Understanding...

I’ve caught myself saying “I understand” more times than I can count, even when I don’t fully grasp what’s going on. It’s not about lying or being disingenuous—it’s more about trying to bridge the gap between where I am and where I feel like I should be.

There’s a part of me that feels like admitting I don’t understand would somehow expose a flaw or weakness. It’s as if saying “I don’t get it” would reveal that I’m not as competent, informed, or quick-witted as I want others to think I am. So instead, I nod along, say “I understand,” and hope that I’ll catch up eventually, that something will click and I’ll be able to piece it all together.

Sometimes, it’s about avoiding the awkwardness that comes with asking for clarification. There’s this fear that if I ask too many questions or need something explained again, I’ll come across as a burden, as someone who’s slowing down the flow of the conversation or holding everyone else back. So I choose the easier path, the one that avoids drawing attention to my confusion, and I say “I understand” to keep things moving, to maintain the illusion that I’m on the same page.

But deep down, I know this habit isn’t serving me—or anyone else, for that matter. When I say I understand when I don’t, I’m not just missing out on valuable information; I’m also missing out on genuine connection. I’m putting up a wall between myself and the other person, preventing us from really communicating, from finding common ground, or from exploring the nuances of whatever we’re talking about.

There’s also a kind of pressure to keep up, especially in fast-paced conversations where everyone seems to be on the same wavelength. It’s like there’s no time to admit confusion, no space to pause and say, “Wait, can we go over that again?” The fear of falling behind, of not being able to contribute meaningfully, pushes me to nod along, to say “I understand” and hope that by the end of the conversation, I’ll have figured it out. But that rarely happens, and instead, I’m left with a lingering sense of inadequacy, of having missed out on something important.

I also say “I understand” because I genuinely want to understand. It’s not that I’m completely in the dark—sometimes I get the gist of what’s being said, but not the full picture. And in those moments, saying “I understand” feels like a way of showing that I’m engaged, that I’m trying to follow along even if I’m not entirely there yet. It’s a way of staying connected to the conversation, even if I’m not fully comprehending every detail.

But I’m starting to realize that saying “I understand” when I don’t is a disservice to myself. It keeps me in a place of uncertainty, where I’m constantly second-guessing whether I really know what’s going on. It also prevents me from learning, from expanding my knowledge or deepening my understanding.

So, I’m trying to be braver. I’m trying to push past the discomfort of admitting when I don’t understand, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with saying, “I’m not quite getting this—can we go over it again?” It’s not easy, and it still feels awkward at times, but I’m learning that it’s okay to not have all the answers, to ask for clarification, to admit when I’m lost. Because in the end, understanding isn’t just about nodding along—it’s about truly engaging, connecting, and learning, even if it means stumbling a little along the way.