A few days ago, I met a friend at a café.
She has two sons.
And lately, she’s been struggling with her eldest, a high school student.
“He just doesn’t listen.
No matter how much I explain, it doesn’t get through.”
She sounded tired.
“So I keep explaining.
I hold onto him and talk, thinking he’ll understand.”
Then she said something that stayed with me.
“Sometimes, I just avoid him.
When he comes out of his room,
I go back into mine.”
Because she already knew what would happen.
If they faced each other,
the conversation would begin.
And once it started,
it would tangle.
Again.
I Was Doing the Same Thing
As I listened to her,
I realized…
I was doing the same thing.
With my son.
Our conversations started to twist.
Not in big moments.
But in small, ordinary ones.
One day,
he simply asked me,
“When are we eating?”
That was it.
A simple question.
From his point of view,
he just wanted to know.
Should he prepare something himself?
Or wait for what I was making?
But somehow,
I started explaining.
Long sentences.
Too many words.
Too much detail.
I thought I was helping him understand.
But as I kept talking,
something strange happened.
I became tired.
And the more I spoke,
the more unnecessary words came out.
Even things
I didn’t mean to say.
My son’s face changed.
Not understanding.
Not agreement.
He frowned
and asked why I was talking like that.
And suddenly,
a simple conversation
turned into tension.
What could have ended in one sentence
became something else entirely.
The Pattern I Had Before
To be honest,
this wasn’t new.
When my son was in middle and high school,
I used to avoid these situations.
We didn’t talk much.
I just took care of what needed to be done.
No conflict.
No emotional exhaustion.
That felt easier.
I also saw another kind of parenting.
My sister-in-law never stepped back.
She insisted.
She argued.
She pushed through.
And eventually,
her son followed the path she wanted.
He went to medical school.
She is a doctor herself.
I realized something.
Some parents lead.
Some parents step back.
And I…
was someone who couldn’t win against my child.
But That Wasn’t the Whole Story
My son grew in his own way.
He made his own choices.
Went through his own struggles.
Studied in Japan.
Came back.
Now,
we can have deep conversations.
Even philosophical ones.
But still,
in a small moment in the kitchen,
over something as simple as food,
we clashed.
And I saw myself again.
Explaining.
Trying to make him understand.
The Thought That Came First
In that moment,
I tried to make sense of it.
Maybe it’s a generational gap.
Maybe it’s a difference in experience.
I studied in the UK.
He studied in Japan.
Different cultures.
Different ways of thinking.
Different ways of speaking.
That made sense.
But then,
something else became clear.
The Pause
I stopped.
Not outwardly.
But inside.
I realized—
I was about to explain again.
To clarify.
To make my position understood.
So instead,
I didn’t speak.
Just for a moment.
For a simple three-second pause.
And something unexpected happened.
The conversation softened.
My son spoke first.
He said what he actually wanted.
He moved in the direction he needed.
And finally,
I understood.
What I Didn’t See Before
I thought I was answering his question.
But I wasn’t.
I was talking about my perspective.
And from his side,
it probably sounded confusing.
“Why is she saying all this?”
When I paused,
everything became clear.
He spoke.
I listened.
And I finally understood
what he really needed.
Not more explanation.
Just space.
Closing
We think
explaining is how we connect.
But sometimes,
explaining is what blocks the connection.
And in that moment,
the most powerful thing we can do
is pause.
