Soothe

I love the sound of that word: Soothe. The soft, whispery sibilance of the “s.” The slow, breathy exhale of the double “oo.” The quiet resonance of the “th” as the tongue presses against the upper teeth.

The power to soothe, to comfort, to calm. The baby is crying, and we quiet him by holding him close and swaying side to side. The toddler is crying, and we calm her by kneeling down, leaning in and stroking her forehead. We know how to do these things, and most of the time they work.

What we don’t know how to do, what is so much harder, is soothing an adult. Or maybe we make it harder because we have forgotten what works. So instead of touching an arm, rubbing a back, holding someone close, we talk:

I know just how you feel, we say. We do not. We cannot. And even if, by some remote chance we do, this isn’t about how gloriously empathetic we are, is it?

Here, let me give you some names, some links, some websites to help you through this, we say. Is that what soothing is about? Giving someone a to-do list.

This isn’t the worst thing that could happen, we say, as if that’s consolation. And then we talk about all the worse things that have happened to people we know. Because that makes someone feel better, right?

This too shall pass, we say. Or time heals all wounds, we say. Or god never gives you more than you can handle, we say. Because, in the throes of a crisis someone really wants to hear aphorisms.

Or worse: Buck up, we say. When the going gets tough, the tough get going, we say. Because, in the throes of a crisis, in the depths of despair, what everyone really needs is locker room talk.

And then we end with: Call me if I can do anything, a generous offer that off-loads all responsibility. Because when someone is in the midst of a crisis, they’re gonna sit down and figure out what they need and who is out there that might be of help and then contact them to arrange the help. Not.

When we pick up a crying baby, we do not say: I know just how you feel. I was a baby once and I used to cry a lot. We do not say: Yeah, I know you have a messy diaper and that feels bad, but there are babies in other countries who are sick and dying. Buck up. You don’t have it so bad.

We do not say anything. We soothe by touch. The warmth of skin against skin. We soothe by our presence, our wordless presence.

This year we have all been especially touch-starved. If something good comes of that, let it be that we now more clearly understand the power of touch, that we return to what works: wordless soothing.