I'm learning less is more when it comes to talking, messaging

I’m too wordy. Long-winded. I talk too much, share too much. My messages are lengthy, approaching epic tome territory. I write like I talk which is excitedly, bubbling, probably blabbing.

To be fair, I’ve always been a chatterbox. I remember being a little girl of about 8 or 9 going on a driving holiday with my family. Not long into the drive, my Dad offered me a nickel for every 10 miles I would shut up. I didn’t make a lot of money. But the world was an exciting place and chattering, laughing, asking questions and just spreading my sunny self around came naturally. 

To be fair, I’ve listened as much as I’ve talked. Because as much as my voice fills the air, my curious mind wants to learn about everything and everybody. I asked many questions. Still do. I’m open to new ideas and new learning and that means plenty of conversation. Or it does in my mind. And I don’t talk because I think I’m the most important or the most interesting or fascination person in the conversation. Far, far from it. In general, I think I’m boring and bland. 

So when I do talk about myself I usually downplay what I’m doing. Not what I’m feeling, though, but my adventures. I’m more apt to play up any areas where something odd has happened and less likely to celebrate any successes. My endless chatter isn’t filled with 'yay me or even 'look at me' but more a comedic recap of misadventure. 

I am, however, a huge cheerleader of everyone in my life and want nothing more than to see them happily succeed, whatever success looks like to them. 

During my marriage, My Favourite Husband swore it took him days to read a single text message from me. His response? Usually “k,” which he knew was guaranteed to drive me nuts. Every time I tried to be brief, I’d end up adding something else and many times he’d just pick up the phone and call. It was probably easier that way.

Being on my own the last four years has both changed me and not changed me. I still chatter and send very long messages. I still speak with emotion and share my heart. But what’s changed is the fact my messages have become more frequent. Some of my friends are newer and not used to my lengthy communication. And some of my friends are getting bombarded with messages. Where I would’ve talked the ear off of MFH, I now send off electronic letters hurtling into the universe.

I know I’m putting a strain and exhausting some of my close friends. I think I was given grace at the beginning of my widowhood but, as the years have rolled on and all of us have adjusted to different new normals, I’ve still written using many, many words infused with emotion at the expense of my relationships. 

Some friends read my messages and pick up the phone to talk. Some send a laughing emoji and ask which day is good for a catchup and breakfast. And some find different ways to handle me.

There have been two instances where I know I’ve crossed a line. One was with a heart sister who fed my message into ChatGPT and sent me the generated response. My heart broke immediately because I know her words and her style of writing. And when I called her on it, she said the message was long, she didn’t have time for a proper response and didn’t want to ignore me. I understand the why. And it stung. 

I’ve also been noticing the message-to-response ratio. I’m sending more than I’m receiving. And that’s OK except am I putting out too much? Are people getting weary seeing a message ping and seeing my name? Am I exhausting my friends with the amount of words I put out into the world? I’m pretty sure I am. 

Now there are some points I need to make abundantly clear. First off, I can send a lot of messages in a day and I never expect an immediate response. Or, at times, any response. I’m being dead serious. Everyone has a life and I’m not their life. Part of it, in it — yes. But I’m not it. Work, family, friends, life ... they all take priority. And generally if there’s something that needs an immediate response, my message will be short and sweet. My messages about nothing can wait.

Secondly, although the ChatGPT response stung, I’m not angry. And although the ignoring of my messages is disappointing, I’m not upset. In fact, the reason I even bring up these examples is to illustrate one thing that has become blindingly clear: change is needed. Not a complete overhaul of who I am but maybe a few tweaks. 

So, what to do? To stop communicating altogether isn’t a plan. And I’m not sure changing a fundamental part of who I am — being curious, asking questions, initiating conversation to learn and grow and share- — is achievable. But I can work on shortening my messages. I can curate what I share so, when I message, it has valuable information. I can share any meandering conversations over coffee or a meal, in person where time is plentiful and emotions can be seen and heard and witnessed. Not guessed at. 

On that note, I can do my best to regulate the emotions I share in writing. If I’m editing my messages and keeping them brief, keeping them as void of emotions as possible should be easier. 

None of my friends have asked me to change. They have been kind and patient and beautifully understanding human beings. And, to their credit, none of them have expressed shock, disgust or any other negative emotion at some of the genuinely bizarre things I learn and share. I think I make many of them laugh, shake their head and cheer me on. They are gracious with their time, their responses. But no matter how much someone is a piece of your heart, it can get weary when you get a multitude of messages mixed with a plethora of emotions. Exhaustion and a feeling of being overwhelmed creeps in. No one ever asks for a break or a timeout but surely they must want one? 

And maybe, just maybe, this pullback into my introverted side, this shift to quiet has opened up doors of introspection. Maybe realizing that life doesn’t have to be a constant carousel of talk, endless in its cycle, makes me realize that pulling back — not away but back — might be a good thing for everyone. I can blog. I can journal. I can write letters to me and delete them instead of writing letters to others with expectations. 

I don’t set resolutions for the New Year. Sometimes I write a list and call it “shit I’d like to get done this year.” I think succinct, factual, sporadic written messaging with chattering heartfelt in person rendezvous should be at the top of the list.