Please Don’t Assume
One of the most difficult things in human interaction is resisting the urge to project our own experiences onto someone else’s life. Humans do this constantly — with enthusiasm, with confidence, and often with the absolute conviction that they are being helpful. It’s almost endearing, if it weren’t so quietly distorting.
Take one example from my own life. When I tell someone that I am not in contact with my family of origin, the most common response is an earnest, sympathetic, “That is a shame.” I understand the kindness behind those words; they are trying to express empathy. But what they are really doing is projecting their own experience — perhaps the experience of having a loving or supportive family — onto a situation that does not resemble theirs at all. For me, stepping away from my family was the best decision of my life. It gave me peace, clarity, and the freedom to grow into myself. I have gained far more than I have lost.
This is only one example among many. People often transfer what they know onto others, assuming that a familiar structure must carry the same emotional meaning for everyone. A family is a family, they think; a rupture is a tragedy; a silence is a wound. But every story deserves to be understood on its own terms. Every rupture, every distance, every silence has its own architecture. That is why I wish people would ask, “And how do you feel about it?” instead of assuming that any situation involving shared genes and broken contact must be tragic.
And yet — because projection is a two‑way street — I have to admit that I very often do the same. Indeed, now that I think about it, it’s entirely possible that when people say, “That is a shame,” they are not referring to the broken contact at all. Some people might be responding to the idea that I didn’t receive a loving family in the first place. In other words, someone may be expressing sadness for the absence of something they themselves consider fundamental — not assuming that I miss it.
This is why genuine curiosity matters so much. A simple “And how do you feel about it?” opens a space where reality can be understood instead of assumed — where two people can meet without the weight of each other’s histories shaping the conversation before it even begins.
And here is the tragicomic part I firmly believe: Avoiding projection is impossible. We are all doing it, all the time. We project our families (or the families we would like to have) onto other people’s families, our fears onto their fears, our hopes onto their choices, our wounds onto their silences. It is one of the most universal human habits — as natural as breathing and almost as unconscious.
However, every now and then, it’s worth pausing for a small psychological check‑in. A moment of humility. A quiet internal question: “Am I seeing this person, or am I seeing myself reflected in them?” It’s not easy, but it’s the closest thing we have to genuine understanding — the slow, deliberate act of clearing away our own assumptions so that someone else’s truth can come into view.
