Complications. Contradictions. Confusions.
When I first jotted down these three words during a conversation with a friendly stranger, while discussing an article we’d both read, they felt like very different things. Which, of course, they are. Each word carries its own meaning.
But when I later thought to sit with them for a while and try to understand why they surfaced so instinctively, I realized how closely connected they really are. Almost like different shades of the same experience. A nuance apart, yet deeply intertwined.
As human beings, especially within relationships, these three seem to follow us everywhere. Complications arise with differences of opinion, contradictions often surface when we’re unable to follow what we’d once said or believed, and confusion is more than likely to settle in when we’re faced with such instances.
Most of the time, we don’t even notice when it all begins. We simply live inside it, wondering why relationships feel heavy, why conversations drain us or turn into arguments, and why understanding feels just out of reach.
Living in a tangled web
I know this now because I lived there for years, without realizing I was tangled in a web that kept growing wider and tighter with time.
There came a point when I didn’t just want to pause; I wanted to stop entirely and release myself out of the web. I wanted to understand where I was running, and more importantly, why.
However, instead of looking for answers from others as I always had, I tried something unfamiliar: I looked at myself from the outside. Almost as if I were observing another person’s behaviours and reactions.
What I could see unsettled me very deeply, and made me feel more messed up at first. It felt like I was standing in front of a mirror I’d avoided for years. Yet I allowed the unsettlement to process and settle, and in that allowing, I could see that it gradually grounded me.
What I saw also surprised me. I could see how I’d unknowingly contributed to the very complications, contradictions and confusions I’d been carrying so heavily.
My mind had been crowded with questions: endless, some overlapping, some demanding answers, some even unable to frame up properly. Questions I wanted others to respond to. Blame that I was quietly holding onto so I could push it onto others. A need for reassurance that I’d been fair, accommodating and perhaps taken advantage of.
Beneath all of this was an expectation that someone, someday, would acknowledge this. Validate it. Certify it and label it as they always did with me and my behaviours. There was an expectation that they’d understand my side, and that recognition and acknowledgment alone would bring relief.
All in all, this cycle had become a never-ending loop.
Asking myself a softening question
After looking at myself from the outside, I decided to ask myself an important question: What would I do with me, if I were truly seeing myself standing in someone else’s shoes? The same shoes I believed no one could ever understand.
That question softened something further inside me. It made me see how often I contradicted myself: in my words, my actions, even in the principles I believed I stood by. I noticed how I spoke about boundaries but rarely set them. How I observed behaviours in others and wrote reflections about them, yet struggled to apply the same clarity inward.
I noticed how I spoke about boundaries but rarely set them. How I observed behaviours in others and wrote reflections about them, yet struggled to apply the same clarity inward.
That realization didn’t shame or embarrass me—in fact, it calmed me. As a result, I allowed myself to think from a different perspective, maybe an inner perspective. The storm inside began to settle. The questions dissolved themselves, and the need to prove something, defend something or seek revenge just fell away.
I hadn’t known how to draw boundaries. I hadn’t allowed myself to say no without guilt. I hadn’t recognized that avoiding discomfort only deepens chaos. It had become all about I, me and myself.
I understood, perhaps for the first time, that the complications, contradictions and confusions that had arisen in my life came from me. And in understanding them, looking at them from a different perspective, a lot of thoughts and feelings inside me untangled.
Suddenly, the confusion made sense. Not because the past changed, but because my relationship with it did.
The 3 words became markers
What had once seemed like intimidating words—complications, contradictions and confusions—slowly turned into tools. They became my markers. Signals. Reminders to pause, reflect and respond consciously, rather than reacting emotionally.
By learning to recognize them early, I realized that I could change how I showed up: not by drawing lines or controlling others, but by understanding myself better and learning to draw boundaries in a calmer way.
As I write this, I can genuinely feel something loosening inside me. Knots I didn’t know how to name are quietly untangling. And if this reflection finds you at a similar crossroad, I hope it offers you the same reassurance it gave me: that clarity doesn’t always come from answers outside us, but from the courage to look inward, honestly and gently.
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image: geralt
