The People Who Think Before They Speak (and the Ones Who Don’t)

I’ve always believed there are two types of people in the world: people who speak before they think and people who think before they speak.

But there’s also a strange gray space where some of us live — people who somehow manage to do both, usually at the worst possible time.

I am one of those people.

I admire people who pause before speaking. In conversation they seem attentive, giving the other person room to be heard. Their posture is open. Their expression thoughtful, like they’re carefully weighing each word before responding.

You assume something profound is about to be said.

This is where my alter ego, Jenessa, usually appears. Jenessa is the composed version of me. She listens carefully. Her expressions mirror the speaker, and she waits before responding.

Jenessa is an excellent conversationalist.

The second type of person says exactly what they’re thinking.

There’s about a 50/50 chance you’ll either enjoy what they say or tilt your head like a confused dog. I respect these people — not because they’re always witty (“can” being the operative word), but because they’re brave enough to say whatever comes to mind, sometimes without a filter.

This is usually when Jenessa quietly exits the room.

I tend to overcompensate for my ability to listen by trying to carry the conversation. Nine times out of ten, I say something that requires explaining or revising. When that happens, my internal organs cringe.

That’s Jenessa — the composed version of me — shaking her head no.

Have you ever abandoned a conversation after saying something that didn’t quite land? Or maybe it made sense, but now your mind is spinning into five different explanations of what you meant to say?

Let me tell you — it’s exhausting.

Part of me hopes people will simply understand me. My humor and quirkiness, combined with a somewhat confident exterior, might suggest that whatever I say is just “Jen.”

But about 80% of conversations with people I’ve just met — or only occasionally interact with — end with me quietly planning a polite exit.

Over time I’ve come to recognize that a lot of this is tied to anxiety. My version of it can be strange or even a little quirky. After more than forty years of living with it, I finally started accepting that part of myself sometime in my thirties.

Now I can even laugh about it from time to time.

As a teenager, I cared deeply about how others perceived me. In some ways, I still wonder what people think — mostly because I hope they see me as lighthearted.

But I no longer let those thoughts take up more space than they should.

The people who truly know me are still here.

And the quiet negotiation between who shows up — Jenessa or me — will probably continue.

The thinker or the talker.

Most days, I’m a little bit of both.