We’ve all been there. You’re standing in the kitchen, or maybe sitting across from a very confident (read: very annoying) person at a dinner party, and they say something so fundamentally ridiculous that your brain just… stalls.
Most people—the “civilized” ones, anyway—take a deep breath and prepare a counter-argument. They have bullet points. They have citations. They have “active listening skills.” And then there’s me. Tina.
My brain doesn’t do bullet points. My brain does one thing: it generates a high-definition, 4K mental image of me leaning across the table and delivering a slap so crisp it would win an Oscar for Sound Design.
Let’s be honest: I am terrible at arguing. It’s not that I don’t have opinions; I have too many opinions. But the moment conflict starts, my communication skills disintegrate. While the other person is using words like “problematic” or “statistically speaking,” I’m over here vibrating at a frequency that only dogs can hear, thinking: “I’d actually rather just slap the fck outta you right now.”
It’s an impulsive, primal, and honestly quite efficient thought. Why spend forty-five minutes explaining why you shouldn’t have touched my leftovers when a single thwack says it all?
Whenever I try to actually use my words, the “Argument Brain” fails me in three specific ways:
1. The Voice Shake: I start sounding like a Chihuahua in a thunderstorm. No one takes a threat seriously when it’s delivered in a shaky, high-pitched vibrato.
2. The Tear Reflex: Why do I cry when I’m mad? It’s the ultimate betrayal. I’m trying to be a fearsome warrior, and my eyes are like, “Time for a salt-water bath!”
3. The Staircase Wit: I think of the perfect, soul-crushing comeback exactly three hours later while I’m brushing my teeth.
Because I can’t win the “Word Olympics,” my mind defaults to the slap. It’s a coping mechanism! When someone is explaining a crypto-currency scam to me, I’m not listening—I’m mentally measuring the distance between my palm and their cheekbone.
Now, let me set the scene—because once again, you can’t see the image I’m looking at. And honestly? Maybe that’s for the best 😂. It basically says: “I’m bad at arguing. I’d rather just react.”
Not literally—relax, internet police—but you get the energy. That raw, unfiltered, “I don’t have the patience for back-and-forth nonsense” kind of mood. Let’s be very clear: this isn’t about violence. This is about frustration. This is about those moments when you’re so tired of explaining yourself, defending your boundaries, and engaging in circular conversations that go absolutely nowhere, that your brain just taps out and says, “Yeah… I’m done talking.”
Because whew. Talking is exhausting. Arguing sounds good in theory. Two adults, exchanging thoughts, listening, resolving. Cute, right? In real life, though? Arguing often turns into raised voices, selective hearing, emotional amnesia, and someone bringing up something you did in 2012 that has absolutely nothing to do with the current situation.
I’ve realized something: I’m not bad at arguing—I’m bad at arguing with people who don’t want resolution.
Some people argue to understand. Others argue to win. And the ones who argue to win? They’ll twist words, move goalposts, and play victim until you’re the one apologizing for reacting to their nonsense. That’s where the humor in the “internal slap” comes in. It’s that internal scream. That eye twitch. That deep breath where you’re choosing not to say what you’re really thinking because you’re trying to grow, heal, and stay out of orange jumpsuits.
• Growth looks like walking away.
• Growth looks like silence.
• Growth looks like realizing not every invitation to argue deserves your RSVP.
Some of us grew up in environments where yelling was the only way to be heard. Unlearning that takes work. Sometimes your body reacts before your mind catches up; your heart races, your jaw tightens, and your inner voice says, “Say something slick. Do it.” But then there’s that newer, calmer voice that says, “Nah. Protect your peace.”
To the “Quietly Violent Imaginators” out there: you’re not crazy. You’re just tired. Tired of explaining yourself to people who already decided how they feel about you. Tired of carrying emotional labor for people who refuse to grow.
This chapter of life is about choosing calm over chaos. Being “bad at arguing” isn’t a flaw; it’s a sign that your soul is craving peace, not conflict. That’s not a weakness. That’s wisdom.
So, to anyone I’ve ever “argued” with: You’re welcome. You’re welcome for the fact that I have self-control. Because if my internal desires ever manifested into reality? Well, you’d be icing your face, and I’d be much more relaxed.
Until next time—breathe, walk away, and remember: silence can be louder than any argument ever could.