Are You Listening?
How Good Listening is an Act of Kindness
When I was a teenager, my dad volunteered to drive me to ballet class five days a week, ninety minutes roundtrip. He knew that this was the best place to get me to talk—because I was captive in his car.
Again, I don’t remember much about our actual conversations along Route 10 in his silver Pontiac. I do remember, though, that I felt seen, which took the edge off my near constant anxiety during that time in my life. I was a chronic over-achiever, desperate to be the best at everything, no matter the cost to me.
After years of studying ballet, I decided that I was going to become a professional ballerina. Always supportive, my mom found the best ballet school in the state and my dad agreed to be my driver, chauffeuring me to each class inside a grueling weekly schedule.
Photo by Hamid hamido on Unsplash
I was prepared for the pirouettes and the tour jettes, but I wasn’t prepared for the icy competition and the crippling eating disorder. While practicing to perform Cinderella along with the professional company, stressed beyond measure, I got into Dad’s car and he drove.
As always, Doo Wop was playing on the radio, but he let me change it to whatever I wanted to listen to—quite a concession for him, but one he knew would build connection. So, instead of Dion or Paul Anka, we listened to Nirvana and The Smashing Pumpkins.
I could feel the knot in my stomach growing bigger and bigger as we got closer to the studio. My thoughts got the best of me. The same worries circled again and again in my brain.
What if I make a mistake?
What if the director yells at me?
Are the other girls going to laugh?
Are my thighs small enough?
When we arrived in the parking lot, Dad pulled his car in front of the sliding doors I always entered. “Ok, break a leg!” he said cheerfully, clapping me on the back.
I just sat there, unable to move. “I can’t go in,” I said numbly.
As much as I wanted to, as embarrassed as I felt, I couldn’t bring myself to enter the building and join my class. I could no longer bear the constant pressure and criticism and expectation of perfection. I could no longer bear being forced to look at my body, checking my form, and hating every inch of my now boney, ninety-nine-pound frame.
I looked straight at the glove compartment as if the explanation was written there. Dad just studied my face, not speaking. We sat in silence for what felt like hours.
“Is that what you want, hon?” Dad said softly. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, tears in my eyes, still looking at the glove compartment. “Yes.”
“Let’s go then,” he said, and pulled away.
He didn’t ask me to explain. He just listened without judgment. He trusted my decision. As he once said, “I didn’t raise you to doubt yourself.”
We didn’t talk during the forty-five-minute ride home. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is nothing at all. Just hold space. Just be quiet. Just be there. Just trust.
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash
Listening, or holding space for another, is a tremendous act of kindness. Depending on your communication style, this form of kindness is also either the simplest or the hardest.
Because I grew up with it, it feels simple. Just listen. Don’t judge. I often think of author Anna Quindlen’s poetic refrain in her book A Short Guide to a Happy Life. She describes friendship as, “I show up, I listen, I try to laugh.” Really, that’s all we can ever do.