence, eating away at me, as well as towards my X.

In time though, I have come to be comfortable, at least now and again, with holding my tongue. Actually not experiencing the dire urge to blurt out whatever thought pops into my head, but to sit with it. Sometimes choosing to share. Sometimes content with keeping it on the inside, engaging in an inner dialogue with myself.

The snippet is taken from episode 30 The everyday creativity of music, coaching and meandering of Tankespjärn with Helena Roth, a podcast of meandering conversations, this one tfrom season two, with Andy Mort.