When Everyone Talks and Nobody Hears.

There is something exhausting about talking to someone who is already waiting for their turn.
You say something, they nod.
And you can almost see it happening behind their eyes; their own story loading.
We all do it sometimes. Of course we do.
Our brains love patterns.
“Oh, I’ve been there.”
“Oh, that reminds me of…”
That’s how empathy often begins.

But there’s a difference between recognising yourself in someone’s story and immediately dragging the spotlight back to your own stage.

Some people don’t listen to understand.
They listen to reply, or to relate, or to gently steer the conversation back to themselves like a confused GPS.

You can feel it.
A conversation that should feel like a soft sofa suddenly feels like a tennis match.
Your sentence goes over the net.
Their story comes flying back.
No one is really keeping score, but everyone is very committed to winning.
Sometimes all you really wanted was someone to sit with your sentence for a moment.
I don’t always need advice.
I don’t even always need solutions.
Sometimes I just want someone to stay in the room with what I’m saying.
Ask a question and notice a detail.
Remember the thing I told you last week.
That tiny check-in of: I was actually here when you spoke.

I have friends like that.
We can go weeks without talking and then pick up right where we left off.
“How is it now?”
“Did that get any better?”
“I was thinking about what you said.”
Those questions feel like someone putting a warm hand on your back.

And then there are people who are lovely.
Truly.
Kind, empathetic and well-intentioned.
They just have very busy brains.
You can sometimes see it in their eyes.
The chaos, the tabs open.
The internal pop-up windows screaming for attention. Somewhere, a mental playlist is also playing.

Those are not the people I tell my deeper stories to.
They get the weather, the small updates and the safe versions.
And honestly? Thank God for that.
Not every conversation needs to emotionally undress.

Because to really open up, I need someone who isn’t mentally composing their own monologue while I’m still mid-sentence.

Sometimes I notice it in the smallest things.
I’ll mention I’m not feeling great.
Or that something small but personal happened. And it just… disappears.
No follow-up and no return.
The conversational equivalent of dropping a pebble into a black hole. Not even an echo.

That’s when I know.
Ah, you’re not where I am right now.

It took me a long time to learn that not every conversation deserves the same amount of me.

When I was younger, I was very good at black-and-white thinking.
Probably inherited.
From a household where things were either fine or not, and not much lived in between.
My mother wasn’t someone I talked to about how I really felt.
There were rules and silence.
And an understanding that certain things simply stayed unspoken.
It took me a long time to learn that nuance exists.
That you can be outspoken and still soft.
That you can hold more than one truth at once.

Some people find that confusing.
I find it freeing.

Listening, really listening, is not dramatic.
It’s not impressive.
It’s just present.
And honestly, to be seen and heard, you don’t need someone who talks a lot.
You need someone who stays.
And maybe makes a cup of tea while they do.
Even if it’s bad tea. The effort counts.

-Sophie Quinn