An act of acknowledgment

Stories form the core of who we are. Each of us carries stories within us—stories made up of memories, feelings, and experiences that shape our lives. But telling these stories, especially when they are complex, can be challenging. Often, we want our words to align with what the Other understands, as if the goal is to make our story comprehensible. But maybe that’s not the most important thing. Sometimes, it’s not about being understood but simply about being acknowledged.

Listening WITH

Listening with the Other is different from listening to someone. When we listen to, there is an implicit expectation of understanding: we often listen with the intent to grasp the story, to respond to it, or even to give advice. But listening with the Other requires a different kind of attention. It’s not about trying to understand every word or every feeling that is shared, but about being present for the story as it is told—unfinished, sometimes chaotic, or in a state of discovery.

When we reflect on our experiences, a subtle interplay between thinking and feeling emerges. Thoughts organize the past, trying to make sense of it, while feelings color the memories and bring them to life. This process is often internal and fragmented; it sometimes seems difficult to translate the chaos of thoughts and emotions into words.

Telling is the step where we try to bring this inner world to the outside. We search for words that fit what we feel and think, but words are often inadequate. It’s as if our story is bigger than what we can express. Yet telling it is essential: it helps us shape our experiences, to create meaning out of the chaos of our inner life.

When the Other listens with us, a special space is created. In that space, our story doesn’t need to be understood, and that provides a deep sense of freedom. Instead of understanding being central, it’s about presence; a willingness to be in that space together, without the pressure to provide answers or solutions.

This form of listening asks something different from us than the traditional idea of communication. It asks for availability, to truly be present for the Other without wanting to change or fix anything. This is difficult because we are often inclined to try to understand or to help the Other by giving advice. But it’s precisely by letting go of that need that a space opens up in which the Other can express themselves fully, without fear of judgment or being misunderstood.

Listening with is an active, but above all, gentle presence. It means giving the Other the space to let their thoughts and feelings flow, in their own rhythm, without forcing them to make everything clear. The Other doesn’t have to justify what they feel or think. In that space, things can remain unsaid, emotions can arise without needing to be explained. That’s what listening with is about: creating a safe space where the storyteller can explore themselves and discover their own story.

Writing

Writing is also a form of storytelling, but it has a different dynamic. While telling is often about looking back and reflecting on what has been, writing always moves forward. Even when we write about the past, it forces us to move ahead—letter by letter, word by word. Writing requires us to shape our story, to capture it, and in doing so, it takes on a certain finality.

But writing can also be liberating, because it gives us the time and space to think about what we want to say. Instead of reacting or talking immediately, we can sit with our thoughts in silence, rearranging and reorganizing them before committing them to paper. For many people, writing is a way to gain control over their story, to mold the chaos of thoughts and feelings into a coherent structure.

Whether we speak or write, what we often seek is not so much understanding, but acknowledgment. We want our story to be heard, to exist somewhere outside of ourselves. The Other plays a crucial role in this. By listening with us, the Other becomes a witness to our story. This is a subtle, but important distinction from simply listening to. The Other doesn’t need to analyze or understand the story; the story can simply exist, with all its imperfections, without needing to lead to a conclusion or solution.

The space

It is in this space, where the Other is present with us, that we truly find the freedom to tell our story as it is in that moment. Perhaps this space helps us discover new insights, perhaps not. The point is that the space itself, that shared presence, can be healing.

Listening with the Other is about being together in the story. It’s not about understanding as the end goal, but about creating a space where the story can exist, with all its nuances or even without nuances, without needing to be fully explained or understood. Thinking, feeling, and telling come together in this process, and the Other plays a crucial role simply by being present.

In this space, the storyteller can discover what their story means, without pressure or judgment. The story may be chaotic, fragmented, or even painful, and yet it is valuable because it is shared. Listening with is an act of acknowledgment: it recognizes the value of the story and the value of the storyteller, without anything needing to be solved or understood.

Art: Andrea Jacobson