“Not to be critical, but…” began a Facebook comment which inevitably followed with an incredibly critical comment on an article a friend shared. I care very little about the local business in another town being discussed, but the “Not to be _____, but” opener is a particular gripe of mine. I find any statement that follows it a little harder to take seriously.

It’s a qualifier that seeks to distance the speaker from the statement. It says, “Let me be the one to put this thought out there, while also prohibiting you, the listener, from holding me accountable. This thought is _____, but I, you see, am not _____.” Subtracting authorship lends the statement a sort of faux-objectivity, because it is free-floating and without an owner. It is merely an idea, rather than a claimed opinion.

It is an idea which the speaker suspects will cause an undesirable feeling. Rather than withhold the statement, the speaker tries to catapult it into the conversation, pretending it merely appeared there. Here is a critical thought, but please excuse me from any and all responsibility for the feelings this critical thought inspires.

This how I often perceive the statement, and why it’s a subject I’ve probably tweeted about half a dozen times over the years, as it comes up and annoys me all over again.

Today, however, I detected a harshness to this judgement.

I have this habit of saying phrases like “I think that” or “it seems that” when I am writing. I notice it most in journal entries. These are conversations that I am having exclusively with myself. Even in conversations with myself — usually about myself — I shy away from making direct assertions. (Even there, I originally wrote “I find that I…”)

Don’t we insecure self-conscious types all have these kinds of qualifiers?

In looking at the original comment, I can’t help but sense a ring of intellectual insecurity that I know all too well. I fear that what this friend-of-a-friend may have meant was, “Not to be overly aggressive by having an opinion, but…” As someone so intimately familiar with the initial sting, the hot burning shame, after being reprimanded for daring to voice opinions, I can’t help but empathize with this.

I was a much more vocal participant of my graduate school classrooms than my undergrad classrooms, in large part because of this fear. I’m sure a great many of my undergrad contributions began similarly — loaded with qualifiers and other statements that undermined my idea before it was even presented. It’s a cruel thing to do to an idea — a way of clipping its wings.

Truthfully, this is what these qualifiers do to these ideas: cripple them. An opinion without a clear author or advocate doesn’t actually gain any objective weight — it loses authority without anybody to stand by it.

Of course, I’m not ready to exonerate the entirety of the “not to be _____, but” population. I came to loathe the expression from its usage in a particularly faux-nice argumentative context. “Not to be an asshole, but here, watch me be an asshole.” When the offended party responds with the expected indignation, the “Don’t be so sensitive — I said I wasn’t being an asshole!” response is at the ready. (And also, you know, total bullshit.)

In either case, there’s a question of ownership over one’s words and ideas. Whether it be from insecurity or insensitivity, it is a qualifier whose sole function is to distance the speaker from the statement.

I am equal parts sympathetic and averse to it. This blog exists, attached to my name, in no small part as an exercise in learning to own my words. This is my way of saying, “Here are thoughts, feelings, and stories, which belong to me. I am claiming them, and accepting whatever repercussions follow from them.” The times I choose not to speak, the times I actively opt out of sharing a thought, idea, or story, it because I recognize that I am not ready to own whatever it is. Perhaps I will be one day, or perhaps I simply see an inherent flaw and reevaluate entirely. It is an exercise I find critical to my development as a human being. Using and owning your words takes practice, like so many other seemingly basic life skills. It’s a habit you have to form.

This one I spot instantly. If ever I find myself beginning to type or say this particular qualifier, I know to stop and reconsider. Either it means that I need to rethink what I’m going to say (so that I can not be an asshole by not being asshole) or own the statement. This, however, is but one of many to be on the lookout for.

Day by day I’m learning to live with fewer qualifiers. It’s a process.