THE OVER-EXPLAINING TAX
NO TAX RETURNS ON THIS ONE
There is the saying that nothing in life is certain except death and taxes.
Most people accept this with a shrug. Taxes are irritating, but at least they are visible. You know when you are paying them, and once a year, there is the small consolation of filing a return.
The tax no one prepares for is the one you pay when you explain yourself too much. There are no forms for it. No refunds. No neat moment where you realise what it has already taken.
The Reflex to Explain
Over-explaining rarely begins as a communication problem. It begins as a relational one.
Most people who explain too much are not confused, unclear, or poorly prepared. On the contrary, they usually understand exactly what they are doing. The explanation appears in the moment when something tightens. A pause. A raised eyebrow. A hint of misunderstanding, or simply the anticipation of it. The instinct to clarify arrives before anyone has asked for clarification.
In those moments, explanation functions as reassurance. It smooths the air. It signals goodwill. It tells the other person, and often the room as a whole, that nothing difficult is about to happen. No friction. No resistance. No disappointment that needs managing. The explanation is offered not because information is missing, but because comfort feels at risk.
This is why over explaining often shows up most clearly in people who care about impact. They are attentive to context, sensitive to atmosphere, and skilled at reading subtle shifts in tone. They notice when something might land awkwardly and step in pre emptively. The explanation is a form of social maintenance, a way of keeping things workable and relationships intact.
At first, this seems harmless, even generous. After all, clarity is usually praised, and consideration is rarely criticised. The difficulty is that explanation, once it becomes reflexive, stops serving understanding and starts serving containment. It no longer answers a question. It prevents one from being asked.
That is where the tax begins to accrue. Not loudly, and not all at once, but through small, repeated moments where something could have been stated and was instead justified. Where a decision could have stood on its own and was softened with reasons. Each explanation makes sense in isolation. Over time, the accumulation begins to change how authority is felt, both by others and by the person doing the explaining.
That shift is subtle enough to go unnoticed for a long time. Which is precisely why it is so expensive.
When Explanation Turns Into Justification
There is a clear difference between explaining and over-explaining, and it has very little to do with clarity.
Explanation serves understanding. It appears when something is genuinely unclear, incomplete, or unfamiliar. It answers a question that exists. Over-explanation appears in a different moment altogether. It arrives when nothing has been asked, but something feels exposed.
This is where explanation shifts into justification.
A decision is made, and instead of letting it stand, reasons are added. Context follows. Motives are clarified. Constraints are listed. Not because the other person needs the information, but because the speaker feels the need to defend the decision against potential discomfort. The explanation is no longer offered to inform. It is offered to reassure.
This is the point where a simple internal question becomes revealing: who is this for? The listener, or the speaker?
Over-explanation often grows out of a deep intolerance for tension. Silence feels uncomfortable and even dangerous. Disappointment feels personal. The possibility of being misunderstood, looking incompetent, or feeling disliked seems like a risk that must be managed immediately. So the speaker keeps talking. They fill the space. They soften the edge of their own statement before anyone else has the chance to react.
The problem is not that this behaviour comes from bad intentions. It usually comes from anxiety. From the need to secure agreement, acceptance, or emotional safety in the moment. But anxiety has a cost, and in this case, the cost is authority and credibility.
When a person over-explains and justifies everything, their statements begin to sound provisional. Decisions start to feel negotiable. Boundaries turn into discussions. The more they explain, the more space they create for others to question, reinterpret, or push back. Not because those others are malicious, but because the speaker has signalled uncertainty about their own position without intention.
This is the over-explaining tax. It is paid in credibility, in time, and in how seriously a person is taken. The irony is that the speaker often experiences themselves as being careful, considerate, and responsible, while the outside world experiences them as unsure. The words multiply, but their weight diminishes.
None of this requires a loud personality or excessive talking. Some of the most damaging over-explanation happens in measured, articulate language. Calm sentences. Reasonable explanations. Delivered so thoroughly that the original statement disappears underneath them.
That is the point where over-explaining stops being about communication and starts being about self-protection. And that is also the point where it begins to work against the very respect and authority the speaker is trying to preserve.
The Struggle With Silence
What makes over-explaining so persistent is not the need to be understood. It is the difficulty of stopping.
