Latest / She Survived: Stories of Courage, Recovery & Reinvention / The Bravery of Saying 'I Don't Know': Finding Peace in Not Understanding | She Survived
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from pretending you have the map when you’re actually just walking in circles. It’s not the tiredness of your body, but the heavy, silent drain on your spirit from holding up a facade of certainty. I want to talk about the weight of that mask. You know the one. It’s the invisible armor we put on when someone asks, "How does this work?" or "What’s the plan?" or even just, "Are you okay?" And instead of saying, "I’m lost," or "I’m confused," or "I don’t understand any of this," we smile. We nod. We give an answer that sounds confident, even if it’s hollow inside. We perform competence because we’ve been taught that uncertainty is dangerous. That if we admit we don’t know, we’ll be seen as weak, or foolish, or inadequate. But here’s the truth I’ve learned after decades of watching people try to carry the world on their shoulders: pretending to know is far more exhausting than admitting you don’t. It requires constant maintenance. Every moment you spend faking it, you’re building a wall between yourself and the person sitting across from you. And walls are lonely places. Think about the last time you felt truly connected to someone. Was it when they had all the answers? Or was it when they dropped the act? Maybe they said, "I’m scared too." Maybe they admitted, "I have no idea what to do next." In those moments, the air changed. The tension broke. We didn’t need them to be right; we needed them to be real. When we hide our confusion, we rob others of the chance to connect with us in our humanity. We keep them at arm's length, behind a curtain of expertise that doesn’t exist. And for what? To avoid a momentary discomfort? To protect an ego that isn’t even ours? I think about how many conversations I’ve had where I could see the other person crumbling under the pressure to perform. They were drowning in silence, smiling through the panic, while I sat there thinking I had to save them with my own perfect solutions. But I didn’t have any. Neither did they. And that shared void, that honest admission of being lost, would have been the lifeline we both needed. I remember a few years ago, when I first started this podcast, I was terrified of making a mistake. I thought I had to sound like an expert. Like I had read every book and lived every experience perfectly. So when a listener asked me about a complex emotional pattern I hadn’t studied deeply, I panicked. I tried to weave together a response using buzzwords and half-remembered theories. I sounded smart, maybe. But I didn’t sound like me. And I certainly didn’t sound helpful. Later, I realized I had missed an opportunity to say, "That’s a beautiful question, and I don’t have the answer yet. But I’d love to explore it with you." If I had said that, the conversation would have opened up. It would have invited curiosity instead of judgment. Instead, I closed the door. I built a higher wall. And I felt smaller for it. Because deep down, I knew that my worth wasn’t tied to my knowledge. My worth was in my presence. In my willingness to sit in the dark with someone else, even if I couldn’t light the way. So, what happens when we drop the mask? What happens when we replace certainty with curiosity? It’s terrifying at first. Your heart races. Your palms sweat. You feel exposed. But then, something magical occurs. You become available. You become a student again. You allow yourself to learn, to grow, to change. And you give permission to everyone around you to do the same. When you admit you don’t understand, you invite collaboration. You turn a monologue into a dialogue. You create space for new ideas, for fresh perspectives, for the unexpected insights that only come when we stop trying to control the narrative. This isn’t about ignorance. It’s about humility. It’s about recognizing that the world is vast and complex, and we are small. And there is profound freedom in that smallness. There is peace in letting go of the need to be the authority. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You just have to be present. Honest. Human. I want to challenge you to practice the courage of the pause. Next time someone asks you a question you don’t have an answer for, don’t rush to fill the silence. Don’t grab for a deflection or a joke. Just breathe. Let the silence sit there. Look them in the eye and say, "I don’t know." Watch what happens. Often, you’ll see relief on their face. Because they were probably wondering the same thing. They were probably afraid to ask. By speaking your truth, you break the spell of perfectionism that binds so many of us. You remind them that it’s okay to be human. It’s okay to be messy. It’s okay to be unsure. And in that shared vulnerability, you build a bridge. A real one. Made of trust, not performance. This is how we heal. Not by having all the answers, but by asking the right questions. By listening deeply. By being willing to say, "I’m still learning." That’s not weakness. That’s the bravest thing you can do. Let’s talk about why this matters so much right now. We live in a world that rewards speed and certainty. Algorithms feed us quick fixes. Social media highlights the highlight reels. We are bombarded with opinions, experts, and influencers telling us exactly what to think, what to buy, and how to live. It’s overwhelming. It’s suffocating. And it makes us feel inadequate for not keeping up. But here’s the antidote: slow down. Admit you don’t get it. Step back from the noise. Create space for your own intuition, your own process, your own journey. You don’t need to understand everything to move forward. You just need to take the next step. And the next. And the next. Trust that clarity will come in its own time. Trust that you are enough, exactly as you are, even in the confusion. Especially in the confusion. Because that’s where growth happens. That’s where transformation begins. Not in the comfort of knowing, but in the courage of wondering. Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. And thank you for being brave enough to be imperfect. I’ll see you in the next episode. Until then, breathe into it. You’re doing better than you think. Bye for now.