From ‘What Toy?’ to ‘Tell Me More’: Confessions of a Mindful Listener

They say every woman has a superpower. Some fly on deadlines. Some juggle toddlers and to-do lists. Me? I wield selective hearing like a ninja in a noisy bazaar. Especially when my kids are on a sugar high in the middle of a store, negotiating for slime, stickers, and suspiciously overpriced bubble guns.

Yes, I may appear calm, smiling faintly like a Zen master. But internally, I’ve activated “Mode: Mom-is-deaf-in-this-aisle” and am silently chanting “This too shall pass. Preferably with empty hands.”

“The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.” – William James

But here’s the twist: my hearing isn’t always switched off. Oh no, in the heart of chaos, I know exactly when to switch it on. Especially when someone needs a listening ear, not an advice machine. Because I believe, more than problem-solving, people need presence.

I’ve seen it—eyes lighting up not because I gave a solution, but because I nodded with intention, stayed silent with purpose, and said, “That must be tough.” That simple sentence sometimes holds more healing than a thousand “you should just…”

“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” – Stephen R. Covey

But not me. I listen like a sponge in a therapist’s office—minus the degrees, plus the snacks. My empathy switch flips faster than my kids’ moods during math homework. I’ve sat through tearful venting, confused ranting, and even that one friend who paused mid-cry to ask, “Wait… are you even listening?” I was. I just blink slowly when I concentrate.

And then there’s motivation. I don’t give pep talks; I sneak encouragement like vegetables in pasta. Quietly, cleverly, leaving a warm aftertaste. “You’ve got this,” I say, casually over chai. And the next thing I know, someone has started their side hustle or finally spoken up in a meeting.

Why do I do it?

Because listening, real listening, is rare. Because we live in a loud world, where silence makes people uncomfortable and everyone’s waiting for their turn to speak.

And maybe—just maybe—I listen the way I wish someone would listen to me when my own thoughts get too loud.

So yes, I may be selectively deaf at the toy aisle, but I’m all ears when your heart whispers.

Thought to ponder:

“In a world full of noise, be the silence someone remembers.”