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What I think versus what I say

Posted on August 12, 2026 by Minna Hong • 0 Comments

I have spent a lifetime figuring out what is ok to say in polite society and what isn’t. That doesn’t mean I always say the safe and bland thing, though. Sometimes, I say the ruder/more honest thing on purpose, and sometimes, it’s because I did not draw the right line. And, sometimes, I’m so tense about saying/doing the right thing that I just blurt out the first thing that enters my mind. Or do whatever my brain tells me to do. Thankfully, it’s never inappropriate–it’s just sometimes very awkward. And embarrassing. But I’m used to that.

I have a running track in my head that tells me what I’m saying is wrong, stupid, and I should just shut the hell up. That’s on a bad day. On a good day, the voice is calmer and not saying the mean words, but it’s basically the same message. “Dear, is that really what you want to say?”, “Maybe you should say that in a different way.”, and the like.

The track was installed by my parents when I was very young, and while I’m getting better at dampening it, it’s still there. It doesn’t help that I’m hard to understand when I’m not styling myself for normies to listen to me.

There are several reasons for this. One is that I think very differently than others do. And I think in very complex and, yes, convoluted ways. That’s part and parcel in having a broken brain. I see connections that other people don’t, and I can’t explain them to my satisfaction. I’ve told this story over and over again.

I once was talking to my then-therapist about how frustrating it was when I could not explain something to someone to make them understand what I was trying to say. In my mind, it was my fault because I could not find the right words. She said, “It’s because you think at a level five while they think at a level one or two.” She told me that they literally could not understand what I was saying, and that it wasn’t because I could not find the right words.

It was a relief to be released from the burden of trying to find the right words. I still tend to err on the side of me thinking I’m not saying the right words, but I have found some relief in the idea that maybe it’s not me.

See, this is one of the issues with being neurodivergent–I always assume it’s my fault. Before I knew I was neurodivergent, I just assumed that my brain was broken, and I was a weirdo. I mean, the latter is true, but the former is…not true in the way I used to think it was. It doesn’t mean I monitor what I say any less, but at least I’m cognizant of why I’m doing it.

It felt treacherous when I was younger to say what I really thought. I’ve done a lot of work to figure out what the ‘right’ thing to say is and what the ‘wrong’ thing to say is. In addition, I have been programmed to always put others feelings first, which makes it difficult for me to voice my opinion.

More about gaslighting in my family

Posted on September 13, 2024 by Minna Hong • 0 Comments

In my last post, I was talking about my mother and how she lies/deep-sixes uncomfortable/bad memories. The biggest example I have is from the last time she was here, and it has stuck in my mind as to how it brightly highlighted how my mother’s mind worked.

I was in the living room on my laptop when my mather came racing in the room, crying. My father was hot on her heels and screaming at her. He was accusing her of stealing his money, which was one of his recurring themes in his dementia. He lived in poverty when he was a kid, and my parents didn’t have much money when they f irst married. Like, really scrimping and saving, in addition to them sending money back home to my father’s family (but not my mother’s for sexist reasons).

Side note: my father has been weird about his money all his life. For the most part, he was stingy as he pinched a penny hard. It’s understandable, but he took it to extremes. And in very disaparate, disconnected ways. I have mused about it before, but he was very penny wise, pound foolish. He would gripe about two kiwis costing a dollar when he came to visit (apparently, it’s cheaper in Taiwan), but then he will spend a hundred dollars on a water pick for his teeth (this was decades ago).

Which, I get. We all have the things we will splurge on. For me, it was my last desktop (the computer I’m writing on right now). But at least I’m aware of my weak points. My father isn’t and never has.

Now that he’s in his dementia, I have to pretty much let it go. Let what go? The resentment, the expectations (as minimal as they were to begin with), and any hope for an authentic relationship. I mean, to be honest, I did not have the last at all with my father–ever. At least since I was in my twenties. Instead, I have to practice taking my father as he is, which is where Taiji really helps out. It teaches me to be in the moment and just be.

Anyway. The fight. My father was shouting at my mother, and I unwisely put myself between them. Literally and metamophorically. Sometime in my thirties or forties, I looked at my father and realized that he could not hurt me physically. Emotionally, yes, but not physically. That helped psychologically in a way I can’t completely explain.

I stood between my father and my mother, and outshouted my father. I’m not proud of it, but it is, as the kids say, what it is. Sometimes you have to outbully a bully, and in that moment, he was bullying my mom. Again, it was about money and how she was stealing from him. Or maybe it was about his driver’s license and how we refused to give it to him. That latter was true, by the way. There was no way he should be driving, but he was very stubborn about it. My mother allowed him to beat her down (metaphorically) until she let him drive to Cubs for instance. She argued that it was so close, but it really doesn’t matter. That’s a spurious argument, but she could not say no to him.