Complaining or Communicating?
A Lightbulb Moment
From my view on the couch this week, I’ve been watching myself complain. Not just once or twice, but as a pattern—especially when things don’t match my preferences for how they should be.
The irony? I often find myself complaining about people who… complain. Or criticize. Or fixate on what’s wrong. So, yes—this week has been a mirror.
Lately, I’ve been more inward. After a few years of slowing down and stepping away from active engagement, I’ve found that life is much simpler when you're not bumping up against other people’s preferences, imperfections, or opinions. HA! Alone on my couch, it’s just me, my thoughts, my taste, and my decisions. No friction. No feedback.
But recently I re-entered community life and took on the redesign of a shared space. I have a background in interior design, so I was genuinely excited. But what happened next was revealing: instead of appreciating what had already been done while I was away, I found myself complaining—about what wasn’t finished, what wasn’t working, what didn’t match my vision.
Suddenly my attention was consumed by what was missing rather than what had been accomplished. And it hit me—maybe I haven’t been as kind to my internal world as I liked to believe. If the external reflects the internal, then wow… there’s still a part of me I’m judging as not quite enough.
Complaining as a Cover
The more I reflected, the more I saw how my complaining was actually a strategy—a way to avoid having practical conversations about what needed attention. Because I do have a good eye. I do notice what could be better. But instead of naming those things directly, I vented—quietly to a friend or internally in my own mind. Why?
Because I was terrified I’d be seen as a “bitch.” A hard-ass. A perfectionist.
Instead of offering practical feedback, I turned it into an emotional minefield. I didn’t want to risk how someone else might feel if I spoke up. So I didn’t.
The Pattern: In Life and in Parenting
This doesn’t just show up in design projects. It’s been present in my parenting too. I hear myself complain about how my daughter is handling something rather than clearly communicating what support I think could help her—without emotional baggage.
In trying to protect my own emotional safety, I’ve withheld the very practical gifts I’m here to offer. I’ve defaulted to silent judgment rather than direct support. Because what if she thinks I’m bossy? Or controlling? Or just too much?
But here's the thing: when I soften my identity—the one that’s trying so hard to be “liked” or “not too much”—I start to see the deeper pattern. And with that clarity comes compassion.
Of course I developed this strategy. Of course I want to be liked. But now, I’m learning to hold those impulses with kindness. To stop making myself a self-improvement project. To recognize that I can offer my practical wisdom without taking over. That I can speak up without managing the emotional outcome.
The Practice
These days, I’m practicing something simple but powerful:
When a complaint arises, I pause.
And instead of venting or withdrawing, I ask myself:
What needs to be communicated here—not emotionally, but practically?
Can I let go of managing how the other person feels about it?
Is this complaint really serving connection—or just protecting me from discomfort?
It’s a slow unwinding. But one with so much freedom on the other side.
Because when I trust that my “good eye” is a gift, not a threat, I stop sacrificing myself in the name of being agreeable. I stop withholding the truth in fear of being too much. I get to be kind and honest.
And maybe, just maybe, life gets a little more spacious again.
When I find myself complaining, what practical communication might be hiding underneath?
What emotional identity am I protecting by staying silent or vague?
Can I trust that my feedback—offered with clarity and kindness—is a gift, not a threat?
This is synchronicity. As usual, Leslie, the timing of this piece was much needed! Thank you!