Open Mouth Insert Foot

The Art of Saying the Wrong Thing (and Learning to Get It Right)

If there’s one talent I’ve mastered, it’s the fine art of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Whether it’s a joke that falls flat or a heartfelt comment that doesn’t quite hit the mark, I’ve found myself in those awkward moments more times than I care to admit. It’s almost like an unintentional superpower—though not one I’d ever brag about.

But here’s the thing: I’m learning. Every single day. Slowly but surely, I’m figuring out how to communicate better, with more intention and care, especially when it counts. And let’s be honest, it really always counts.

I used to beat myself up over it, replaying conversations in my head, thinking, “Why did I say that? Why didn’t I just stop talking two sentences sooner?” It’s easy to fall into that trap of self-doubt, but what I’ve realized is that these little moments aren’t failures—they’re lessons. A slight nudge from the universe, guiding me towards being a more thoughtful communicator, a more present partner, a more understanding friend.

I’m lucky, though, because life gives us people who stick around through our verbal blunders. Whether it’s Jason smiling at my unintended punchlines or my friends shaking their heads but still calling me the next day, I’m reminded that love and connection aren’t about being perfect. They’re about being real.

And being real means I might not always say the right thing, but I’m always speaking from the heart. Sure, sometimes the words come out a bit tangled, but I’m working on it—on pausing, on listening, on choosing kindness over quick-wittedness. There’s something romantic in that, don’t you think? The idea that love teaches us how to communicate, not by being flawless, but by being willing to try again after each misstep.

I’m learning to give myself grace, knowing that the right words will come with time, patience, and practice. And when I get it right? Well, it makes all the wrong things I’ve said along the way feel like steps in a beautiful, messy dance.

And honestly? That’s a rhythm I’m okay with.