The explanation that doesn't help.
On why we explain our intention rather than hearing the impact.
I want to tell you about the worst apology I ever gave…
It lasted about twelve minutes. By the end of it, I had covered:
What had been going on for me at the time
Why I said what I did
What I’d actually meant by the thing I said
What I thought had been misunderstood, and
Some broader context the other person may not have known.
I finished feeling like I’d been quite thorough and all would therefore be resolved.
But the other person looked like they’d just sat through a press conference about someone else’s feelings. It wasn’t an apology… it was a broadcast.
The hard thing I had to acknowledge was that I’d meant well but had come up short. I genuinely wanted them to understand, but as I learned, understanding isn’t what an apology or repair requires. Acknowledgement is.
Why we explain instead of apologise and repair.
Our inclination to explain comes from a real place, usually from caring about how we’re perceived and a belief that if the other person had the full picture, things would resolve.
But, explanation before acknowledgement shifts the focus from their experience to ours. It makes the apology about us, and not the other person. We may not intend it that way, but that’s how another person usually receives it.
Explaining is a lot easier than real accountability and ownership. It keeps us in the role of narrator, which is much easier than being the person who caused an impact. Even when we dress it up as openness, explanation is a form of self-protection and a barrier to repairing.
I have been that person many times. Protecting myself more than opening myself.
When we explain ourselves before acknowledging the impact on someone, we can make the other person feel like a problem to be solved, rather than a person we’ve affected.
What repair actually sounds like.
Healthy repair can be short and straightforward, because when we are genuinely taking responsibility, there isn’t that much to say: I see what happened, I understand the impact, and I’m not going to defend it.
It might sound like:
‘I can see that was off. I’m sorry.’
‘That came out harder than I meant it to, and I understand how that impacted you.’
‘I made that about my intentions, not the impact on you.’
Genuine acknowledgement is what opens the door and creates space for a fuller conversation to hear the other person’s experience, share context, and build understanding. This can only happen after the impact on someone is acknowledged. Not before.
The hardest part?
Sitting with being misunderstood for a little longer than feels comfortable.
That’s what acknowledging our impact before explaining our intention involves. It’s hard to get used to, but it’s powerful.
I still get this wrong at times, more than I wish. Fifteen years of public speaking and a decade of performing have shown me that people very quickly work out whether we’re trying to convince them, or genuinely having a discussion.
The growth opportunity for us is to get better at trusting that there will be room for the fuller discussion later, once the person in front of us feels like a person rather than an audience.
It’s hard, but it works.
Three things to try.
Next time you need to repair from something, set a rule for yourself: your first response can be no more than two sentences. Acknowledgement only, without explaining context and intention. See what happens when you stop there.
Notice the moment the urge to explain arrives. It’s usually physical, a kind of pressure, pulling us toward speech. When you feel it, pause. Ask: is what I want to say for them to feel heard, or for me to feel better?
Think of a repair attempt you made recently that didn’t work. Where did the explanation start? What would it have sounded like if you’d stopped two sentences earlier?