What I realized when I stopped needing to be understood.
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This morning I sat at a café in silence.
Not on purpose. I just didn’t have much left to say.
I’ve been talking a lot lately—about my book, about overthinking, about clarity and freedom and becoming. But when you’re in the middle of sharing your story with the world, something strange happens: you start losing touch with the parts of it that were never meant to be shared.
You start forgetting which thoughts were sacred, and which were strategic.
So I sat down, let the noise settle, and wrote one sentence.
“Your depth was never meant to be understood by those who live on the surface.”
And then, without thinking:
“That works for your ego, too.”
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t poetic. But it felt true enough to stop me. Because somewhere in those two lines was the real reason I’ve felt so disconnected lately—not just from others, but from myself.
For most of my life, I’ve believed that being misunderstood was one of the worst feelings in the world.
And in many ways, it is.
When you’re trying to be honest, when you’re doing the work, when you’ve found the courage to show up without the mask.. and someone still doesn’t get it? Still doesn’t get you? It cuts deeper than silence ever could.
But that’s not what I’ve been struggling with lately.
Because I haven’t been misunderstood. And neither have you.
I just been diluted.
And the person who did that… was me.
I’ve simplified my words so they wouldn’t intimidate. Softened my thoughts so they’d feel more relatable. Downplayed my insights so they wouldn’t sound like I was trying too hard.
Rounded off the edges. Wrapped it all in a layer of warmth and good intentions.
Not because I’m fake. But because I’ve been trying to stay visible—to someone.
To anyone. And that need? That quiet, gnawing hunger to be understood?
It belongs to the ego.
It sounds noble to want to be understood.
But sometimes it’s just a socially acceptable way of saying: “Please don’t leave.”
So we trade:
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Honesty for legibility.
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Depth for acceptance.
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Wholeness for warmth.
We dilute ourselves to become palatable. And then we blame the world for not tasting the truth.
This morning, I sat with the discomfort of that.
Because maybe the goal was never to be fully understood in the first place.
Maybe that’s just what the ego tells us when it’s tired of feeling alone.
And maybe wholeness is quieter than we expected. Not loud, not proven, not validated: Just intact.
Here’s what I’m holding close right now:
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If someone only sees your surface, it doesn’t mean your depth doesn’t exist.
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Your ego will always want to be seen. Your soul just wants to be real.
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You weren’t misunderstood. You were translated.
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You don’t owe anyone a version of you that fits better.
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And you don’t have to shrink to stay safe anymore.
This morning’s message to myself was simple:
Let them stay confused.
Let yourself stay whole.
Until next time,
Benoit
