What emotional depth, connection, and silence tell us about ourselves
There are days when I leave a conversation feeling like I’ve just run a marathon. Not physically, obviously, but something inside of me feels tired, used up, like my mind and heart were pulled in ten different directions and none of them made much sense. It’s wild how something as simple as talking can either fuel you or drain the hell out of you. And the more I pay attention, the more I notice how it’s not about the length of the conversation or even the topic. It’s about what kind of energy that talk demands from me.
When talking feels like performing
You know those moments where someone’s talking at you, not with you? You can feel it. It’s not a conversation, it’s a performance. The person needs to be interesting, funny, smart, impressive. It’s exhausting because there’s no space left for real exchange. You’re there, listening, nodding, maybe laughing, but none of it lands. You’re just holding the stage for someone else to keep their show going. And it’s fine now and then, we all need to be seen. But when every talk turns into this kind of show, you walk away feeling like you’ve been emptied out instead of filled.
I started noticing that the best conversations, the ones that don’t leave me tired, are the ones where I’m not performing and neither is the other person. There’s space. There’s quiet. There’s presence. Sometimes it’s deep and thoughtful. Sometimes it’s just watching a movie and saying nothing. But it feels like we’re actually there, together, instead of trying to entertain each other to keep the silence away.
Emotional openness feels rare but it shouldn’t be
What I’ve realised is that some people are like houses with the door wide open. You come in, sit down, feel at home. Others have all the lights off and the door locked. And when you’re someone who talks from a place of feeling, it becomes pretty obvious who’s emotionally available and who’s not. You try to have a conversation, and it’s like bouncing a ball against a wall. Nothing comes back. It doesn’t mean the person is bad, it just means they might be closed off, maybe even from themselves.
And then there are those conversations that just hold you. They don’t need to be profound or even about anything special. They’re quiet, but not empty. Present, but not demanding. They’re the ones that give you energy instead of stealing it. They make you feel like you don’t have to hide or fix anything. You can just be.
Why some conversations feel safer than others
Sometimes, it’s not even about what’s being said. It’s about what you’re allowed to say. In some spaces, you know that if you share too much, you’re going to be met with a joke or a change of subject. There’s no space for what’s uncomfortable. And that’s fine, not everyone needs to go deep. But if every connection you have avoids the uncomfortable, you start feeling pretty lonely.
And then, you meet someone who listens without trying to solve anything. Who lets silence sit in the room without needing to fill it. Those people are rare, and honestly, they feel like water when you’re thirsty. It’s not about intensity or drama. It’s just about being met in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re too much.
Learning to protect your energy
I’ve learned to pay attention to how I feel after talking to someone. Do I feel lighter, calmer, more myself? Or do I feel tired, confused, maybe even a little invisible? The answer usually tells me everything I need to know about the quality of the exchange. It’s not a judgment on the other person, it’s just data. And it helps me choose better. Not in a rigid way, but in a way that respects my own emotional limits.
We don’t need to turn every conversation into a therapy session. But we also don’t need to keep performing just to feel like we’re being heard. There’s a middle ground, a place where honesty and quiet can exist together. And once you taste that kind of connection, it’s really hard to go back to the noisy emptiness of pretending everything’s fine.