The Active Listener’s Quiet Truth

(A Monologue)

You know… I listen. A lot.

People come to me with their stories. Friends, family, colleagues—they pour their hearts out about their struggles, their joys, their daily frustrations. And I listen. Not just with my ears, but with my presence. I nod, I ask, I pause. I hold the silence when they need it, and I speak only when the words feel like an offering, not a distraction.

I don’t just hear people—I see them.

And I love that. I truly do. There’s something beautiful in being trusted, in being the one others turn to when they need understanding. Being an active listener isn’t just a skill; it’s part of who I am.

But here’s the part no one sees:
Sometimes, even the listener wants to be heard.

I have stories too. Wins I’d love to celebrate out loud. Quiet fears I carry alone. Thoughts that stay trapped in my chest because the moment never seems quite right to share them.

I’ll start to speak—something small, something mine—and then, like clockwork, the spotlight shifts. My words trigger someone else’s story, or an opinion, or advice I didn’t ask for. And before I know it, I’m back where I always am: listening. Holding space.

And I don’t resent it. Really, I don’t. I understand that everyone needs to be heard. Maybe I’ve made it too easy. Maybe I’ve become so comfortable in the background that people forget I might want a turn in the foreground.

But I do. I really, really do.

I want someone to look me in the eyes and say, “Tell me about you.”
Not out of courtesy. Not in passing. But with the same sincerity I offer them.

I want to speak without being edited, compared, or redirected. I want to sit in a space where I’m not just a sounding board, but a soul with a voice.

Because even the ones who listen—especially the ones who listen—deserve to be heard.

It’s a quiet ache, this invisibility. To be seen as dependable but not dynamic. Compassionate, but not complex. A safe harbor, but not a storm of your own.

I’m learning, slowly, that being generous with others doesn’t mean withholding myself. That making space doesn’t mean shrinking. That connection isn’t just about receiving someone else—it’s about being received too.

So maybe next time, I’ll hold the silence a little longer.
Maybe I’ll say, “Can I share something?”
And maybe, just maybe, someone will listen the way I do.

Because in the end, all any of us really want…
Is to be known.