The Art of Not Explaining

 “Peace doesn’t need a press release.”

There was a time it always had to be my way.

If you misunderstood me, I would make sure you saw my point line by line, argument by argument.

It wasn’t pride. I just wanted to be understood.

But that need came at a cost.

It meant friction.

With people, with peace, even with myself.

Because I didn’t yet realise something simple but powerful: we all see life through our own lens, and what we see isn’t always the truth. It’s just our version of it.

 

Two people can watch the same moment and walk away with completely different stories.

One sees insult; the other sees honesty.

One sees rejection; the other sees redirection.

The other day I was watching a movie with a friend who couldn’t stop admiring the view.

Meanwhile, I was too engrossed in the dialogue to notice the scenery at all.

Same scene, different worlds.

That’s how life is. We think we’re arguing about truth, but most times we’re just defending perspective.

 

Before I understood that, I spent years trying to explain myself, trying to make people “get it.”

I would go over the same point in ten different ways, hoping something would finally click.

If you didn’t understand me, I took it personally.

I thought peace came from being understood.

 

Now I know peace comes from understanding myself.

 

There was a time I could write a whole thesis just to prove a point: screenshots, evidence, timelines, references.

It wasn’t communication. It was performance.

I wanted clarity so badly that I forgot not everyone listens to understand.

Some people only listen to reply.

These days, I’ve officially resigned from the Ministry of Over-Explaining.

No handover notes, no replacement. The office is permanently closed.

 

I used to think explaining myself was a form of clarity.

Now I see it was often a form of fear—fear of being misunderstood, fear of being seen the wrong way, fear of not being liked.

 

But here’s what I’ve learned. Peace doesn’t need a press release.

You don’t have to footnote your feelings for people who are committed to misunderstanding you.

 

I still care, but differently now.

I explain where it matters—where love lives, where curiosity exists—and I let silence handle the rest.

 

Not everything needs clarification. Some things just need calm.

It’s not arrogance. It’s peace management.

Every time I over-explained, I was borrowing against my peace, and the interest rate was anxiety.

Now, if I don’t show up, it’s not shade. It’s rest.

If I don’t reply instantly, it’s not pride. It’s presence.

If I walk away quietly, it’s not anger. It’s alignment.

 

Not everyone deserves access to your reasoning.

Sometimes, knowing you meant well is enough.

 

Life, I’ve realised, is a bit like design. You remove friction to find flow.

And sometimes the biggest friction is the need to explain.

So these days, I declutter my responses the same way I declutter my space: less defending, more breathing.

Less proving, more being.

 

Now, my conversations have more air.

My boundaries have fewer bullet points.

And my peace no longer needs a PowerPoint presentation—or Canva, as they use these days.

 

By the end of the day, when my mind starts replaying old conversations—what I said, how I said it—I just walk into my room and let the air talk back.

But not just any air. The WhiffWonders air.

The soft calm of the Tinuke Luxury Reed Diffuser filling the room before I even exhale.

 

That’s how I quiet the noise now: not by explaining, but by breathing.

 

Because some peace doesn’t have to be spoken.

It just has to be scented.

And in my world, that’s Tinuke.

 

You don’t have to explain what peace looks like to people who still find chaos exciting.

You don’t have to translate calm for ears that only understand drama.

And you definitely don’t have to make stillness look busy to make it valid.

 

Some days, the most radical thing you can do is say nothing and mean it.

 

Because this right here is the real luxury.

Not validation. Not attention.

Just quiet. Fragrant. Earned. And free.