For many people, the moment after a statement is the hardest part. The decision has been voiced. The boundary has been set. And then there is a pause. No immediate agreement. No reassurance. No visible relief. Just space.
That space is often where anxiety rushes in. Silence can feel like disapproval in disguise, or the prelude to conflict. It invites interpretation, and not all interpretations feel safe. So the speaker moves to fill it. They add context. They explain their reasoning. They offer background, constraints, and intentions. Anything to soften the edge of what was just said and regain a sense of control, not realising that this is the exact moment they start paying the over-explaining tax by losing control and often credibility.
Over-explaining and over-justification fully merge at this point. The original statement is no longer allowed to stand on its own. It is accompanied, defended, and gradually diluted until the silence disappears. The discomfort eases, but something else is lost in the process.
Silence is not empty. It is the moment where authority settles, if it is allowed to. When a statement is left alone, it has weight. It asks the other person to think about it, to respond, rather than be managed. It makes room for reality to show itself instead of being preempted.
This is why boundaries so often collapse into negotiations. Not because the boundary was unclear, but because the speaker could not tolerate the pause that followed it. The urge to explain again is less about generosity and more about relief. Relief from not knowing how the other person will react and trying to influence that reaction by over-explaining.
Leadership lives precisely in this interval. Not in the volume of words, but in the capacity to remain present without filling the space. To let a decision be received, questioned, or even resisted without immediately stepping in to rescue it. This is not hardness. It is steadiness and competence at work.
People often assume that authority requires force or distance. In reality, it often requires restraint. The restraint to stop speaking once something has been said. The restraint to trust that clarity does not need constant reinforcement. The restraint to allow others their response without trying to choreograph it in advance.
Silence, in this sense, is not withdrawal. It is participation without interference. It is the moment where explanation ends, and presence takes over. And for many people, that moment feels far more exposing than speaking ever did.
Stating Without Defending
There is a moment when over-explaining stops being a habit and becomes a choice. Not because the impulse disappears, but because it becomes visible.
At that point, something subtle changes. The person notices the urge to add that one more sentence, one more reason, one more reassurance. They feel the familiar pull to smooth things out, to stay agreeable, to make sure the other person is comfortable. And instead of following it automatically, they learn to pause again.
That pause does not need to be obvious or dramatic. It is often almost imperceptible. But it is decisive.
In that moment, a statement is allowed to remain just that - a statement. Not sharpened into a demand, softened into an apology, or padded with justification. It simply stands. And in standing, it reveals something many people have forgotten: clarity does not require defence.
This is not about withholding information or becoming abrupt. It is about recognising when explanation has crossed its threshold and started to work against the speaker. The shift happens when the need to be understood gives way to the need to be approved, and when approval begins to matter more than being taken seriously.
Stating without defending changes the dynamic of a conversation. It returns responsibility to the other person. They are no longer being guided toward a preferred reaction. They are invited to respond honestly, or not at all. The exchange becomes real rather than managed.
This is where authority and competence stabilise, not because the speaker asserts it, but because they stop undermining it. Authority, in this sense, is not something added. It is something recovered.
Over-explaining asks to be accepted. Stating assumes legitimacy.
That difference is felt immediately, even if no one names it. The room recalibrates. The words carry more weight because they are no longer carrying fear alongside them. The person is still available, still human, still responsive, but no longer negotiating their own position in advance.
The over-explaining tax is not paid all at once. It accumulates through small, reasonable moments. So does the return. It begins the moment a sentence is allowed to end where it should.
🎶My Song for you
In A Manner of Speaking by Nouvelle Vague is this week’s choice.
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 Walter Savage Landor (1775 - 1864)
I Strove With None
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of Life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Over-explaining is rarely about the other person.
It is about the moment when we stop trusting that what we said is enough.
Nothing dramatic changes when we stop justifying ourselves.
What changes is how often we disappear from our own sentences.
Authority does not arrive when others agree.
It arrives when we stop asking them to.
What would change if you let your next decision stand without defending it?
Have a great weekend, wherever it finds you.
Yours
Tanja
P.S. My podcast Change & Evolve is now available on Spotify if you’d like to explore these themes in another format.
If you’re exploring your next chapter in leadership, you can book a discovery session here: Change & Evolve - Book your conversation.
