In my mediation practice, I recently sat with B and F-a couple no longer together, yet still bound by old patterns. Both are in the midst of healing, both easily swept up by emotion. Their story is achingly familiar: B, feeling invisible and alone, chose to leave. F, always working two jobs, believed he was building a life for them all.
Now, as they untangle finances, old wounds resurface. Both long for recognition. I feel the ache in the room-the longing to be heard, the fear of not mattering. Words spill out, and the past reopens:
“You always worked, and it cost us our marriage. Now, it’s all ‘your’ money. What about the years I spent raising our children, always alone?”
And in return: “Do you know how hard I worked? I want to give our children what my parents gave me.”
This isn’t about legalities. It’s about hearts and histories. Neither can pause long enough to truly listen. Each sits, ready to defend, not to reflect. It’s as if understanding the other means betraying themselves.
This dynamic is heartbreakingly common. We all know the pattern: wanting so deeply to be heard, yet not always able-or willing-to listen with the same tenderness we crave. The more one insists, the more the other retreats, and the distance between them grows.
In these moments, right and wrong fade away. What remains is the ache of two people unable to meet on the same emotional wavelength. As the Dalai Lama reminds us:
“When you talk, you are only repeating what you already know. But if you listen, you may learn something new.” – The Dalai Lama
True connection asks more of us than simply speaking our pain. It calls us to tune in, to acknowledge the other’s feelings without losing our own. Thich Nhat Hanh teaches:
“We will sit and listen without judging or reacting. We will sit and listen in order to understand… just by listening deeply, we alleviate a great deal of pain and suffering in the other person.” – Thich Nhat Hanh
Maybe that’s the heart of it: we want it to be about our pain, not the other person’s. But when we start from that place, both are left lonelier than before.
What I’ve come to realize is this…
True healing begins when we offer our full attention to another’s story-especially in those moments when we most long to be heard ourselves. It’s a quiet act of generosity, a gift we give not just to the other, but to the space between us. When we listen with empathy and reflect back what we hear, we create a gentle invitation for understanding to enter. It’s not always easy; it asks us to soften our defenses, to set aside our own need-just for a moment-and to meet the other with curiosity and compassion.
As the poet Rumi reminds us:
“Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” – Rumi
When we offer this kind of listening, we plant seeds of healing-not only for the other, but for ourselves as well. What we give out, we so often receive in return.
If you want to be heard, start by listening. Peace in relationships isn’t about taking sides or winning arguments. It’s about daring to hear the suffering behind the words, making space for both stories to exist. Only then can understanding-and maybe reconciliation-begin.
In the end, it’s not you versus me. It’s us, together, facing the problem.
Love in action 
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