Stop saying “does that make sense?”

Your ideas are strong. Your phrasing shouldn’t be the weakest person in the meeting.

You’re in a meeting walking a group through a decision that took three days, two whiteboard rewrites, and one mild identity crisis.

You lay out the tradeoffs, you name the risks, you recommend a path. You feel good, because the room is with you.

And then — almost reflexively — you blurt out:

“Does that make sense?”

With that one phrase, your authority drops like a Wi-Fi signal in a crowded conference room. Not because your thinking was weak, but because you handed the room permission to doubt what you just said. This reflex isn’t tied to any role, it’s an everyone-who-has-ever-tried-to-sound-competent-in-a-meeting issue.

Managers do it when presenting to executives. Leaders do it when the stakes feel social. Individual contributors (engineers, PMs) do it when they’re trying to contribute without overstepping.

When the social stakes get high, hedging feels safer. But it quietly trades away your credibility for comfort.

Before we get into the repeat offenders, let’s name what we’re actually doing.

What a hedge is

A hedge is any phrase that waters down a perfectly good statement, the linguistic equivalent of dropping three ice cubes into a shot of espresso.

It’s still coffee, but it’s apologizing for itself.

And many hedges double as pre-apologies. Tiny disclaimers smuggled into sentences to soften the risk of sounding decisive.

They feel polite, but they read as uncertainty.

People respond to the uncertainty more than the politeness.

Hedge often enough, and the room stops seeing you as careful — they start seeing you as unsure.

That gap shapes careers more quietly than almost anything else.

Let’s look at the greatest hits.

1. “Does that make sense?”

It sounds collaborative, but it lands as: “I’m not confident enough to stand on what I just said.”

Anyone speaking to a room where some people hold more influence, or just take up more space, reaches for this at some point.

Say instead:
“What questions do you have?”

Clear, confident, and it hands the engagement back to the room, without putting you on trial.

2. “I might be wrong, but…”

This is the all-purpose confidence-killer.

We use it when someone in the room intimidates us.
Or when we’re trying not to sound like the person who “always has an opinion.”
Or when we’d like to offer insight without any of the responsibility.

Say instead:
“Here’s what I’m seeing.”

Short. Neutral. Grounded. If you’re missing context, someone will add it.

3. “This is probably a dumb question…”

This line does more damage than people realize.

Nobody thinks the question is dumb… until you label it that way. We use this phrase when we’re unsure, new to the space, or worried about looking inexperienced.

Fun fact: I used (and sometimes still use) this one myself, not to make myself smaller, but to help people drop their guard so we could think freely. When I took the “dumb” label on myself, people relaxed. They stopped judging the idea before it left my mouth and focused on exploring possibilities instead of running a quiet Judgment Day in their heads.

But here’s the problem: even with good intentions, the phrase shrinks you more than it expands the space.

It makes you sound smaller right before you say something useful.

Say instead:
“I have a question about…”

Questions show curiosity and good judgment. They help teams move faster. Asking one doesn’t reveal weakness—it reveals you’re paying attention.

4. “Sorry to bother you, but…”

El Clásico.

It makes real work sound like an interruption and a guilt trip instead of part of the job.

Direct reports use it with managers.
Managers use it with directors.
Directors use it with anyone who looks like they’re one Slack message away from disappearing into the woods.

Say instead:
“I need to talk about…”

Crisp, calm, and respectful to everyone’s bandwidth, including your own.

---

5. “I think maybe we could…”

This one looks harmless, but it’s basically verbal fog.

“I think” plus “maybe” turns a real recommendation into something no one can act on, but and no one can disagree with, either. Catch-22.

We usually use it when we want to be helpful without sounding pushy, or when we’re worried our idea might collide with someone else’s turf. The result? A sentence so softened it slides right off the table.

Say instead:
“I recommend we…”

Simple. Direct. It gives people something solid to respond to—alignment, pushback, or a better idea.

That’s how decisions actually move forward.

Why we hedge

Humans are political creatures pretending they’re rational ones.

• We hedge when we’re managing egos.

• We hedge when we’re protecting relationships.

• We hedge when the power map in the room is uneven, unspoken, or just plain weird.

• We hedge when we’re trying to be competent and likable at the same time.

• And yes, engineers hedge because they were trained to prize accuracy over presence.

It’s a universal survival move. But it trades short-term safety for long-term clarity.

Cross-functional work isn’t scored on correctness. It’s scored on how clearly you help people see the path forward. Clarity needs edges.

Hedging is a natural adaptation to uneven power and emotional landmines. But the cost is clarity. And clarity is how work actually gets done.

What strong language does

Strong doesn’t mean loud. It means clean.

When you say:

“I need the designs by Tuesday to hit Friday’s deadline,”

you’re not demanding, you’re describing physics of the work.

When you say:

“This approach slows us down for the next three features,”

you’re not being negative, you’re naming reality early enough to change it.

Strong language gives people something solid to align with, challenge, or improve. Hedging gives them fog, and teams can’t navigate fog.

The shift

Try this for a week:

• Pick one hedge you use often

• Replace it with the stronger version

• Watch how the room responds

Most people don’t lack expertise or leadership instinct. They lack linguistic ownership: the ability to sound as confident as they actually are, even when the stakes are social, not technical.

Make that shift, and the room stops evaluating you and starts engaging with your ideas.

Most of us weren’t taught confident language. We were taught not to be too much. Strong language isn’t overstepping. It’s how you speak with clarity and care.

So… Which hedge are you retiring first?

---

If you want more tools like this — practical, human, and built for real work — subscribe to Between Code and Culture. It’s where we sharpen our voices without losing our humanity.