And then there are smart women with lots to say who are also very sensitive and weird and analytical and incredibly talkative, who ALSO listen very closely. These women are often labeled “a little too intense.” We think way too much, and slice and dice everything under the sun like a Ginsu knife that’s been sharpened one too many times and is now capable of cutting a watermelon in half like it’s made of crepe paper.
And while it’s true that no one REALLY needs a knife that sharp, there we are, the sharpest fucking knives in the motherfucking drawer. I’m not saying we’re geniuses, ok? We’re just sharp sharp sharp and we want to cut and cut and cut until there’s nothing left to cut. We do shut up sometimes. Sometimes we’re downright quiet, and you can’t get us to talk even if you try. But every now and then, we want to bring up tough, tangled, difficult situations and memories and experiences, and we want to slice and dice that shit up and shine a light on this or that and dig deeper and wonder and ponder and maybe even cry some tears over some dusty old loss or some injury or even something bad that happened to someone else.
If this is a suitable description of you, VGG, and of you, reader, then you need to know something (in case you don’t already know it): YOU NEED A CHAMPION LISTENER IN YOUR LIFE.
Women (and ok, men, too) who have big digressive minds and lots of stories, who know how to entertain but also do need to be heard and understood very badly? We need champion listeners. We just do. And listen, a lot of us really do deserve champion listeners, too. Because we ourselves are champion listeners. We’re the ones who people call when they’re going through a tough breakup or divorce. We’re the ones who people lean on when they’re depressed or sick or injured or bereft. This makes the phone our enemies, honestly, because once we’re on the phone we could be on there for fucking EVER. We also have to be careful around email.
But when the shit truly hits the fan for someone? WE ARE THERE. We are there, and you can also depend on us to avoid making it ALL ABOUT US. We’re sensitive, so we try to behave appropriately. It took some work to learn this skill, but we learned it.
And if the people we count on, who are very close to us, don’t listen to us? We get weird. Sometimes half-assed listening makes us talk even more. Sometimes we start blaming people for OTHER, totally unrelated shit, because not being heard freaks us out. Sometimes we mope. Sometimes we start weeping over nothing, day after day. When we’re not heard, the world is off-kilter. A window is ajar and cold wind is pouring in. Our balance is off. We feel sick. We feel wronged. We feel and feel and feel and we have a lot to fucking say about it.
And if the people around us DO listen to us? If we get really lucky and we find a champion fucking listener out there in the world? Flowers bloom. The sun shines in, bright and strong. Birds sing happy little birdy songs. And—THIS IS IMPORTANT—we really don’t ask for much more than that. That’s the paradox of the digressive talky needy woman (or man). Give us a champion listener, here and there, and we’re good. Warm, dry, comfortable, happy. We will shut up and get ‘er done and take care of people and cook big meals and bring joy to the world.