When the Cost of Speaking Up Feels Too High

We talk a lot about knowing what we want.

I've certainly talked about it here. Slowing down enough to hear yourself. Separating what you actually want from what you think you should want. Learning to trust your own voice.

But there's another part of this we don't talk about nearly as much.

What happens when you know what you need, but the cost of saying it feels too high?

That’s where many of us get stuck. 

Most of us aren't making decisions in a vacuum. We have spouses, children, parents, friends, colleagues. We love these people. We care about their needs, opinions and feelings. We don't want to disappoint them or create unnecessary conflict.

And sometimes, if you're anything like me, keeping the peace can feel a whole lot easier than risking what might happen if you speak up.

When the dishes weren't really about the dishes

I remember this feeling very clearly from when my children were young.

I’d chosen to be a stay-at-home mom, and my husband was working incredibly hard to support our growing family. I knew how much responsibility he carried, and I was grateful for it. And yet, I found myself getting increasingly frustrated by things like the dishes and cleaning up.

Why wasn't he helping more? Why did all of this fall to me? And why did I feel so overlooked and unappreciated?

But even asking for more help felt complicated.

He'd been working all day. He was providing for us. He'd come home and make an effort to be present with the kids and me. So another voice in my head would immediately respond, ‘Really, Alix? You're going to complain about the dishes?’

What I understand now that I didn’t then is that my frustration wasn't really about the dishes.

I’d lost touch with parts of myself that made me feel purposeful, free, useful and alive.

I’d once been genuinely excited to focus on motherhood full-time, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. The routines of housekeeping and parenting had begun to feel less fulfilling, and rather than understanding what I was missing, I focused on the easiest thing to blame.

The dishes.

What I really needed was to reconnect with me and that was much harder to say because I loved my family. I loved my husband. I had chosen this life.

How could I want something different and still be grateful for everything I had?

Of course, I know now that both could be true.

The Trap of Either/Or Thinking

I think this is where many women get stuck. We can unconsciously turn our needs into an either/or proposition.

If I need more, you must not be giving me enough.

If I want something different, I must not appreciate what I have.

If I say no to you, I'm selfish.

If you're disappointed by my choice, I must be making the wrong one.

If I speak up, I’ll be seen as the problem.

This last one rang true for one of my clients who was struggling with a work colleague whose behavior had become increasingly difficult. She knew she needed to address it, but every time she thought about having the conversation, she found herself pulling back. She cared deeply about her position at the company, and the people she worked with, and worried that speaking honestly would make her seem unkind or create conflict she couldn't undo.

As we explored what was underneath that hesitation, she realized her discomfort wasn't evidence that she was doing something wrong. She could care about her colleague and still acknowledge that something wasn't working. She also discovered she didn't have to carry the situation alone and sought support within her organization before deciding what to do.

Sometimes the hardest part isn't finding the right words. It's giving ourselves permission to take our own experience seriously before we decide what comes next.

What Our Needs Are Trying to Tell Us

But what if our needs are just information? They tell us that something matters. Something is missing. Something inside us is asking for attention. That doesn't mean we get everything we want or that we stop considering the people we love or bulldoze our way through relationships in the name of “honoring ourselves.”

Sometimes two people simply want different things. 

Often the work isn't figuring out who’s right. 

Maybe it's learning how to say, This matters to me, while staying curious about what matters to the other person, too.

I wish I had understood that much earlier.

There were things I wanted when my children were young that I had a hard time even admitting to myself. I wanted a bigger house. More travel. A more active social life. I wanted some of the lifestyle I'd grown up with. But I felt selfish for wanting it when my husband was already working so hard and I wasn't contributing much financially.

Over time, I got more honest about those desires. Some of them were wrapped up in how I thought success was supposed to look. Some came from wanting my parents to see that we'd “made it.”

But not all of them. There were things about my upbringing I valued and wanted to create for my own children. I wanted more experiences. More freedom. And I wanted to feel that I was contributing toward creating them.

Once I stopped judging the desire, I could actually do something useful with it.

I went back to work. We got creative with the home we already had. We started smaller with special trips.

It wasn't I shouldn't want this. And it wasn't I want this, so I need to have it now. There was a whole lot of life in between.

Someone else's “no” isn't the same as “you're wrong”

Expressing what we need can feel so vulnerable.

We might hear no. Someone might not understand. They might disagree with our choice or be disappointed.

And I think many of us have a tendency to absorb that reaction as information about ourselves.

Maybe I'm asking too much.

Maybe it was a bad idea.

Maybe I'm being selfish.

But someone else's reaction is also about them. Their needs. Their fears. Their expectations. Their circumstances. A “no” doesn't necessarily mean your desire was wrong. It can just mean there’s more to talk about.

This comes up in my coaching conversations all the time. Someone begins by telling me they don't know what they want, but when we give the question enough time and space, there’s often something underneath the uncertainty.

They want to feel appreciated.

More time with their children.

More freedom.

To feel alive again.

I don't think the next step is immediately figuring out how to get it either. First, we get curious.

What does that mean to you?

What would it look like?

What feels scary about admitting you want that?

Who are you worried might not understand?

Sometimes I'll ask a question and then wait. I don't rush to fill the silence because that's so often where something important finally has room to surface. Maybe that's what taking ourselves seriously really looks like – allowing space for the uncomfortable thoughts.

Not always getting our way. Not ignoring the people we love. Not making every desire an instruction to change our lives. Just being willing to let our own needs into the conversation.

To listen to someone else without disappearing ourselves. To hear “no” without deciding we were wrong to ask and to remember that two people can want different things without either person being wrong.

If you've been struggling with what you want, maybe the question isn't only, What do I need?

Could it also be, What am I afraid will happen if I say it out loud?

If you've been circling the same need, decision or conversation and can't seem to get anywhere on your own, this is exactly the kind of work I do with women in my 1:1 coaching. Sometimes having a space where no one else's agenda is in the room makes it much easier to hear your own, and figure out what you want to do with what you hear.

I'm currently taking on private coaching clients. If this sounds like where you are right now, send me a message and tell me what's been on your mind. We can start there.