Why Do Some Conversations Leave Us Feeling So Tired?

I was talking with my mum today about stories.

She likes to begin with a story. Before sharing an opinion or making a point, there is often a story that leads into it. As we spoke, she shared something she had noticed about herself.

When she tells a story, she often finds herself justifying herself. Not deliberately. It simply seems to happen.

The story begins as a story, but somewhere along the way, it becomes an explanation. A way of helping other people understand why she thinks what she thinks, or why she did what she did.

As she described it, something felt very familiar.

Not the storytelling itself. I use stories all the time in my teaching and writing. Stories help us connect. They help us see ourselves in each other. They bring ideas to life.

What felt familiar was something underneath the story.

 

During my counselling training, one of the things I gradually became aware of was how much effort I was putting into conversations. Most people would never have seen it. On the surface, I was simply listening, talking, and connecting. Yet beneath the conversation, something else was often happening.

I was trying to get things right.

Trying to make sure I was understood.

Trying to land well.

Trying not to say the wrong thing.

Trying to connect.

Trying to make sense.

 

The conversation itself wasn't difficult. It was everything I was carrying alongside it that made it tiring. Listening to my mum, I recognised something similar.

A conversation begins, and then something extra joins it.

The need to explain.

The need to justify.

The need to make sure the other person understands.

The need to make sure they see things from our perspective.

 

The conversation is no longer just a conversation. It is carrying something else. And carrying something extra takes energy. Most of this happens quietly, beneath the surface. So quietly that we often don't realise how much energy it takes. We meet a friend for coffee. We spend time with family. We attend a meeting. We have a conversation we've had many times before.

Nothing particularly difficult happens.

There is no argument. No conflict. No drama. Yet we arrive home feeling exhausted. The kettle goes on. We sit down. And there it is.

That feeling of being drained.

Not because of what happened. But because of everything we were carrying while it was happening.

The effort of explaining. The effort of monitoring. The effort of making sure we are understood. The effort of making sure we land well. The effort of carrying a version of ourselves that we hope will be accepted.

After reading this, my mum shared something else. She said that when she is explaining herself, she is often worried about using the wrong word. She described herself as being very good at bluffing her way through a conversation, then added, "That's not clever, it's embarrassment."

I suspect many of us have our own version of that. We are not simply carrying the conversation; we are carrying the hope of not getting it wrong.

Not being misunderstood.

Not appearing foolish.

Not being exposed.

And that can be surprisingly heavy.

 

The strange thing is that this can become so normal that we stop noticing it altogether.

We assume the tiredness comes from being with people. Yet sometimes it isn't people that tire us. Sometimes it is the extra holding we bring into the conversation.

The extra layer.

The extra effort.

The extra weight.

 

When that begins to soften, conversations can feel very different. There is less to manage.

Less to defend. Less to explain. The conversation is allowed to be a conversation. And we are allowed to be as we are. Perhaps that is why a simple question has stayed with me since speaking with my mum.

What are you carrying into your conversations that this moment isn't asking you to carry?

Not what are you saying. Not even what are you feeling. What are you carrying?

Because sometimes the exhaustion comes from the conversation.

But sometimes it comes from the extra holding we bring into it.