Last summer, we spent a painful amount of money landscaping our backyard. New trees. Natural privacy. One of those projects that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—you finally have your adult life somewhat together.
Fast forward to this spring.
Several of those trees looked very dead.
Thankfully, the landscaping came with a one-year warranty, so I sent what felt like a very reasonable email asking whether the trees were covered, whether replacement was possible, and while we were at it, pricing on mulch and advice on a mushroom situation that had somehow turned my backyard into a tiny forest ecosystem.
A few days later, I received a response.
Someone had stopped by while I wasn’t home. Five trees appeared dead or partially dead. Then came multiple paragraphs about watering.
Sprinkler coverage. Tree watering patterns. Making sure water reached all sides.
No mention of warranty. No mention of replacement. Just watering.
And this is where my age started to show. First, I was disappointed they stopped when I wasn’t home instead of letting me know so we could have a conversation. Then, I felt attacked and also ignored.
Are you saying my trees are dead because I didn’t water them properly? Do you not want to deliver mulch? Are these helpful watering tips for replacement trees or an explanation for why warranty coverage won’t apply?
And perhaps most importantly:
Why am I suddenly missing face-to-face conversations so much?
And then, I did what I always do:
I overthought. I rewrote my response.
I softened wording. Removed sentences. Added more explanation. Removed it again.
Not because I don’t know what I want. I know exactly what I want – my trees replaced under warranty as was explained last spring.
I grew up learning communication differently. We had face-to-face conversations. We spent hours on phone calls. We sent actual letters in the mail.
If a conversation felt uncomfortable, you worked through uncomfortable. If personalities clashed, you learned to navigate personalities. If someone misunderstood you, there was usually an opportunity to immediately say, “No, that’s not what I meant.”
We heard tone. Saw reactions. Knew immediately if someone was joking, frustrated, annoyed, or trying very hard not to sound annoyed.
There wasn’t an opportunity to sit alone staring at an email wondering if a period sounded passive aggressive.
I remember watching younger friends date in a completely different communication world. Entire relationships unfolding through text messages.
We would sit there trying to build the perfect response. Sometimes trying so hard to create the right voice that it didn’t even sound like their personality anymore.
Although we certainly didn’t communicate perfectly before screens, we were able to think on the fly. Respond immediately. Navigate awkward pauses. Learn actual personalities sitting in front of us.
Some of us now spend enormous amounts of energy managing tone.
Meanwhile, other people fire off messages they would never say standing face to face with another person.
For some people, screens create hesitation.
For others, they remove filters entirely.
Maybe that’s why communication feels harder now.
Eventually, I sent a clearer email asking directly whether the trees were covered under warranty or whether we should simply look elsewhere for replacement.
Look elsewhere for replacement?
Yes. I really said that.
It felt cold.
Slightly dramatic.
Not entirely like me.
Then:
The trees were replaced the next day.
And honestly?
That bothered me nearly as much as the dead trees.
Because it left me wondering something I didn’t particularly enjoy wondering.
Was it my slightly snarky and maybe unkind tone that got the job done? Would things have gone differently if I had conceded that our watering may not have been sufficient?
I don’t know.
I don’t think becoming less kind is the answer.
But I do wonder if many of us quietly carry extra work inside communication. Managing problems while simultaneously managing perception.
Or maybe we’re all just sitting at kitchen tables rewriting perfectly reasonable emails three times before finally hitting send.
Honestly?
I’m still figuring that one out.
Have you noticed this too?
Do you find yourself rewriting emails and texts more than you used to? Or do you think communication has actually gotten easier? I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.
If thoughtful conversations about midlife, motherhood, awkward moments, and figuring things out as we go sound like your thing, I’d love to have you join the Mindful Momma Moments community.
Social awkwardness and overthinking aren’t exactly new territory for me…
Mindful Momma Moments 
Leave a comment