Saying Less Might Mean More
Words have power. Silence is powerful too. Many years ago, very early in my career, while at work one of my colleagues received a call she had been dreading. Her mom called to let her know that her grandmother died. It was not unexpected. The grandmother had been grappling with a series of health issues.
Even though my colleague anticipated that she would soon have to live in a world without her strongest supporter and most gentle friend, the weight of the news was still very heavy. She broke down at her desk. She hung up the phone and cried uncontrollably. Everyone within earshot could hear her and no one immediately knew exactly what to say or to do. We were a young team and none of us had yet experienced such a grave loss. In your twenties, it is still easy to believe that everyone’s life will last forever. Finally, I got up and walked over to her cubicle. Through her tears, our eyes met. I nodded.
She stood up, retrieved her coat, and she and I walked out the door. In the hallway, she continued to cry. I remained quiet. As we exited the building, she continued crying. I remained quiet. We kept walking. I did not think my words could help, but I imagined my presence would. We walked all the way to her apartment building. I stood at the door as she turned the key. She turned around and motioned for me to follow.
For the next hour—or what felt like hours—she sat on her living room sofa and I sat silently in the chair across from her. She spoke no words; she made no sounds. Tears kept trickling down her face until there were none. The room was still. At one point I had the urge to speak but fought it. I would continue to sit quietly. I would let her break the silence whenever she was ready. That was my role to play.
Calmly, in her own time, she began to tell me stories about her grandmother. Stories about her sense of humor; how she would share her recipes for good food and a good life. Stories and experiences that she would cling to because new memories could not be made. I just sat there and listened. I did not interject, offer commentary, or probe. I simply listened. I understand now in a manner I could not fully appreciate then that it was a gift to listen to my colleague; to be there with her.
In the way that I learned that some of the best advice you can give a friend is your own actions, I have come to realize over the years that sometimes the best comfort you can provide a friend or partner is your quiet presence with them in tough situations. I talk a lot and I admit that it can be challenging for me to be quiet when my instinct is to offer my opinion or recount some quote I just read in a book or on Instagram when I am in the company of someone who is going through something.
We live in a society where everyone has something to say all the time. In addition, because of social media, there is what I think is an ongoing conditioning where we feel that not only must we have something to say, but we also must be the first person to say something—which does not always prove helpful or have the best result.
When we are not rushing to fill the moment and space with words, we have an opportunity to reflect and think about what we might say, and the comments are always more thoughtful. We might also find in that time of reflection that it may not be necessary to say anything at all. There is an old proverb that asserts that speech is silver, silence is golden. ▼
Clarence J. Fluker is a public affairs and social impact strategist. Since 2008, he’s also been a contributing writer for Swerv, a lifestyle periodical celebrating African American LGBTQ+ culture and community. Follow him on Twitter: @CJFluker or Instagram: @Mr_CJFluker.
Photo: Briana Tozour on Unsplash