By Naazi Morad
We do not experience life exactly as it happens.
We experience it through the stories we tell ourselves.
Before facts are clear and before words are spoken, the mind begins to interpret. A look feels personal. A pause feels like rejection. A silence feels heavy with meaning. Without realizing it, we become the narrator of every moment, shaping ordinary interactions into emotional conclusions. Often, what hurts us is not what truly happened, but what we believed it meant.
This is the quiet power of perception. And it can either protect our peace or steal it.
Rosalinda, realized this one morning. While standing in a long queue she did not want to be in. Already carrying the weight of a difficult week. The woman in front of her seemed distant, her expression closed. When their eyes met briefly, the woman looked away.
In an instant, Rosalinda’s chest tightened.
Her mind filled the silence with meaning:
She is judging me.
I must have done something wrong.
I am not welcome here.
The story formed quickly and felt completely true. This is how perception works. A stranger stays quiet. A family member answers shortly.
A passer-by holds their gaze too long. With no information, the mind creates its own explanation. We assume rejection, criticism, or hostility. We begin to believe others are evaluating our worth, our appearance, our presence. Yet these assumptions often reveal more about our inner world than about the people before us.
Perception is a fragile lens. It bends under insecurity and sharpens under pride. When we feel unseen, we interpret neutrality as rejection. When we feel wounded, we hear accusations where none exist. When we are tired or overwhelmed, ordinary behaviour feels threatening. Our inner world quietly spills outward, colouring everyday moments with imagined intent. Over time, this habit creates distance. We label others as cold, arrogant, jealous, or unkind without knowing their story. We assign motives without evidence and slowly turn ordinary human encounters into emotional battlegrounds. The world begins to feel hostile when, in truth, it is filled with people carrying private struggles we cannot see
Standing there in the queue, Rosalinda felt a quiet shift inside herself. She realised her discomfort did not come from the woman in front of her. It came from her own exhaustion, her insecurities, and her deep desire to be seen with kindness. The story she told herself felt real, but it was not rooted in truth. This realisation did not arrive with blame. It arrived with humility.
I do not know her story.
I do not know what she is carrying.
She does not need to be the villain in mine.
Taking responsibility for our perceptions is not weakness. It is strength. It is the courage to pause before reacting. To admit that our understanding is limited. To choose restraint over assumption. In a world that moves quickly and misunderstands easily, small choices matter. A gentle smile can interrupt a harmful narrative. It does not deny pain or pretend everything is fine. It simply creates space for humanity without demanding explanation. Choosing gentleness when suspicion feels easier is a quiet act of emotional courage.
Healing begins with awareness.
With noticing the stories we tell ourselves.
With asking whether they are rooted in truth or fear.
Not every glance is judgment. Not every silence is rejection. Often, people are simply carrying their own storms, unseen and unnamed. And we are not the center of them. Every perception is a choice. We can choose fear or compassion. Judgment or grace. Distance or understanding. To look at others with tenderness is not naivety. It is wisdom. To interpret with humility is not denial of reality, but respect for its complexity.
Everyone we meet is fighting a battle we can not see. Our task is not to add to that weight with unfounded stories.
Closing Reflection
When we choose kinder interpretations, we do not distort the truth. We come closer to it. Peace begins not with changing others, but with changing the stories we allow to live in our minds. In learning to question our assumptions, we protect our hearts, our relationships, and our inner calm.
Sometimes the most powerful shift is this simple one: Not everything is about me. Not every moment needs a meaning. And not every silence is a wound. There is freedom in choosing understanding over assumption. And healing in seeing others — and ourselves — with gentler eyes.
