It never ceases to surprise me when I have to take a dose of my own medicine.
On my team, I've worked with the same virtual assistant for six years. She’s great. We know each other well, our routines run like clockwork, and there's real trust between us.
So I was surprised, in a recent email exchange, to discover two competing assumptions I never knew we were carrying.
The topic came up about asking questions in meetings. Now, I pride myself on inviting input — questions, observations, suggestions, recommendations — precisely because I want a culture where every voice is heard.
Or so I thought.
So I asked her directly: Do you ever hesitate to ask a question, either in team meetings or even by email?
Her answer stopped me. She doesn't mind asking, she said — but she assumes, whenever I ask for her input, that I've already made the decision, unless I explicitly say I'm still thinking it through. She attributed it to things that were “deeply rooted in (her) Filipino culture.”
So I followed up with: “What can I do to help you ask these questions? I always want you to ask questions, so if I'm doing something that prevents you from asking them, please let me know.”
To which she replied:
“One thing that would help us is if you let us know that an idea or something you have isn't set in stone yet, and that suggestions or your need for our input are still welcome.”
Read that again.
That’s where the disconnect was. To me, a question means exactly what it says: If I’m asking if you have any questions or ideas, it means I want your input, and I'll weigh it.
To her, the default assumption was the opposite — the question is viewed as merely a polite gesture, not a real invitation, unless I spelled out that the door was still open.
And here's what struck me most: we'd had versions of this very conversation before. Yet we both drifted back to our defaults, each assuming that once something's been said once, the other person “gets it.” We both needed the reminder again.
Why do two people who communicate well keep missing this?
Here's what makes that unremarkable little exchange worth more than a shrug. Ours isn't a broken relationship — by every visible measure, we communicate beautifully. That's exactly why the gap survived six years. The smoothness itself kept it buried: nothing ever “broke,” so neither of us had reason to check the wiring underneath.
That's the quiet danger of an unexamined assumption — it doesn't announce itself. Two people can use the same two words — “any questions?” — and walk away with opposite understandings of what just happened. One hears an open door; the other hears a closing one.
And because both are acting in good faith, nothing flags the mismatch. We each read the other through a lens ground by our own history, our training, and yes, our culture — and most of the time we never think to say the lens out loud.
Where might you be assuming you're on the same page as someone, when you're quietly reading from two different books?
Where do these hidden assumptions do the most damage?
For me, the stakes were low and the fix was a two-line email. Scale that same invisible gap up through a company of 500 – or 500,000 – though, and it stops being harmless.
Take a single decision. You float an idea in a meeting to test reactions — you're still fully open. Half the room assumes you've already decided and goes quiet; the other half assumes it's a live debate and pushes hard.
That's what makes these assumptions expensive: they don't surface as disagreement in the room. They surface weeks later, as confusion, misfires, and “but I thought you said—.”
The reflex that keeps leaders stuck
When I first got her responses, my gut reaction could have been the one most leaders have: You should know by now that I mean it. Why do I have to keep reminding you?
That reflex would have felt justified. It's also useless.
Because my intent doesn't travel — it stays in my head. What travels is the assumption the other person already holds.
Expecting someone to override a lifelong default through sheer exposure to my good intentions is like being annoyed at the tide for ignoring your opinion of the current. You can insist the water should know better, or you can learn to steer the ship.
Whose job is it to surface the assumption?
Mine. Every time. Not because she's careless, and not because I did anything wrong — but because the buck stops with me.
That means making the implicit explicit, as requested: “I haven't landed on this yet — I want your candid input before I do.”
It means telling people, in as many words, that a question from me is a real question, not a formality. And it means doing it again next week, and the week after, long past the point where I feel silly repeating myself — until the new assumption is the one that runs on autopilot.
But did I help build this?
She handed me a comfortable exit. She traced her hesitation to her culture — and I could stop right there, file it under “that's just how she was raised,” credit myself for being so understanding, and move on.
Some of it may be exactly that. But if I want to be an exceptional leader and not merely a well-intentioned one, I don't get to keep the flattering explanation just because it's the one on offer.
So I owe myself the harder question: is there something in my behavior that taught her to read me this way? Not the story I tell about how open I am — the actual patterns. E.g.:
- Do I say I want input then run out of time at the end of meetings and cram in all my points instead of leaving time for questions?
- Do I ask for and receive their input, but then fail to address their ideas in a way that makes them feel like they were truly considered?
- Do I shoot down some ideas too quickly, regardless of how logical my rationale is?
I don't want any of that to be true — which is exactly why I have to look.
So I'm going back through recordings of our meetings, not to grade myself, but to hunt for the patterns I can't catch from the inside. Because that's what a blind spot is: invisible to the one person who most needs to see it.
The takeaway
Here's the humbling part: I do this for a living, and I still sat across six years of it without noticing the gap in my own inbox. That's how assumptions work — they hide best from the people most certain they don't have any.
So take your own dose: pick one relationship that's running perfectly smoothly and ask what you've each been assuming without ever saying it out loud. The most dangerous assumptions aren't the ones you argue about — they're the ones you never knew you disagreed on.
Here's the trouble with a blind spot: by definition, you're the last one to see it.
If you're ready to find your own blind spot and bring it into the light, let’s talk.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why do people who communicate well still misunderstand each other? Because meaning isn't in the words — it's in the assumptions each person brings to them. Two people can use the same phrase and interpret it in opposite ways, based on their own history, culture, and expectations. In a smooth, trusting relationship these gaps are especially easy to miss, precisely because nothing appears to be breaking.
What are hidden or unspoken assumptions in communication? They're the unstated beliefs each person holds about what a message really means — for example, whether “I'd love your input” is a literal invitation or a polite formality. They stay invisible because both people feel certain they understand, so no one thinks to check whether they actually agree.
How do hidden assumptions affect decision-making? They quietly fracture alignment. When a leader floats an idea, some people may assume the decision is already made while others assume it's open for debate. Everyone leaves the room with a different understanding of what was decided and who owns it — a costly gap that only surfaces later as confusion and misfires.
Whose responsibility is it to surface a misunderstanding? The leader's — not as blame, but as leverage. You can't align on an assumption no one has spoken aloud, and you're the one with the standing to name it first. Making the implicit explicit, and repeating it until it sticks, is how you replace a mismatched default with a shared one.
How do I find my own communication blind spots? Start with the humility to assume you have them, because everyone does. Look for gaps between the intent you hold and the way people consistently respond, review recordings of your own meetings to spot patterns you can't feel from the inside, and invite candid feedback from people who see you in action. Because a blind spot is invisible to you by definition, an outside expert or coach is often the fastest way to surface and correct it.
