I CAN RELATE

Wisdom from Josh, Part 2

After Josh and I had talked for a while on all sorts of great tangents, I mentioned an article on conversational narcissism that had really struck me deep in the solar plexus.

Josh rolled his eyes. “That’s the worst.” He meant the fake empathy.

Conversational narcissism is when we say to someone who is hurting or grieving, “I know what you’re going through.” And then proceed to explain what we experienced.

But we don’t. We really have no idea the extent or shape of the loss, pain, or suffering that’s going on with another. Even worse, that phrase can be used to pay lip service to true empathy and in the process deny the other person the dignity of his or her feelings. I’d done this in the past without thought.

“lip service to true empathy”

Before I read that article, I hadn’t realized how often I’d turned a difficult conversation back to me instead of just listening and being a witness to what the other person was going through. I’d thought that I was helping by sharing similar experiences.

But maybe I wasn’t helping. Maybe I should have simply listened to the other person, without judging, trying to help, or sticking in my own story. Maybe I should have let them process, unburden, or share, unhindered by the weight of me needing to say something.

Josh mentioned there were times his parents visited him, when they’d all sit in the hospital room for four hours and no one would say anything.

That’s bearing witness to suffering.

As I mentioned in the previous post, when I walked in and told Josh my short story, I wanted him to know that it was okay to talk on the deeper level. I knew when I was saying it that I was turning the conversation to myself, but my ulterior motive—as I told him later—was that I liked getting to the deep stuff and I wanted to listen to what he had to say. This was my clunky way of getting there. (Thanks, Josh!)

He said it’s all deep stuff these days for him. He doesn’t have any time to be anything less than absolutely honest, raw, and real.

“it’s all deep stuff these days”

But here’s where it gets better—and what I learned from good old Mr. Reed.

We talked about all sorts of things ranging from him swearing at God to putting a face on an Instagram pic of Nubbins (the nickname for his amputated leg). He demonstrated how his thigh muscles move as he tilts up his ankle—the ankle that isn’t there anymore.

When the tangent of our conversation went back to my bout with depression and trip to the mental hospital, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t know what you went through.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been through”

Damn, boy. Again.

His honesty hit me. Again.

How many of us are brave enough to say, I don’t get you, but deliver that message with gentleness and kindness? Left unspoken was—but I want to hear about it.

By telling me he didn’t know what I went through, he affirmed the legitimacy of my experience.

And it was powerful.

So here’s another thing I learned from Josh: you don’t have to say, I know just how you feel, to make the other person feel better.

All you have to do is listen.

Josh’s GoFundMe is here. Follow his journey on Instagram here.