When You Silence the One You Want to Hear
This morning we left for the school run early. That never happens. Usually we’re running late because I’ve been distracted, or the kids have been distracted, or we’ve all been swept into the whirlwind of shared executive dysfunction. Managing my own ADD/ADHD brain while organising two small humans is exhausting on the best of days. But somehow, today, we were early. Calm. Even happy. I felt like a “good” mum.
As we walked, my daughter started talking about the school trip from the day before. I’d gone along as a parent helper, and she was reflecting on what she enjoyed. Then she mentioned the worst part: when X wet herself. Before she even finished the sentence, I jumped in with a stream of instructions and explanations. “Don’t mention it to her.” “It wasn’t her fault.” “She held it for so long.” “Anyone would have wet themselves.” My guilt spilled out disguised as guidance.
What I didn’t see in that moment was that I was teaching her a lesson she already knew. We do this so often as humans. In our rush to be helpful or to feel certain, we offer guidance no one asked for. If we paused for even a breath, we’d realise it isn’t needed. But I didn’t pause. I reacted. And my daughter shut down. Her face fell, and the lightness of our walk evaporated. When I asked what was wrong, she eventually whispered, “You shouted at me.” I hadn’t shouted, but I had overridden her moment of sharing with my own emotional noise. I apologised, but she was already gone into her version of Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD) shutdown, and I felt myself slipping into mine.
The Guilt Beneath the Guilt
Part of why I reacted so strongly was the guilt I was carrying from the day before. I had seen the little girl’s anxiety rising on the trip. I had reassured her. I had hoped she could hold on. And then I saw her crying, the teacher’s arm around her, and the puddle on the floor. The guilt hit me hard. I felt I should have done more, that as an adult I had a responsibility to meet her needs, even though it wasn’t my role and I was already responsible for six other children. My head knew the limits of what I could do. My heart insisted I had failed her.
But this kind of guilt is something most of us know well. It’s the guilt that appears when we care, when we want to protect, when we feel responsible for the wellbeing of others. It shows up at work when a colleague struggles and we think we should have spotted it sooner. It shows up in friendships when someone is hurting and we feel we should have said the right thing. It shows up in families when we replay moments and imagine the perfect version of ourselves stepping in at exactly the right time. It’s a deeply human reflex. It comes from connection, not failure.
Yet that same instinct can quietly tip into over-responsibility. We start trying to rescue, fix, or pre‑empt discomfort. We step in where we’re not needed, or not wanted, or not actually able to help. And when we do, we stop listening. We stop being present. We move into managing, controlling, or soothing our own discomfort instead of meeting the other person where they are. That’s exactly what happened with my daughter. My guilt about one child leaked into my interaction with another. I wasn’t listening to her. I was trying to calm something in myself.
Coaching Presence vs Our Natural Human Instinct
This is why coaching presence is so powerful, and so different from how we naturally operate. Our default human setting is to respond, reassure, advise, fix, protect, explain, or fill the silence. It’s how we show care. It’s how we feel useful. It’s how we try to connect. But listening like a coach is not instinctive. It’s trained, practised, and intentional.
As a coach, I can hold my thoughts lightly. I can let emotions drift past without grabbing onto them. I can stay fully in my client’s world, curious and attuned. That isn’t because I’m a better person in those moments; it’s because the coaching space is designed for presence. It’s structured, protected, and free from the emotional noise that comes with parenting, leadership, or everyday relationships.
In coaching, I ask questions like: What makes this important to you? What’s underneath that? What do you need right now? In everyday life, most of us leap straight to: Here’s what you should do. Here’s what I’m afraid of. Here’s what this means about me. And yet, when we manage to bring even a small piece of coaching presence into our relationships, everything shifts. People open up. Conversations deepen. We feel more grounded and more connected. We feel more like the person we want to be.
Being Cut Off Hurts at Any Age
Most people know the sting of being interrupted just as they were opening up. It happens everywhere, but especially in relationships with power imbalances: parents and children, managers and team members, teachers and students. Not because we don’t care, but because our own internal noise gets in the way of hearing others.
Sometimes you need to be listened to before you can listen well. Different cultures handle conversation differently; some are fast and overlapping, others slow with long pauses. A good coach adapts to your rhythm. They don’t take over. They don’t rush to fix. They stay with you. That is the power of coaching, and it’s why the coaching relationship matters so deeply.
If You Want to Listen Better, Start Here
Next time you’re with someone you hold power over, whether it’s your child, your team member or your student, and you genuinely want to listen well, try reflecting on these questions:
Your Listening Compass
Why is it important to me to listen to this person well?
What does it feel like in my body when I’m listening well?
What does it feel like when I’m not?
How will I know I’ve truly listened?
Your Listening Blocks
In what circumstances do I find it hard to listen?
When does listening come naturally?
What about me gets in the way?
How can I reduce those blocks?
Your Next Step
What small step can I take to improve my listening with this person today?
How will I know if it worked?
These questions are part of the toolkit I use with clients and with myself because listening well is a skill, not a personality trait. It can be learned, strengthened and transformed.
And If You’re Wondering What Coaching With Me Is Like…
It’s a bit like what I longed to give my daughter that morning: a space where your thoughts aren’t interrupted, where your feelings aren’t corrected, where your story isn’t hijacked by someone else’s guilt or fear. A space where you get to hear yourself clearly, maybe for the first time in a long time.
Coaching isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present. And presence is something we can all learn to cultivate, one small step at a time.