There’s a strange ache that comes from saying something you didn’t quite mean. Sometimes, because it was false (masquerading as something true), but mostly because it wasn’t complete. It was only part of the story, or the truth dressed in caution, anger, or resentment.
I’ve felt this space before—the gap between what I meant to say and what actually came out. In that disconnect, something profound is lost between the truth I carry and the words that emerge from me.
I experience this most when I’m angry, when rage seems to be boiling from within, seeking any way out.
I’ve gotten better at acknowledging my anger and recognising when it’s reaching dangerous temperatures. What I’m still learning is how to soothe myself in these moments and regulate my emotions while protecting the people I love.
I’ve learned that anger, if suppressed, can lead to harmful aftereffects. So I allow myself to feel it because I never had space to navigate and process anger while growing up. But when it comes, the words that leave my mouth often feel thinner somehow, smaller than the feeling that birthed them. And I’m filled with instant dread, regret, and embarrassment.
It takes me a long time to come down from that heat.
But I’m beginning to understand that this struggle isn’t a failure, it’s growth happening in real time.
Each time I recognise the gap between my truth and my words, I’m learning. Each moment of regret teaches me something about the person I’m becoming. The ache itself is evidence that I care deeply about authentic connection, about being truly seen and understood.
The goal isn’t to never feel this disconnect, but to shorten the distance between my heart and my voice, one honest conversation at a time.
