
There is a quiet violence in the assumptions we carry. They arrive unannounced, dressed as certainty, and we rarely think to question them. Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements, names this clearly in his Third Agreement: Don’t make assumptions. And the more I sit with it, the more I see how much of our suffering — the small daily ache and the larger ruptures — begins here.
The trouble with an assumption is that we mistake it for truth. We could swear it is real. We decide what someone meant, what they felt, what they intended, and then we react to the story we invented rather than to the person in front of us. We misunderstand, we take it personally, and we manufacture a whole drama for nothing. Ruiz is unsparing about this: most of the sadness we have lived was rooted in assuming, and then taking that assumption to heart.
What strikes me most is why we do it. The mind hates an open question. It needs to explain, to justify, to fill the silence with an answer — and it does not much care whether the answer is correct. Any answer makes us feel safe. So we guess, and we believe our guess, and then we defend it as though our life depended on it.
Why we stop asking
Here I find myself looking back at my own childhood. Like many of us, I grew up in a world where asking too many questions was quietly discouraged — curiosity made the adults uncomfortable, and so we learned to stop asking and start assuming instead. That habit does not leave you when you become an adult. It hides. It becomes second nature.
When I later came to understand these Toltec ideas, something clicked. I realised that nearly every assumption I made came from one of two failures: either I hesitated to ask the question, or I never developed the communication to draw out a real answer. The fix was never in thinking harder. It was in asking.
So I made it a practice. I refuse, as best I can, to take things personally, and I refuse to let an assumption stand where a question would do. When I do not understand, I ask — again and again — until the picture is clear. It is uncomfortable at first. Asking can feel like exposure. But it is far less costly than the suffering an unspoken assumption creates.
The courage to communicate
This is why I have become such an advocate for clear, transparent expression. With my family, my friends, my peers, I encourage the same: say what you mean, ask what you don’t know, make your wants visible rather than hoping to be read like a book. So much heartbreak in relationships comes from the silent expectation — you should have known — when the truth is, we never said.
Ruiz reminds us that everyone has the right to ask, and everyone has the right to answer yes or no. There is freedom in that simplicity. Find your voice to ask for what you want. Once you hear the answer, you no longer need to invent one.
Clear communication is not a small thing. Ruiz believed that if all of us could speak this way — without poison, without assuming — there would be no wars, no needless conflict. I believe it too, at the scale of a single conversation. The word becomes impeccable when it stops carrying our inventions.
The seed is the idea. The transformation is the action — repeated until it becomes who you are.
So here is my question for you, and I’d love your honest reflection:
When was the last time an assumption cost you something — and what question, asked in time, might have saved it?


