listening without Listening.
I haven’t been there. I don’t understand what you’re going through. The concept of adversity, of challenge, is not something I am familiar with.

In the past six months, my comprehension of trauma has deepened considerably thanks to conversations with others that have dealt with more than I’ll ever know. I thank those people for sharing their stories, for giving me a fleeting glimpse of occurrences that I’d otherwise remain ignorant of. It is through these stories, and of many others past that I am able to appreciate just how privileged a life I live. That extends beyond what you likely already know, that I’m a cis straight white male, but to the fact that I’ve never battled mental illness, never been verbally abused, and never been sexually assaulted. There are plenty of other metrics by which it could be measured, some of which I probably don’t even realize yet.
Learning from each of these conversations has given heightened clarity to past interactions, and made me realize that many times I wasn’t listening, even when I claimed I was. I’ve been quick to say “I understand,” for reasons both selfish and selfless; selfish when I didn’t want to be seen as out of touch or over privileged, selfless when I genuinely thought saying the words would help others. Perhaps they did on occasion, but I expect they also entered ears as empty words, lacking the truth required to offer real comfort.
My flawed relationship with listening has certainly improved over the past year, but Chester Bennington’s recent death prompts me to re-examine. I was a big Linkin Park fan back in the day, and like so many others, could readily recite the lyrics to “In the End” or “Numb.” I thoroughly enjoyed the sound, but could hardly connect with the lyrics. That disconnect troubled me little. After hearing me sing “I’ve become so numb, I can’t feel you there,” in the car, my mother worriedly asked me if I was singing about her. I told her “of course not,” and continued singing along worry-free, listening but missing so much. I took little care to learn the stories that these lyrics might have arisen from, and it wasn’t until I read an article yesterday that I learned that Chester Bennington had dealt with drug and alcohol addiction, and had been molested as a boy. Perhaps I would’ve been more aware if I were just a better fan, but I think this occurrence spoke more to a recurrent behavior of mine: assuming that my fortunate circumstances are experienced by others as well.
This assumption has not only limited my ability to comprehend, but led me to think that I could fix a problem beyond my control. That misperception had a serious consequence, but subsequently led me to understand that there are limitations to how I can help another human being. Knowing those limitations is crucial, and ultimately, can make me more helpful to another. Though I cannot fix, I appreciate more what I can do: acknowledge, listen, and encourage.
Given this, I find Scottish theologian Ian Maclaren’s words especially pertinent, “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” For all I know, I might be the only one without a battle to fight. However, I expect there are many others like myself that could stand to listen a little bit closer. If that’s you, I hope this piece can be a reminder, that we can do better by the people around us. But if indeed you are fighting your own battle, I thank you; for helping the rest of us learn by sharing stories that aren’t easy to tell. I hope that we can help in return by listening as we ought to, not as we might have in the past.
Rest in peace, Chester.
