Please, Don’t Fix Me. Just Hear Me.

A few days ago, Matthew and I were talking through an ongoing trial.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” confessed Matthew.
“I don’t need you to have a solution,” I explained. “I just want you to listen. I want to feel like we’re in this together.”

So often, when we share a problem, the other person’s immediate instinct is to fix it. They offer solutions, silver linings, and five-step plans. But sometimes, we don’t need a solution. We just need to be heard. There is incredible, healing power in the simple act of validation. We just need someone to sit with us in our struggle and say, “I hear you. I see you. That is really hard.”

This is especially true for families and caregivers. We are drowning in the advice that always begins, Have you tried…? We don’t need another solution for our child’s meltdown or our parent’s medical needs. We need a friend who will simply sit on the couch, look at the mess, and say, “Wow. This is a lot. You are doing an amazing job.” As the ultimate fixers, caregivers rarely have a space to just vent their own exhaustion and grief without someone trying to fix their stress.

Why are we so quick to fix? Often, it’s not about the other person. It’s about us. We feel anxious in the face of someone else’s pain. We feel helpless, and we want to do something—anything—to make the discomfort go away. It’s a way of managing our own anxiety. But in our rush to extinguish the fire, we steamroll the person who is actually in it. We trade their need to be known for our need to be useful.

This is a deep biblical command. We are told to “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15, ESV). It doesn’t say fix those who weep or offer solutions to those who weep. It says to weep with them. This is the ministry of presence. It’s a command for empathetic presence, a form of incarnation. It’s following Jesus, who sat with Mary and Martha after Lazarus had died, and He wept. He knew He would raise Lazarus, but He didn’t skip the part where He sat in the grief.

The Bible also instructs us to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19, ESV). Most of us get this backward. We are quick to speak and slow to hear.

Psychologists call this skill active listening, but it’s really the spiritual discipline of holding space. It involves listening, reflecting what you’re hearing, and validating the other person’s emotion. This act of co-regulation—calmly being present with someone in their distress—can literally calm their nervous system. Your non-anxious presence is a greater gift than your best advice.
We can all put this into practice by banishing At least… from our vocabulary.

Instead of: “At least it’s not…”
Try: “That sounds incredibly frustrating.”

Instead of: “You should try…”
Try: “Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m just here to listen.”

For church leaders, this is a vital skill. Train your small group leaders and deacons in active listening. Make the ministry of presence a core part of your leadership development. The most healing thing your church can offer might not be a program, but a person who truly knows how to listen.

This is Part 2 of our 5-part series on loneliness. Learning to just listen is a powerful gift. But this kind of ministry requires energy, which is why finding reciprocal, life-giving friendships for ourselves is so vital.

Read Part 1: “Beyond the Pity Project” Come back tomorrow for Part 3: “Are You an Introvert, or Just Protecting Your Peace?”