Why Do I Rush to Answer People?

Sometimes the most powerful answer is:

“Can I get back to you?”

That sounds simple.

But for a lot of us, it really isn’t.

Because when somebody asks us something, especially if there’s urgency in their voice, we can feel their pace enter our body almost instantly.

A question comes in.

A request.

A price.

An invitation.

A problem.

And before we’ve really heard ourselves, we’re already answering.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“No problem.”

And then ten minutes later, an hour later, sometimes a day later, we realise:

Actually, I didn’t want to do that.

Or:

I needed more time.

Or:

That answer came from pressure, not from me.

I was talking with my vocalist friend of mine about this recently, and she told me a story about the telephone.

When she was growing up, if the phone rang, you answered it.

Dinner happening? Answer it.

Argument going on? Answer it.

Whatever was happening, the ringing itself meant:

Respond now.

Then later she lived with someone who did something completely different.

She let every call go to the answerphone first.

And then she decided whether she wanted to pick up.

She said seeing that was radical for her.

Because the phone is an urgent sound.

But an urgent sound does not automatically mean an urgent response.

I love that.

Because people can be like that phone.

Work can be like that phone.

Money can be like that phone.

Opportunity can be like that phone.

Somebody else’s disappointment can be like that phone.

Something comes towards us with a certain speed and intensity, and because it feels urgent to them, it suddenly becomes urgent to us.

And sometimes we don’t even notice that shift.

We just borrow their rhythm.

That has become a really important part of my own life to notice.

I’ve had to learn to say:

“Can I get back to you?”

Not as a tactic.

Not to play games.

But simply because I know something about myself now.

I need to let certain things land.

I need a moment for my body to catch up.

A moment to notice the yes.

The no.

The maybe.

The not yet.

Especially around work.

Somebody can offer me something and say:

“This is the fee.”

“These are the dates.”

“We need to know today.”

And the money can make the answer more amplified .

Or the opportunity can make the answer louder.

Or the fear that if I don’t say yes immediately, it might disappear.

So sometimes the most self-respecting thing I can do is simply say:

“Give me a moment. I’ll get back to you.”

That little buffer changes everything.

Because then I can ask:

Do I actually want this?

What will it cost me in energy?

Does it fit with what I’m already doing?

Am I saying yes because it’s right for me, or because I’m afraid to lose the opportunity?

Am I hearing my own pace, or have I borrowed theirs?

And I think this happens in relationships as well.

Somebody asks:

“Are you okay with that?”

And we say:

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.”

Before we’ve even checked.

Or someone says:

“Can you help me with this?”

And because we care about them, the answer comes out before we’ve noticed what our own system is saying.

That doesn’t make us weak.

It just means we’ve become very practised at responding quickly.

Sometimes too quickly.

And there is another layer to this.

We often think confidence means knowing immediately.

Knowing what to say.

Knowing what to do.

Having the answer.

But I’m not sure that’s true.

Sometimes confidence is being able to stay in the gap.

So maybe the next time somebody asks something of you, notice what happens before the answer.

Do you speed up?

Do you tense?

Do you start explaining?

Do you say yes before you’ve even finished hearing the question?

And if you do, maybe just try this:

“Can I get back to you?”

Then let it land.

Hear yourself.

And answer when the response actually belongs to you.