I May Be Wrong, But I Will Not Be Quiet
- Hampton Law Firm ⚖️
- Jun 23
- 5 min read
Updated: Jul 3
I have never been particularly good at having a small opinion.
Some people can hear a topic, think privately about it, offer a gentle “maybe,” and move on with their day. I admire those people. I assume their blood pressure is lower than mine.
That has not been my personal experience.
When I have an opinion, it generally arrives with supporting reasons, backup examples, a few concerns nobody else has considered yet, and a tone that suggests I have been appointed chairwoman of the committee without anyone actually holding an election.
It is not that I think I am right about everything.
I am not. I have been wrong plenty of times. Sometimes I have been wrong in a quiet, ordinary way. More often, unfortunately, I have been wrong with enough confidence and enthusiasm that it becomes a story other people get to tell later. (Maybe one day I will give you more specifics of some stories, but for now just picture a woman running out of the woods in house shoes at midnight in the middle of nowhere to jump in a getaway car. Yes, this is a true story.)
There is something uniquely humbling about realizing you were wrong after you have already explained your position to several people, possibly used hand motions, and probably said, “I am just telling you, this is how it is going to go.”
Then life goes another direction entirely.
At that point, I have three choices. I can pretend I never said anything, which has never been a reliable strategy when the people around me have excellent memories. I can own it, laugh at myself, and admit that apparently the universe has once again chosen to humble me for character development. Or, on occasion, I can hold onto my original opinion just a little longer than the facts technically support because backing down feels suspiciously like retreat.
People who know me well understand that I do not retreat often. But eventually, I usually come around—loudly, reluctantly, and with a full explanation of why I was not entirely wrong in spirit.
I may be loud when I am right, but I am also fairly loud when I am wrong. There is no mysterious disappearing act. There is no quiet revision of history. There is usually a dramatic announcement that I have received new information and would prefer that nobody enjoy this moment too much.
The people close to me have learned that my opinions are rarely subtle. If something is a bad idea, I will probably say it is a bad idea. If I think someone is overthinking, underthinking, avoiding the obvious, or making a decision that is about to create more work for everybody involved, there is a very good chance I will have thoughts.
Several thoughts.
Possibly in paragraph form.
For instance, if somebody calls me in the middle of the day and asks whether I have time for a spontaneous, last-minute event that was apparently planned with no notice, they are going to receive my full and very bold opinion about last-minute events with no notice. I may still show up. I may even enjoy myself once I get there. But everyone involved is going to understand that I believe proper notice is a sign of respect, civilization, and basic human decency.
My children also know that if they do not pick up after themselves, they are probably going to hear my opinion about why I should not be the only person in this house cleaning up behind people who are fully capable of carrying their own cups to the sink, putting their shoes where shoes belong, and throwing away wrappers they somehow managed to open without assistance.
I do not believe I should have to explain that opinion often, but apparently I do.
And if you know me well enough, then you also know that when my dad gives me his opinion about what I should be doing, I usually have an immediate, detailed, and very loud opinion about why he is wrong.
This is not because I do not love or respect him. I do. It is because we are both lawyers, both capable of forming strong views, and neither one of us has ever been especially interested in letting the other have the last word without at least a little discussion.
That does not mean I am unwilling to listen. In fact, most of my strongest opinions come from listening closely, noticing details, and thinking through the consequences before everyone else has finished saying, “It will probably be fine.” Sometimes it is fine. Sometimes it is not. Either way, I will have a follow-up opinion.
The truth is, most of my opinions come from caring more than I probably know how to do quietly. I care when something feels unfair. I care about the details everyone else wants to skip over. I care when people are treated badly. I care about the people I love, the work I do, and the things I believe are worth saying out loud.
Sometimes that means I need to soften the delivery. I am still learning that part.
But I have never believed the answer is to stop caring enough to have a point of view.
I have learned that there is a difference between being opinionated and being impossible. Being opinionated means I care enough to think things through, ask questions, and speak honestly. Being impossible would mean refusing to learn, refusing to apologize, or refusing to make room for another person’s perspective.
I try very hard not to be impossible.
I can hold a strong opinion and still change my mind. I can say what I think and still ask someone else what they see that I do not. I can be confident and still admit when I missed something. And when I do miss something, I can generally turn it into a decent story.
That may be my favorite part of being wrong.
Mistakes are rarely funny while they are happening. Usually, they are inconvenient, embarrassing, expensive, stressful, or all four at once. But give me a little time, and I can usually find the absurd detail. I can find the part that deserves to become a story at the dinner table, in the office, in the car, or with a friend who needs to know they are not the only person who has ever made a complete mess of a perfectly ordinary day.
If you spend enough time around me, you will hear my opinions. You will probably hear them before you ask for them. You may hear a full review of a situation while I am still collecting the facts, because apparently I have never been particularly gifted at waiting until the end to form a preliminary conclusion.
But you will also know where I stand.
You will know that I mean what I say. You will know that I will tell you the truth as kindly as I can. You will know that I will probably complain while I solve a problem, laugh while I recover from my own mistakes, and turn an inconvenient moment into a story before it has time to become a permanent tragedy. You will know that you don’t have to give me anything, provide anything or support me in any monetary way, I do that myself. You will know that all I ask is for presence, consideration and loyalty and I return the same.
I may be wrong sometimes.
But I will not be quiet.
And honestly, life would be much less interesting if I were.
Book your legal consultation here.
Judith L. Hampton
Attorney-at-Law
Hampton Law Firm
Comments