The little things are the big things

This work of supporting others can feel big. Big stories, big suffering, big hopes and expectations, and big demands on limited resources. Many of us come in with a strong sense of integrity and high standards. We’re often conscientious and expect a lot of ourselves.

Learning how to do the work may mean we need to learn what’s ‘good enough’, to do ‘our best under the circumstances’ rather than our best all the time. We need to prioritise our energy and triage resources – both our own and those of the system we work within. Something has to give.

And yet in the vastness of it all we don’t want to lose sight of the little things and how they add up, in both positive and negative ways. A lot of genuine, heartfelt smiles can create an enduring sense of welcome. Consistently taking a moment longer to listen leads to a much deeper understanding. Equally, it doesn’t take too many little corrections to undermine trust And if we interrupt by just a word or two often enough we shut people down.

We can be curious about the little habits we notice in ourselves. They may only take a second or two but we can ask what they might add up to if we repeat them often enough. We can weed out the little unhelpful things and free up some space and energy for both of us. And we can protect the little acts of kindness so they can create the safety net that supports the work. As our grandmothers taught us, a little really can go a long way.

The kindness of clarity

We’ve probably all guilty at some stage of trying to soften a difficult message only to water it down into something more confusing. ’It’s not you it’s me’ is now a cliché because it’s been used so often. But we’re not immune from doing this in helping conversations either.

Normally I’d love to help. 
Now’s not a great time.
It’s not my decision, it’s the organisational policy. 
If you don’t have any luck with those referrals we can see what else is possible. 

When we think we’re being nice, we’re making it harder for the person to know where they stand, what’s on offer and what isn’t. Which makes it harder for them to make an informed decision about how to respond. And in the uncertainty lies fertile ground for false hope or energy that would be better directed elsewhere.

You want to help, I just need to persuade you that I’m not asking for much.
If I wait, you’ll become available.
You don’t agree with the policy, maybe I can change your mind.
You’re still an option. 

Because softening the message isn’t really about them. It’s about not wanting to be the bad guy or blamed for the bad news. In a way, we’re also handing over our own loose ends. And sometimes we’re just delaying the no or the boundary until later, when the hurt will be greater.

The most respectful thing we can do is be clear. Which means taking the time to work out the simplest, least ambiguous version of what needs to be said, where the boundaries lie and what is possible. And then we can look for the most compassionate way to say that. Not to dilute the message, but to deliver it with love.

An invitation to pause

Do you need a moment to catch your breath, breathe in deep, slow down?

To pause before the next person, the next meeting, the next expectation?

To collect your thoughts, your intentions, your energy?

To rest your bones, lie down, let the ground hold you for a little while?

To savour a scent, a flavour, a sensory memory that reminds you of home?

Or to appreciate a fleeting sensation of love or lightness or joy?

These moments are here, surrounding us, ready to be embraced and let go as often as we need.

The bottom line

Sometimes we can help. Sometimes we can’t. But every encounter, every interaction, is an opportunity for this person to feel seen, feel heard, feel understood.

And this matters. Because whatever people are going through, from the inconvenient to the intractable, the transient to the unyielding, they know that at least, in this moment, they are not alone.

We are wired to connect. There is a healing force in feeling accepted. We feel it in our nervous system, in our bones, in our DNA. It’s not doing nothing, it’s offering something we can only find together.