Communication: How Repeating Yourself Is Not a Sign of Failure

Why we expect others to know what we mean, and what to do when they don’t. Best suited for: miscommunication, frustration, the ache of not being seen, team fatigue.

We often spend so much time explaining our needs and expectations to people, at work, at home, and in friendships that we start to believe they should just get it. That when we’ve said something once or twice, it should live in their memory forever. Over time, we begin to say less while expecting more. Our communication becomes filled with unsaid glances, gestures, half-phrases, and silence.

Our internal monologue might sound something like this:

You should know by now. We’ve had this conversation a million times, and each time, I’ve tried to bring the words to the surface, even when they scraped against my throat on the way out. Speaking honestly has never been easy. There’s always that pause as if saying what I feel might shatter something fragile I’ve been protecting for years, maybe even from myself.

I’ve said what I need. I’ve tried to explain where it hurts, what I long for, what I fear. I’ve offered you the facts and shape of my inner world, hoping that once I have shared them, I wouldn’t have to start from scratch again. Hoping you’ll remember. That you’d know, but you didn’t, and it’s not just you.

I’ve seen it in friendships, teams, and families. We open up and expect that it should be enough, that if someone knows us, they’ll notice the way we tense up in silence, the quiet cues that signal we’re retreating, and the shift in tone that betrays a deeper sadness. We expect them to listen between the lines, to fill in the blanks, to hold the weight of what we said months ago and apply it now.

But people forget. Or they miss it entirely. Not because they’re careless or cruel but because they’re overloaded and overwhelmed. Absorbed in their orbit. Wrapped up in things they haven’t said either.

Some scientists call this the “illusion of transparency,” the belief that what we feel inside is somehow visible, even noticeable, to the outside world. But the truth is, most people are far less attuned to us than we imagine. They are listening through the filter of their stress, stories, and longing to be understood.

We are parallel worlds, circling one another in intimate orbits, close enough to feel each other’s pull but never truly inhabiting the same space. And maybe that’s where the ache comes in. We want to be seen. Not just once but again and again. We want someone to remember what we said when we were brave enough to say it.

I’m learning that repeating myself is not a sign of failure.

It’s part of what it means to live in a relationship with others. Saying something more than once doesn’t mean it wasn’t heard the first time; it means life got loud, or the message got buried under the noise of everything else. And maybe love, trust, or real leadership is not assuming people should already know but finding the strength to say it again, this time with even more clarity and compassion.

Communication, at its best, is rarely elegant. It’s gritty. It’s repetitive. It asks for patience. But it’s the only bridge we have between these parallel worlds. So I’ll keep crossing it, saying what matters and risking the discomfort, not because I enjoy it but because I believe the space between us is worth closing.

Communication Is the Only Bridge We Have

If I keep trying, success is not guaranteed. If I give up, the disintegration of our relationship becomes certain, a place where silence and resentment converge like bitter rivers. So I pause and choose where to go next because I cannot change you, but I can always change my approach:

• I shut down. I stop explaining. I convince myself I’ve said enough. And maybe I have. But the silence grows thick, the story in my head turns dark, and the gap becomes too wide to cross over time. We’re still technically connected, maybe even in the same room, but something essential is gone.

  
  

• I try again. This time, I don’t assume you should already know. I don’t make it about what you did or how I feel, but what isn’t working between us. I name the pattern, not the person. I keep the conversation focused on the friction, not the fault. And it’s still hard, but it opens something, a bit of space.

  
  

This back-and-forth is imperfect, complex, and often annoying. But when needs are understood and requests acknowledged, it is pure, ordinary happiness. How strange that some of the greatest joy in the world comes from this fragile, persistent thing between you and me.

PAUSE. LEARN. MOVE ON.

The illusion of transparency is a cognitive bias, a glitch in understanding others. It’s the belief that our thoughts, emotions, and intentions are more evident than they are. We think I’m being clear, or they should see I’m upset when people are often oblivious.

The term was coined in 1998 by psychologist Thomas Gilovich and his colleagues, who showed that even when we try to express ourselves clearly, the receiver’s interpretation is partial at best. If you’re curious, you can read their study, The Illusion of Transparency.

You can reach Stephen at stephen@alygn.company