In Her Heart of Hearts

Why do people say this?

Why not just say “she knew”, or “deep down, she knew”? 

Why go the extra step? 

Why the layered metaphor, the poetic spiral into a place no one can verify?

Why does it always feel so forced, so heavy, so suspicious?

Because “in her heart of hearts” is more a performance than a statement.

It’s a phrase people use when they want just to express conviction, and to insist on it, to defend it before it’s even questioned.

It’s an overcorrection.

You don’t say “in my heart of hearts” when you’re sure.

You say it when you are clueless but you want to give the appearance of having been sure.

When you suspect someone else might not believe you.

When you’re trying to bury hesitation under linguistic dramatics.

It’s too much.

Too eager.

Too desperate to be believed.

It sounds like reassurance, but it reeks of doubt.

“In her heart of hearts” is an attempt to isolate some hidden chamber of truth from the rest of the self. 

A secret room, conveniently inaccessible, but always invoked when the external behavior doesn’t match the claim.

She said she didn’t care, but in her heart of hearts, she did.

He betrayed her, but in his heart of hearts, he loved her.

So which version are we supposed to trust, the one we saw, or the one allegedly stored in this poetic vault?

That’s the discomfort: it creates a dual self, one public, one private, and demands that we believe in the hidden one, even when the evidence supports the opposite.

It’s not always hypocrisy.

But it’s always suspicious.

Because the moment you need to reach that deep to declare what you mean,

you’ve already admitted that you didn’t show it on the surface.

And the moment someone uses it, you’re right to ask:

Why are you trying so hard to convince me?

And maybe more importantly:

Who are you trying to convince, me, or yourself?