BETWEEN THE LINES 🙊
HOW MISUNDERSTANDINGS ERODE CONNECTION
We live in an age of perpetual connection, yet so many of us feel misunderstood, unheard, or even dismissed—especially in our closest relationships. For all the power that messaging apps and instant replies offer, they often fail us where it matters most: when we try to express something deeply human. One misplaced emoji, a delayed response, or a poorly chosen word—and suddenly, we’re spiraling.
This post is about misunderstandings—not the dramatic ones that end friendships or marriages in a single blow, but the quieter kind: the ones that chip away at trust, closeness, and the desire to keep showing up. It’s about how we each carry our very own emotional filters and histories into every conversation, and how easy it is to misinterpret something that wasn’t meant to hurt us at all.
More than that, it’s about how to stop the spiral. Because misunderstandings are inevitable, but disconnection isn’t.
Emotional Filters and Personal Histories
We all come with emotional baggage. That’s not meant as an insult — it’s simply reality. Our past shapes our present in ways we often don’t notice until something seemingly small triggers something unexpectedly big.
One word can remind someone of an old wound. A delay in response can awaken the echo of an earlier abandonment. A short sentence can feel cold, even when it wasn’t meant that way. We read between the lines — not because we’re paranoid or overly sensitive, but because our minds are constantly trying to protect us by predicting patterns.
In a way, every message we send is filtered twice: once through the lens of the person writing it, and again through the lens of the person reading it. That’s already risky enough when people are communicating in the same room. Add the emotional ambiguity of text messaging — with no tone of voice, no facial expression, no touch — and it’s suddenly a minefield.
And it gets worse in romantic relationships. Because the stakes are so much higher. Because the heart is involved. And because when we’re vulnerable with someone, their words and silences hit harder. A “thinking of you” can feel like a lifeline — or an insult — depending on what preceded it. A heart emoji can warm someone’s day or open a wound, depending on what they were hoping for.
Misunderstandings aren’t usually about the words. They’re about what the words represent. About what we need them to mean. And about what we’re afraid they don’t.
The Cost of Misunderstanding – and the Simplicity of Asking
If there’s one thing digital messaging lacks, it’s tone.
It’s a cruel twist, really — that in the most emotionally charged moments, when nuance and softness are needed most, we’re left tapping on glass, trying to approximate human warmth with ellipses, emojis, and question marks. And even those carry traps of their own: a single period can come off as cold, a missed heart emoji as careless, a too-quick reply as dismissive, a delayed one as avoidance. Suddenly, two people who care for one another can find themselves on opposite sides of a digital chasm, wounded by assumptions they never meant to create.
An Unnamed Old Story, Yet Somehow Universal
Just imagine…
A woman — accomplished, independent, emotionally intelligent. She has been in a long-standing connection with someone who, by all appearances, cares deeply for her. Their connection is tender, meaningful, and often profound. But it exists mostly in the margins of his life — an affair of the heart, but not one of space, time, or shared routines.
They message each other, often long and thoughtful notes. But the replies come less frequently now. One day, she or he sends a heartfelt message — raw, honest, and vulnerable — trying to express a need, a longing, or simply a wish to be seen. It takes courage to share, especially without knowing what will come back.
Days pass.
No answer.
But she sees that he is active elsewhere — interacting online, responding to others, And yet, her message — unread. Her words — seemingly invisible.
She doesn’t want to accuse him, she doesn’t even want a dramatic confrontation. She just wants clarity. A conversation. A gesture that says: “You matter.”
Instead, silence.
And that silence gets filled — as it always does — with inner voices, past wounds, old abandonment echoes, and the creeping sense that she is too much, or not enough, or simply… forgotten.
And here’s where it becomes tricky: Did he really ignore her? Or was he overwhelmed, unsure how to respond, caught between conflicting loyalties, or just trying to keep the peace in his own world? Was her message too much, or did he just not know how to handle intimacy when it required action?
He may have interpreted her words as a demand, a threat, a criticism, or even as an ultimatum — even if she meant it as a plea. She may have interpreted his silence as punishment — when he thought he was simply buying time to respond better.
But nobody asked. Nobody clarified. Nobody said: “Hey, what’s going on here? Can we check in before this becomes a story we both regret?”
So the cycle repeats.
Emotional Filters and the Stories We Tell Ourselves
The trouble with digital communication is that it leaves enormous room for interpretation — and of course, misinterpretation. When we read a message, we don’t just see the words. We hear them in our own voice, shaped by our current mood, our past hurts, our expectations, and, most of all, our emotional filters.
If someone is feeling insecure, even a simple “I’ll write you later” can feel like a brush-off. If someone feels unseen, a delayed reply can echo as abandonment. If someone is wrestling with guilt or fear, a well-meant question can feel like an accusation.
We don’t see things as they are — we see them as we are.
So we fill in the blanks. We project. We assume. We deflect.
We turn silence into rejection.
Distance into betrayal.
Delay into disinterest.
And emojis — dear god, emojis — into emotional landmines.
