Communication That Lands: Why You Don’t Need to Prove You’re Smart

(3-4 mins)

Hi! And happy New Year.

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions, and I’m definitely not here to tell you how to become the “best version of yourself” at work. Most of us don’t need more self-improvement advice. We actually need fewer things that make our jobs harder than they already are.

So this month, I want to focus on something that actually moves the needle in your career: communication that lands. The kind of communication that helps people understand you, trust you, and see your leadership without working longer hours or over-preparing.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: communication that lands will move you forward faster than hard work ever will.

Today, I want to take you back to early-career Minal. At the start of my career, I thought meetings were tests. Not the kind you studied for with flashcards, but the kind where you proved, in real time, that you deserved to be there. That you weren’t there by accident. That someone hadn’t made a mistake by inviting you into the room.

So whenever I spoke, I came prepared. Very prepared. Honestly, probably too prepared. I didn’t just answer the question that was asked. I answered the question, plus the follow-up, plus the thing someone might ask next, plus the backstory that explained how I got there in the first place. I layered my thinking the way you layer winter clothes, just in case.

And while I was talking, a quiet part of my brain was always watching the room, scanning faces, asking: Do they get it? Do I sound smart enough? Do they believe me? Do they think I belong yet? 

If I stopped too soon, I worried they’d think I was shallow. If I simplified too much, I worried they’d think I didn’t know enough. If I paused, I worried someone would jump in and take the floor before I’d made my case. So I filled the space. Every time.

I remember one meeting in particular where I’d walked everyone through my entire line of reasoning, complete with examples, edge cases, and explanations I thought made me sound thorough and thoughtful. When I finally stopped, my manager nodded and said, very kindly, “This is good. Next time, just get to the point.”

I smiled and said okay, but inside I felt exposed. Because what I heard wasn’t get to the point — it was you didn’t need all of that. And that was terrifying.

Because somewhere along the way, I’d internalized the idea that if I wasn’t explaining, justifying, or adding context, then I wasn’t demonstrating value. That being clear was risky and that being concise left open the possibility of being misunderstood.

It took me years - and watching a lot of other people communicate - to realize something important: The people who were most trusted in the room weren’t doing more explaining. They weren’t working harder to sound smart. They weren’t racing to prove anything at all. They spoke calmly, they answered the question that was asked, they stopped when they were done, and if someone wanted more, they let them ask for it. They didn’t perform, they didn’t overexplain and they certainly didn’t ask for approval. 

What I finally understood is that overexplaining isn’t a communication style. It’s a self-protection strategy to mask self-doubt, imposter syndrome or a fear that you don’t belong. And if you grew up needing to be extra prepared, extra careful, or extra “good” to be taken seriously, that fear makes a lot of sense.

But here’s the quiet truth most of us never get told: clarity doesn’t erase your intelligence. It reveals it.

When you say less and mean it, people listen differently. They stop trying to keep up and start paying attention. They trust that if they need more, you’ll provide it. And they begin to experience you not as someone trying to convince them, but as someone who knows where they’re going.

These days, when I catch myself slipping into prove-it mode, I pause and ask a different question: What does this person actually need to understand so we can move forward?  

Not what will make me feel safe or what will cover every possible angle. Just what matters right now. Often, the answer is one sentence. And I stop there. If they want more, they can ask for it and I’ll give more. If they don’t, I let it be enough.

So if you’ve ever walked out of a meeting feeling like you said too much, or replayed a conversation wondering why you couldn’t just get to the point, you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just trying to protect yourself in a system that taught you to equate worth with effort.

This week, try something small. Answer the question you’re asked - and then stop. Let the silence sit for a beat. Trust that you don’t need to prove what’s already true.

And if this made you think, Oh… that’s me, you’re not alone. I see you. And I promise, your intelligence doesn’t disappear when you stop explaining it. It actually starts to shine brighter.

Where do you notice yourself over-explaining the most? I love hearing these stories.

Here’s to a healthy, happy and successful 2026. Let’s start the year communicating in a way that actually lands.