I was in North Carolina during spring break visiting my mother’s family. Jenny called when I was tucking myself into bed. She was frustrated and I could tell she had been crying. I became uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?”, I cautiously asked, trying to sound sympathetic. I knew it would be a delicate conversation. All I wanted was for her to be happy, comforted. I had never been good at comforting her. We both knew that, and I became anxious because rather than listening, I was about to make the call into a discussion.
She explained that two of her three outfits had not been accepted into the spring fashion show. She was a senior, and she felt cheated, angry, confused, and disillusioned. “What was it all for? Everything is ruined!” I was bracing myself against her distress, unsure when I could begin speaking. Earlier that year she had told me not to say anything when she got upset. She just wanted to be held.
A few weeks later my friend Lisa knocked on my apartment door and when I opened the door and found her balling I just held her; she hugged me back and cried into my shoulder. Later that afternoon when she’d gotten everything out of her system I told her about the advice Jenny had given me. Lisa confirmed that advice and said she was surprised and pleased by how I had handled the situation. I had done exactly what she needed someone to do.
That was not the case with Jenny. Regrettably, I told her that she should be happy that one of her outfits made it into the show, that she needed to work harder and put in more hours, that she would still be able to have a good portfolio and good résumé. I insisted on silver linings and she became defensive and more upset, directing her frustration at me and saying that I wasn’t helping, and she was right. She told me she had to go and that she couldn’t talk right now, and hung up feeling worse than when she had called.
Jenny was 1,241 miles away and I wanted to do exactly what she needed someone to do–in my mind, I needed to hug her, and the fact that I could not hug her at that moment made me feel completely incapable of doing exactly what she needed someone to do. But she had still called, and now I understand this was a case of seeing the situation as a nail because all I had was a hammer. I’ve since acquired more tools. I would have told her the situation did suck, that I wish all of her outfits had been accepted into the show, that I was sorry, and that I loved her. I wish I would have listened to her, and understood her point of view, and shared her feelings—empathized.