The Time a Stranger Needed Someone to Listen

Sometimes we don’t realize someone is struggling. We ask people “How are you?” And then you get the normal reply, “Oh I’m good, Oh I’m fine.” “Things are alright.” But some of us are masking, pretending to save face. We don’t want to heap the struggles and troubles onto someone else. Yet there are moments when sharing a bit, even without a solution, is crucial. People often just want to be heard, not fixed.

I experienced this with a stranger I met at a party.

I’d been living in Italy for about three years now at this point. I connected with several families who invited me to a kids’ Halloween party. I loved the international atmosphere, with parents raising children from backgrounds similar to mine. There was even a Caribbean vibe, with some wives hailing from Trinidad and Jamaica.

The host, we’ll call her Lea, was so sweet and had organized all these fun games for the kids. Homecooked food, and good conversation. The party was so joyful, chatting with everyone, and sharing their moving stories, I felt I belonged. I kept thinking, wow everybody here is living similar lives. I instantly bonded with a mom, we’ll call her Dana, who had a blended family and five daughters. We were cracking jokes, sharing the highs and lows of moving to Italy. She had this delightful energy that I gravitated towards.

During the party, there was a “passeggiata”—a leisurely stroll to see farm animals. I stayed behind while hubby went with the kids. Dana stayed too. It was just us in a beautiful garden, basking in the October sun. I mentioned how challenging it had been to connect with people lately. She echoed the sentiment. We sat in comfortable silence, breathing in the crisp mountain air as the trees rustled. Dana shared she was struggling, balancing life and motherhood, and feeling isolated. I turned and listened. (I’m omitting specifics to protect her privacy.)

Being Vulnerable

“I’m going through something horrible,” she confided. I expressed my sympathy for her troubles. She was scared, dealing with her situation alone, with no one to talk to. I nodded, attuned to the strain in her voice. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but thank you,” she said. I hugged her, assuring her no thanks were necessary. I encouraged her to reach out anytime. Though I couldn’t fully grasp her pain, I was grateful to lend an ear.

I had flashbacks to moments where I wished I could just blurt out my struggles to someone. Just to release some of the anxiety and stress enveloping my pain. But then you’re trusting a stranger with your innermost emotions and experiences. Not everyone can deal with that or even want to.

I appreciated Dana’s trust at that moment. I like to think I offered a sacred space, to be vulnerable with someone else. And so I will continue to offer that ability to be vulnerable. To be still and listen. You may not be able to solve any of their problems and that’s totally okay. You are offering a moment to start healing.

If you find yourself unable to handle someone’s vulnerability, it’s okay to say so. There are times when I can barely manage my issues. It might seem harsh, but honesty is crucial. You can say, “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I can’t listen right now.” Or, “This is triggering for me, and I’m not in a supportive place.” This candor is a gift, letting them know you can’t support them at that moment.

That’s powerful. That’s trust. It’s recognizing your limits.

I try to move through life more open to others. I know I can’t support everyone all the time. I’d burn out. But when I can, I’ll make space for someone needing to share. Who you share your story with is precious. I hold that thought close. Knowing your vulnerability can help someone else is a gift..

Finding Comfort in Shared Vulnerability

In sharing our vulnerability with strangers, we often find unexpected support. It’s a raw and real experience, where pain meets openness, creating a space for healing. Remember, every stranger carries their own stories, making them unexpected allies. Next time, instead of shying away, embrace this chance to connect—who knows what healing it might bring?