Holy Shit, I’ve Been Doing All the Translating

I do something so automatically that for a long time I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

I translate people.

I learned a lot of it through foster care. I remember being taught that if I was communicating with someone whose brain processed communication differently than mine, and they genuinely couldn’t understand the way I was saying something, repeating myself louder or getting irritated wasn’t going to help. If I had more ability to change the delivery, then I could change the delivery.

That made sense to me.

If I speak English and German, and you only speak German, why would I keep speaking English because it’s easier for me?

So I got good at translating.

I soften something before I say it. I add context. I change the order. I anticipate which word might derail the whole conversation. I think about what somebody probably heard instead of only what I know I meant. Sometimes I can feel a sentence coming out of my mouth and adjust it halfway through.

And most of the time, nobody knows I did anything.

That’s the strange thing about translation labor:

The better you get at it, the less visible the translation becomes.

The conversation just went fine.

Except somebody spent something to make it go fine.

Sometimes that’s simply courtesy. Sometimes it comes from training. Sometimes it comes from love. Sometimes it comes from having more skill in that particular moment.

And sometimes we learn to become very good translators because at some point it felt important to know what everybody in the room needed.

Those things can overlap.

I can genuinely want you to have a good experience and prefer that you not get upset.

Human beings are terrible spreadsheets. Our motives rarely arrive in neat little columns.

There is another piece I didn't understand for a long time.

Translation isn't always distributed according to who is “better at communication.”

Sometimes the person doing more adapting is the person who has more ability to do it.

But sometimes they're the person with more to lose if the interaction goes badly.

That matters.

If one person is continually anticipating, softening, clarifying, repairing, remembering what subjects require special handling, figuring out what the other person probably meant, and changing their own delivery accordingly, that is work.

Even when they're good at it.

Even when they chose to do it.

Even when some of that ability came from experiences they wouldn't trade.

And even when the other person never asked them to.

The question isn't whether translating is good or bad.

I still believe there are plenty of times when adjusting how I communicate is kind, useful, and worth the effort.

The question is whether I know I'm doing it.

And whether anybody else ever walks across the bridge.

Because reciprocity doesn't necessarily mean we perform the same skill.

Someone may genuinely have far less ability to read implication, change communication styles quickly, recognize subtle shifts, or figure out what another person needs in the moment. Asking them to perform exactly like the more flexible person isn't reciprocity.

It's imitation.

But different contribution is still contribution.

Maybe one person does more translating while the other learns to ask, “Did I understand you correctly?”

Maybe one notices emotional shifts while the other reliably comes back after a difficult conversation.

Maybe one changes the delivery while the other gets better at saying, “I don't know what you need from me. Tell me.”

Fair doesn't always mean doing the same thing. It means the bridge doesn't permanently belong to one person.

And there is one caution here that I think is really important.

Seeing someone do something somewhere else does not tell us what it costs them.

“They can do it at work.”

“They can do it with their friends.”

“They did it last Tuesday.”

Okay.

That's information.

It is not proof that the ability is endlessly available.

Some people spend enormous amounts of energy adapting in one environment and have very little left when they get home. Neurodivergence, stress, emotional activation, exhaustion, history, and context can radically change what someone can access in a particular moment.

Ability somewhere is information.

It is not a verdict about willingness everywhere.

Which means I don't need to become the prosecutor of somebody else's capacity.

But I also don't need to ignore my own workload.

For one week, try something ridiculously simple.

Don't diagnose anybody.

Don't decide who is selfish.

Just notice every time you consciously adjust yourself so another person can receive you.

You changed the wording.

You softened the opening.

You waited.

You explained differently.

You repaired a misunderstanding you didn't create.

You figured out what they meant instead of requiring them to say it differently.

Just make a little mark.

Then ask one question:

Does either person ever walk the other direction?

Not equally.

Not perfectly.

Just sometimes.

Because a relationship can absolutely survive differences in communication.

It can survive different abilities.

It can survive seasons when one person carries much more than the other.

What becomes difficult to sustain is a relationship where the same person is permanently responsible for making two people understandable.

Sometimes translation is love.

Sometimes it's skill.

Sometimes it's protection.

Sometimes it's simply good manners.

And sometimes we've been doing it for so long that we forgot it was work.

The point isn't to stop translating.

It's to finally count the translator.