On the Fence: Indifference, Dissonance, and the Quiet Strength of Not Knowing
The therapeutic value of uncertainty in a culture that prizes certainty
“Dad, what do you think about…?”
“What’s one thing you really hate?”
My child asks me questions like these with disarming regularity. More often than not, I find myself answering, “I don’t really have a strong opinion about that.”
They find this frustrating. If I’m honest, sometimes I do too.
We live in a culture that prizes certainty. Strong opinions are rewarded, amplified, and often mistaken for integrity. Social media, news cycles, and even professional spaces seem to demand that we take a stance, pick a side, and declare it loudly. When I pause and listen inwardly, however, I notice that what actually shapes my way of being in the world is not indifference in the dismissive sense. It is something closer to protective neutrality.
Indifference or Intentional Care?
There is much in the world that moves me deeply. Political unrest, social injustice, environmental decline. I feel these things. Yet I am also aware of the limits of my influence. When something does not directly affect those nearest and dearest to me, I notice how quickly my emotional energy can be depleted by trying to carry it all.
That does not mean I do not care. It means I am choosing where my care is most effective.
I often return to the serenity prayer:
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”
There is something quietly radical in acknowledging our limits. Conserving emotional energy is not apathy. It can be an act of responsibility.
Cognitive Dissonance: A Familiar Companion
In therapy and supervision, we often speak about cognitive dissonance. It is the uncomfortable tension that arises when beliefs, values, or actions do not neatly align. It is a state I know well myself.
At times I feel the pull to “know more” before forming an opinion. Yet the more I read, the more noise I encounter. Data is partial. Algorithms reinforce bias. Opposing voices speak with such certainty that I sometimes feel less informed rather than more.
My mind circles back to a simple question. What now?
Over time I have come to value this discomfort. Dissonance slows me down. It interrupts impulsive certainty. It invites reflection rather than reaction.
In the therapy room, that pause is often where the real work happens. Growth rarely arrives fully formed. It emerges from tension that is tolerated rather than prematurely resolved.
Neutrality with Compassion
When I think about holding tension without rushing to certainty, I am often reminded of Brother Roger of Taizé. During the Second World War he sheltered Jewish people from the occupying forces. After the war he welcomed German prisoners of war into the same community.
That paradox has always stayed with me. He resisted oppression while refusing to abandon compassion. His neutrality was not indifference. It was an insistence on humanity. He held space for reconciliation without denying harm.
When I struggle with not taking a strong public stance, or when I sit with the discomfort of not knowing, I think of this way of being. Neutrality, at its best, is not passive. It is spacious enough for complexity and sturdy enough to remain compassionate.
The Discomfort of Not Knowing
Not having strong views has become socially suspect. Express uncertainty and you risk being labelled uninformed, complicit, or indifferent. The cultural logic is often binary. If you are not for something, you must be against it. If you are unsure, perhaps you simply do not care.
That mindset feels exhausting.
At times I notice myself holding back, wary of being misunderstood or of adding to the noise. At other moments I wonder whether silence itself can appear performative. Stillness, however, can create the conditions in which care takes root.
The Therapeutic Value of Not Knowing
In my work I often sit alongside clients who are confused, conflicted, or uncertain. I am not there to provide the right answer. That has never been the job. Yet as a parent, a supervisor, and a practitioner, I sometimes feel the pressure to know. To be informed, decisive, and certain.
Increasingly I have come to see not knowing as a powerful therapeutic stance. It models something essential. We do not have to rush to clarity. Uncertainty is not a failure of competence. Staying with what is, without immediately fixing or defining it, can be an act of deep care.
Sitting on the Fence
“Don’t sit on the fence,” people say, as though it were a moral failing.
From where I sit, the fence offers the clearest view.
From one side, the other looks wrong. Change sides and the same thing happens. From the fence, however, it becomes possible to see that both sides may carry truth and hurt.
Communication rarely happens when people shout across a divide. It begins when we pause long enough to listen.
Perhaps the fence is not a place of indecision after all.
Perhaps it is a place where listening becomes possible.
Working with Ambiguity
In supervision I sometimes hear a supervisee ask, “Did I say the right thing?” or “Was that intervention okay?” I recognise the anxiety well. The fear of being too vague, too slow, or too unsure.
Over time I have come to see that ambiguity is not something to eliminate. It is something to work with. Ambiguity softens judgement. It allows new perspectives to emerge. It invites humility.
When I allow myself not to know, and when I model that to clients, supervisees, and even to my child, I hope I am showing that uncertainty is not neglect. Sometimes it is the clearest sign that we care deeply enough to take our time.
Key Takeaway
Uncertainty is not a lack of integrity. Sometimes it is a disciplined pause. It conserves emotional energy, makes room for complexity, and chooses compassion over reaction.
Sitting with not knowing can be a quiet form of care.
So when my child asks me again what I really think, or what I really hate, I may still pause. I may still say that I am not sure.
Not because I do not care, but because I am trying to show something else. It is acceptable to take time. Certainty is not the same as wisdom. Caring deeply does not always require a loud answer.
If I can model anything at all, I hope it is this. Sitting with discomfort, uncertainty, and difference is not avoidance. Sometimes it is the most honest place we can stand.
Sincerely Yours, Paul
Transparency notice:
This post was developed with the assistance of AI and carefully reviewed, edited, and approved by the author.