Squeaky Toys and Missing Each Other

I was running in my neighborhood early one morning when I saw a woman ahead of me stopping and starting as she was walking. The podcast I was listening to had ended, but I still had my headphones in my ears, so the sound outside was muffled. I could see that she was pushing a small stroller, and then I heard an odd series of noises.  It was a sad symphony of little cries followed by loud high pitched squeaks.  The woman—maybe she was a mom, nanny, or relative—was clearly doing her best, as she kept pushing the stroller along and periodically squeaking a toy when the baby cried. The squeaking would get more frantic as the cries grew louder, and the baby was so little that the squeaks were much louder than her cries. If the squeaking was intended to make the baby stop crying, it didn’t seem to be working. 

If you're a parent or caregiver of any kind, you’ve been there. I wanted to run up to her and just commiserate about that crying baby. To be clear, I am not doubting the caregiving of this woman; she was clearly focused and trying to soothe this baby with that squeaky toy, but the baby was not having it. In fact, I could really relate to her and knew the last thing anyone needs with a crying baby or child is a set of judgmental eyes. In this moment, I wanted to run over and scoop that little baby up, and hug the woman.

As I was watching this, I thought how easily and often we as humans can miss each other, even when trying our best. And I thought how this happens to all of us, and how much I saw myself in the baby and in the woman.

I thought about how many times I had been “the baby,” in some sort of pain, and hoping for comfort, or just to stop crying. But instead, I got a grown-up version of a high-pitched “squeaky toy.”  Meant to distract me, or meant to comfort me, these high-pitched squeaks never did the job for me. They just added background noise to my already loud pain.  Sometimes people frankly don’t know what to do when we are struggling, and their squeaking and pushing is well-intentioned, misguided noise.  Other times, there is nothing that can soothe our pain. We must be in it, alone, or with others.

And still other times, our pain can be so uncomfortable for people that they squeak out at us all their advice and distraction. Brené Brown, Ph.D., LMSW, describes how this often comes in the form of “At least” statements, “At least you still have your job.” Or it comes in pushes for quick solutions, self blame, or for moralizing. They are earnestly trying to solve the problem for us, even if they are invalidating or even blaming us for our pain in the process. In contrast to all this busyness in response, a simple space to be heard, and metaphorically held, with no distractions, is often more than enough.  When people want our advice, they usually ask for it.  

“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.” Henri Nouwen

I also thought how often I had been “the woman” trying to give something to someone that they did not want or need.  And, despite evidence to the contrary, I would keep squeaking at this person, hoping they would calm down. Now this might have been my lack of understanding of the situation. However, in many cases, I might have simply assumed that I knew better what the cries meant, that my plan was surely going to be more helpful than the plan of this hurting soul.

Sometimes, another person’s emotions can trigger something really uncomfortable that gets us “squeaking” - something we don’t want to feel. This often happens when we’re faced with the pain of others. And in our efforts to shut down our own discomfort, we can inadvertently shut down the other person.

We have to be willing to feel our own pain if we are going to sit with the pain of others. Listening is the most important part of helping. It isn’t our great plan, or advice, that’s most important. It’s the space we create for what they really need. 

“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.”- Henri Nouwen

On my run that morning, I didn’t go up to the woman and hug her, because I thought she was doing what she knew to do, doing her best, and that those two would figure it out soon enough.  I was grateful for the gentle reminder of how often we can miss each other, even when trying our best.  And I decided to be more gentle with myself, and more gentle with others, when I find myself on the crying or the squeaking side of things.

Read More:

The Dance of Connection, Harriet Lerner, Ph.D.

The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown, Ph.D., LMSW

Daring Greatly, Brené Brown, Ph.D., LMSW

The Rabbit Listened, Cori Doerrfeld