A heart emoji from the “wrong” person at the “wrong” time can feel like a slap or a tease. A thumbs-up can come across as passive-aggressive. Even the absence of punctuation — no exclamation point, no warmth — can be read as icy coldness.
The irony is that none of this may be true.
The other person might simply be tired. Or distracted. Or trying their best to find the right words and falling short. They might be dealing with their own chaos and have no idea that they’ve just set off a storm on the other end of the line.
But once the story takes root, it grows.
And unless we pause to check the story — to ask, to clarify, to speak openly — it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. One person retreats to avoid conflict. The other gets hurt and lashes out. Then the retreat deepens. The story becomes: “They don’t care.” Or: “I’m too much.” Or: “It always ends like this.”
And soon, two people who care about each other are standing on opposite sides of a canyon they both helped create — simply because neither dared to build a bridge.
The Simplicity of Clarification
Imagine how many heartbreaks, arguments, and emotional avalanches could be prevented with just one simple question:
“What did you mean by that?”
It sounds almost too basic, doesn’t it? But in a world where so much is assumed, where people read between the lines more than they read the lines themselves, clarity is a lifeline.
Asking instead of assuming — that’s where the magic lies.
• Instead of “He ignored me,” ask: “Did you see my message?”
• Instead of “She’s upset,” ask: “Are you okay? I sensed something in your tone.”
• Instead of “They don’t care,” ask: “I feel a bit invisible — is that your intention?”
These aren’t accusations. They’re invitations. And they can mean the difference between growing closer or growing apart.
Because more often than not, misunderstandings don’t come from malice. They come from mismatched expectations and silent fears. From words unsaid and meanings misread. From being human, messy, and deeply emotional creatures who often struggle to say what we really mean — and hear what’s truly meant.
And yes, asking can feel vulnerable. Terrifying even. It requires humility, honesty, and a willingness to hear something we might not want to. But it also opens the door to connection. It breaks the cycle of defensiveness. It lets the other person know:
“I care enough to want to get this right.”
So before we slam the door or send the angry text, before we spiral into doubt or resentment, what if we just… asked?
It might not fix everything. But it’s a beautiful place to start.
Perception is Not Truth
Just imagine this: A woman texts her partner after a long day, “I miss you today.” She waits. No reply. Hours later, she sees he’s liked several posts on social media, even commented on a few. Her stomach drops. Her mind fills in the gaps: He’s ignoring me. He doesn’t miss me back. I’m not a priority. Cue the emotional spiral.
Now picture his side: He read the message just as he walked into a meeting. Made a mental note to respond properly later. After work, he scrolls through his feed absentmindedly, decompressing. He doesn’t even realise he hasn’t replied. He assumed she’d know he was just busy.
Two people. Two stories. Both real — in their own heads.
This is how it so often unfolds. Not out of cruelty, but because our perceptions filter everything. And again, we don’t see the world as it is — we see it as we are. We read messages through the lens of our history, our wounds, our unmet needs.
If we’ve felt forgotten before, we might see neglect where there’s distraction.
If we’ve been hurt before, we might hear criticism where there’s curiosity.
If we’re craving connection, silence feels like rejection.
But here’s the truth: Perception isn’t fact. It’s interpretation.
And unless we’re willing to check those interpretations — to ask, to clarify, to be brave enough to seek the truth instead of assuming the worst — we live in a loop of projections and pain.
We’ve all been both people in that story. The one who feels dismissed, and the one who meant no harm but caused it anyway. And what makes the difference is whether we’re willing to step out of our own head and into a conversation.
The High Cost of Assumptions
Assumptions are fast, seductive, and dangerously convenient. They save us from the discomfort of vulnerability — but they cost us clarity, peace, and often, the very connection we’re trying to protect.
In messenger-based communication, this danger is amplified. There’s no tone of voice, no facial expression, no body language. A period can seem passive-aggressive. An ellipsis can feel ominous. A delayed reply can feel like a cold shoulder — or worse, a power play.
So we fill in the blanks.
But the blanks are rarely neutral. They’re shaped by past disappointments, childhood wounds, old breakups, unresolved guilt. Our nervous systems scan for danger and prepare for disappointment long before we’ve confirmed a single fact.
And once we’ve decided on a narrative — they don’t care, they’re avoiding me, they’re punishing me — it’s incredibly hard to see anything else. Even a kind message may be read as manipulative. Even silence becomes deliberate.
The sad part? Sometimes the person on the other end is just tired. Or distracted. Or overwhelmed. Or unsure how to respond — especially if they feel misunderstood or cornered.
Relationships — especially those with complicated dynamics — often fall prey to this tragic loop. One person finally gathers the courage to speak a need. The other feels accused or threatened. Communication shuts down. Silence grows. And soon, both people are bleeding from wounds the other never intended to cause.
The Path to Clarity: From Reaction to Reflection
So how do we break this cycle? How do we go from jumping to conclusions to stepping back and seeking understanding?
It starts with one deceptively simple step: pause.
