Latest / Second Chances: Stories of Survival, Recovery & Starting Over / The Radical Courage of Saying 'I Don't Know' Today | Second Chances
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes not from working too hard, but from pretending you have all the answers when your hands are empty. It’s the weight of performing competence in a world that demands certainty, and I want to tell you it’s okay to put that heavy bag down right now. Let’s be honest for a moment about how we move through our days. Most of us are walking around with a invisible shield up, aren’t we? A shield made of confidence, of quick replies, of nodding along when we’re really just trying to keep the boat steady. We say things like, 'I’ve got this,' or 'That makes total sense,' or even worse, 'I’ll figure it out.' We say these things because we are afraid of being seen as inadequate. We are afraid that if we admit we don’t know something, people will stop trusting us. They might think we’re lost. Or worse, they might realize we’re just as confused as everyone else seems to be. But here is the truth that I’ve learned after years of sitting across from women who were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders: the need to appear knowledgeable is often more exhausting than the actual work of learning. Think about the last time you said yes to a project you didn’t fully understand, or nodded at a meeting where you missed half the context. How did your body feel? Probably tight. Probably holding its breath. That tension isn’t just physical; it’s spiritual. It’s the energy you spend maintaining an illusion. And illusions are heavy. They drag on your back and pull at your ankles. You can’t run freely when you’re wearing a costume of someone else’s expectations. Why do we do this? Why is 'I don't know' such a terrifying phrase to speak aloud? For many of us, especially women who have been socialized to be caretakers and harmonizers, uncertainty feels like failure. It feels like a crack in the foundation. When we were younger, maybe we were praised for having the right answers, for being the smart one in the room, for fixing things before anyone noticed they were broken. So we became experts at hiding our gaps. We became masters of the deflection. 'Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,' we’d say, when deep down, we knew it wasn’t. We’d offer advice we weren’t qualified to give, just to fill the silence. Just to prove we belonged. But this performance takes a toll. It creates a distance between you and everyone else. Because when you pretend to know everything, no one can truly connect with you. Connection requires vulnerability. It requires showing up as you are, not as you wish you were. And if you are always the one with the answers, you deny others the chance to support you. You deny yourself the grace of being human. We live in a culture that worships certainty. It wants leaders who never doubt, partners who never struggle, and friends who never falter. But that’s not real life. Real life is messy. Real life is full of questions that don’t have neat little labels on them. So let’s talk about intellectual honesty. It sounds formal, doesn’t it? Like something you’d read in a philosophy textbook. But really, it’s just a fancy way of saying: tell the truth about what you know. It’s the radical act of admitting that your map is incomplete. When you say, 'I don't know,' you are not admitting defeat. You are opening a door. You are inviting curiosity into the room. You are giving yourself permission to explore, to ask better questions, to listen more deeply. It shifts the dynamic from me-versus-you to us-together. Suddenly, you’re not alone in the confusion. You’re part of a shared human experience. Think about the relief that comes when you finally drop the pretense. There is a lightness to it. A sense of freedom. When you stop trying to protect your image, you free up all that energy for actual growth. You start to learn faster. You start to trust your own instincts more, because you’re no longer fighting against the noise of other people’s opinions. You become grounded in your own reality. And strangely enough, people respect you more for it. They see that you are secure enough in yourself to be unsure. They see that you value truth over comfort. That is a rare quality. That is a powerful quality. This brings me back to something we touched on recently, in that episode about distinguishing fear from intuition. Remember how we talked about how fear is loud and future-focused, while intuition is quiet and present? Saying 'I don't know' often triggers that loud, constricting fear voice. It whispers, 'If you admit this, they’ll leave.' It screams, 'You’re not good enough.' But underneath that noise is usually a quiet, expansive truth: 'I am ready to learn.' The key is to pause long enough to hear the difference. To sit with the discomfort of not knowing without rushing to fill it with noise. When you feel that panic rising, take a breath. Ask yourself: am I saying I don’t know because I’m scared of looking foolish, or am I saying it because I genuinely want to understand? Often, the fear is just old baggage. It’s the echo of a teacher who scolded you for getting a question wrong, or a boss who demanded immediate results. But you are not that child anymore. You are not that employee. You are a woman with a rich inner life, capable of navigating ambiguity. You can hold space for uncertainty. You can sit in the dark for a while until the light comes back on. That patience is a form of strength. It’s not weakness. It’s wisdom. So how do we practice this? How do we make 'I don't know' a natural part of our vocabulary instead of a crisis? Start small. In your next conversation, when someone asks you a question you’re not sure about, resist the urge to bluff. Just say it. 'That’s a great question. I actually don’t know the answer to that.' Notice what happens. Does the world end? Do people look at you with disdain? Or do they smile? Do they lean in? Usually, the latter. You’ll find that your colleagues, your friends, your family members breathe easier when you’re honest. It gives them permission to be honest too. Another step is to replace 'I don't know' with 'What do you think?' This turns a deficit into an invitation. It shows that you value their perspective. It creates a dialogue rather than a monologue. And over time, you’ll notice your tolerance for uncertainty growing. You’ll stop needing immediate closure. You’ll become comfortable with the gray areas. You’ll realize that not every problem needs solving right now. Some things just need to be observed. Some questions just need to be asked. And that is enough. There is a profound beauty in the unknown. It’s where creativity lives. It’s where new ideas are born. If we knew everything, life would be boring. Predictable. Stagnant. The mystery is what keeps us engaged, what keeps us curious, what keeps us alive. When you embrace 'I don't know,' you open yourself up to wonder. You allow yourself to be surprised. You let the universe teach you things you didn’t expect to learn. And that is a gift. It’s a gift of humility, yes, but also of joy. Imagine living your life with less pressure to perform and more openness to discovery. Imagine walking into rooms feeling lighter, because you’re not carrying the weight of fake expertise. Imagine relationships that are deeper, because you’re showing up as your true self, flaws and all. This is the second chance we all deserve. The chance to start over, not by becoming someone new, but by returning to who we already are. Honest. Curious. Human. And completely okay with not having all the answers. Thank you for listening today. Thank you for being brave enough to sit with the uncertainty. I hope you give yourself permission to say 'I don't know' today, and watch how beautifully the world responds. Until next time, take care of yourself.