The other day, as I was returning home, I had an unexpected encounter with my neighbor, a medical research student from China who’s living in London. We’d crossed paths a few times before, exchanging polite greetings, but nothing more than the usual small talk. That evening, however, something was different. We found ourselves walking home together, chatting about the weather, the bus schedule, and other mundane topics. But as we reached our driveway, I noticed something in her expression that made me pause. Her face was tight with anxiety, her thoughts clearly far from the casual conversation we were having.
In that moment, I had a choice. I could have said goodnight and left her to her thoughts, as we often do when we sense discomfort in others. After all, we didn’t know each other well. But something inside me nudged me to ask, "Is something wrong?"
At first, she brushed it off with the usual response: "No, no. I’m fine." I nodded and started towards my front door, but something made me glance back. She was still standing there, frozen in place.
"Do you want to sit a minute?" I offered, pointing to the bench on my porch. She hesitated, then nodded and sat down.
What happened next was nothing short of magical. She began to speak. At first, slowly, almost apologetically. But soon, her words came tumbling out in a flood. She talked about the stress of her studies, the pressure of being far from home, and the weight of expectations that felt impossible to meet. She apologized repeatedly for taking up my time, but I urged her to continue. I simply listened.
When she finally ran out of words, she looked up at me, and I smiled. She smiled back and said something that struck me: "I had no idea I needed to say all of that."
I chuckled and replied, "Yeah, sometimes we just need to use some words."
She sat back, visibly lighter than when we had first sat down. "Just saying it all makes me feel like I can think about what to do now," she said, and I couldn’t agree more.
That simple act of talking had taken the edge off her anxiety. The problem didn’t vanish, but its hold on her lessened. The worries that had been swirling in her mind seemed more manageable now that they had been voiced. I didn’t offer a grand solution or solve her problem for her. What I did was far simpler—I listened. I asked a few questions. I held space for her to share what was weighing her down.
This is the magic of sharing our burdens.
When we carry our worries inside, they can grow, becoming larger and more overwhelming than they need to be. But when we talk about them—when we give voice to our fears, our doubts, our struggles—they lose some of their power. They become more tangible, something we can face and deal with rather than something that controls us.
Talking doesn’t always solve the problem, but it changes our relationship to it. It gives us a chance to see it from a different perspective, to feel heard, and to find clarity. And often, that’s all we need to begin finding our way through.
If you’re feeling weighed down by something—big or small—I want to offer you the same opportunity my neighbor had. A chance to talk, to share, to be heard. You don’t have to carry it alone. Sometimes, just saying it out loud can make all the difference.
If you feel like you need a space to talk and explore your thoughts and feelings, I’m here for you. Together, we can work through whatever is on your mind. Let’s connect, and let’s find that clarity and lightness together.
Reach out to me at leah@leahfarmercoaching.com or pick a spot to chat– I’m here to listen.
Until next time…
Leah