That moment between receiving a message and reacting to it is where everything can change. When we feel the rush of emotion—hurt, anger, confusion—we can choose to lean into curiosity rather than defense. Instead of: “How could they say that to me?”, we might ask: “Is there a chance I misunderstood what they meant?”
It sounds small. But in practice, it’s monumental.
Imagine what would happen if we treated digital messages not as truth carved in stone but as imperfect vessels of human intention. What if we made it a habit to ask, “How did you mean that?” or “Can you help me understand what you were trying to say?”
This isn’t about giving people a free pass for cruelty or carelessness. It’s about recognising that most of us aren’t trying to hurt each other—we’re just trying to be heard. And sometimes, our tools fail us. Or our fear gets in the way.
There’s also a layer of responsibility in how we communicate, especially in moments of conflict or heightened emotion. Taking a breath before sending that angry message. Choosing clarity over cleverness. Realising that a heart emoji might soften one person and confuse another. Asking ourselves, “What am I really trying to say here?”
Misunderstandings will still happen. We’re human. But when both sides are willing to ask for clarification instead of demanding agreement, something powerful begins to shift.
We stop talking at each other and start talking with each other.
The Gentle Art of Asking
In the end, relationships—romantic, platonic, familial, professional—are built not on perfection, but on effort. On the willingness to bridge the gaps between perception and intention. On choosing dialogue over assumption, empathy over ego.
We all carry old wounds that color how we interpret the present. We all read between the lines, searching for proof of love, safety, respect — or betrayal. And yet, if we never pause to ask what the other person actually meant, we risk waging wars over things that were never meant to wound.
Misunderstandings are inevitable. But silence, blame, or withdrawal doesn’t have to be.
The next time you’re tempted to retreat into your version of the story — ask. Ask what they meant. Ask what they felt. Ask what they need.
Because clarity isn’t found in knowing all the answers — it’s born in the brave, sometimes awkward, sometimes vulnerable act of asking better questions.
And perhaps, if we can master that, we’ll begin to see one another not as opponents to decipher, but as partners in the delicate dance of being human.
🎶My Song for you
I thought this one, Misunderstood, by Robbie Williams would fit nicely…
For more good music, go to this Spotify playlist where you can find all the songs from the Change & Evolve Letters!
📚My Poem for you
Is by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855—1919)
Tired
I am tired to-night, and something, The wind maybe, or the rain, Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside, Has brought back the past and its pain. And I feel as I sit here thinking, That the hand of a dead old June Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings, And is drawing them up in tune. I am tired to-night, and I miss you, And long for you, love, through tears; And it seems but to-day that I saw you go – You, who have been gone for years. And I seem to be newly lonely – I, who am so much alone; And the strings of my heart are well in tune, But they have not the same old tone. I am tired; and that old sorrow Sweeps down the bed of my soul, As a turbulent river might suddenly break Away from a dam’s control. It beareth a wreck on its bosom, A wreck with a snow-white sail, And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away, But they only respond with a wail.
👀Impression
An impression of the westernmost point - and possibly windiest - of mainland Europe…
How do you deal with misunderstandings in communication?
Let me know your thoughts in the comments, leave a ❤️ or send me a message. I always love hearing from you.
Wishing you a lovely summer weekend wherever you are.
Yours
Tanja 🤗
PS. You can now also find my podcast on Spotify
Change & Evolve and feel free to get in touch
Such a rich, humane, and necessary essay, so well-tuned to our modern paradox: we’ve never been more “reachable”, and yet genuine understanding feels rarer than ever. You trace the emotional mechanics of digital misfires with such care and empathy, but I’d love to add a slightly more uncomfortable nuance: sometimes we misunderstand not despite our intelligence, but because of it.
The more self-aware we become, the more fluent we are in psychological language, attachment theory, emotional archetypes, the more tempting it is to overinterpret. To spot patterns too quickly. To name dynamics before they’ve had time to breathe. “Ah yes, this is avoidant-dismissive behaviour”, we think. “Classic trauma response”. But in doing so, we may not only misread someone, we may also preempt the raw, messy work of just being in uncertainty together. We mistake insight for intimacy. Classification for connection.
There’s also the tragic irony that many of us learned to be hyper-verbal because we grew up around emotional ambiguity. So we cling to words, probe for subtext, psychoanalyse silences, not necessarily because we’re overdramatic, but because we had to make meaning to survive. But when both people are doing that, without the grounding of shared time, tone, presence, it can turn into a feedback loop of projection, reactivity, and “over-processed” conversation that doesn’t actually soothe either party.
What’s missing sometimes, then, isn’t more skillful language. It’s presence without interpretation, the ability to sit with ambiguity, and trust that clarification will come relationally, not just through better phrasing. Misunderstandings are technical glitches, but also invitations to slow down our instinct to explain everything, and instead, experience each other in real time.
So yes, ask the clarifying question, but also know when not to fill in the silence with theory. Sometimes the deepest repair comes not from decoding what someone meant, but from saying, “I don’t know, but I want to stay curious. Are you willing to stay here with me while we figure it out together?” Because I believe in more than what we call communication. I believe in communion.
Beautiful piece, Tanja!