Listening Before You Answer
A gentle practice I learned while healing from grief and loss.
There is a moment that comes before we answer.
I didn’t always notice it.
Someone would ask, “How are you?”
And I would answer quickly.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m doing better.”
It sounded steady. It sounded reassuring.
But it wasn’t always true.
After loss, I realized how quickly I moved past that small space between the question and the answer. I had learned to respond in ways that kept other people comfortable. I didn’t want to make things awkward. I didn’t want to sound fragile. I didn’t want to seem like I wasn’t coping well.
So I answered fast.
What I didn’t know yet was that I was skipping over myself.
Over time, I began to pause.
Not dramatically. Just a breath longer than usual.
Before answering, I would quietly ask myself:
What is actually true right now?
Am I tired?
Am I steady?
Am I carrying something I haven’t named yet?
Sometimes the answer surprised me.
Sometimes I wasn’t fine.
Sometimes I was simply worn thin.
Sometimes I was okay — but only in this moment.
Listening before I answered didn’t mean I had to explain everything. It just meant I wasn’t performing strength anymore.
“How are you doing?”
It’s a kind question.
But when you’re grieving, the honest answer can be layered and unfinished.
As I began to listen first, my responses changed.
They became smaller.
More human.
Less polished.
“I’m moving slowly today.”
“It’s a mixed morning.”
“I’m taking it one hour at a time.”
Those answers felt truer than “I’m fine.”
The world moves quickly. Conversations move quickly. Expectations move quickly.
But healing didn’t.
And sometimes the most courageous thing I could do was take one breath longer than felt comfortable before I spoke.
In that breath, something shifted.
I wasn’t choosing the perfect answer.
I was choosing honesty.
And honesty built steadiness.
There was a time when I thought reassurance was strength. Over time, I learned that quiet truth builds something much stronger.
Listening before I answer is still something I practice.
It’s small.
It’s ordinary.
But it keeps me connected to myself.
What I share here comes from the same journey that shaped my memoir, Gathering the Pieces — learning to respond to grief without performance, and to trust my own voice as it slowly returned.
Is there a place in your life where you might pause — even just one breath — before you answer?
This reflection is part of an ongoing conversation drawn from my memoir, Gathering the Pieces — a story shaped by loss, resilience, and the slow, often unseen work of healing.
Gathering the Pieces was written for those learning how to carry grief and love together, and for anyone discovering that healing does not come all at once, but unfolds quietly, over time.
If you’d like to continue reading, you can begin with the book here.
You may also like:
• Learning to Hold What’s Been Broken
— Lennie
