Before critique culture.Before hot takes.Before performance listening.Before everyone felt required to respond. Women told stories.And other
Before critique culture.
Before hot takes.
Photo by S O C I A L . C U T
Before performance listening.
Before everyone felt required to respond.
Women told stories.
And other women sat with them.
Not to analyze.
Not to correct.
Not to diagnose.
Not to “balance the narrative.”
They listened to hold, not to judge.
How Women Historically Sat With Stories
1. Storytelling was relational, not consumable
Stories were not offered to the crowd.
They were shared:
At kitchen tables
Around fires
While braiding hair
During births and deaths
In quilting circles
On porches and back steps
The listener was known.
That alone changed everything.
2. Silence was not awkward—it was respectful
There was no pressure to fill space.
Silence meant:
“I am still here”
“I am letting this land”
“Take your time”
Interrupting a story was considered rude because it broke the sacred rhythm.
3. The story did not require approval
Women were not telling stories to be believed by a system.
They were telling them to be:
Witnessed
Remembered
Carried
The listener’s role was not verdict—it was presence.
That’s why the insertion of off key commenting bots from out of nowhere feels disruptive to some of us.
4. Listening was embodied
Women listened with their whole bodies.
A hand placed gently on an arm
A nod
A sigh
A shared tear
These were responses—but not critiques.
The body said what words didn’t need to.
5. Stories were not immediately interpreted
Meaning came later, if at all.
There was no rush to:
Extract lessons
Turn pain into wisdom on demand
Sometimes the story just existed.
People inserted A hum like Delroy Lindo’s character in Sinners. A sway. A smile. A tear. A shiver. A stare out the window.
That was enough. You allowed the story to impact you.
(It is my opinion that some people are losing connection with stories that like that. They are used to interrogating others into a final answer response. But life isn’t like that. All of us will leave this life and we will not have all of the answers.
Teachers have told us that students are losing the ability to read third-person omniscient a storytelling style where the narrator knows more than any single character — thoughts, motives, histories, contradictions. We are losing the understanding of nuance, humility, and shared knowledge.)
6. Elders modeled restraint
Older women knew something we are relearning:
Not every story needs commentary.
They listened first.
Days or weeks might pass before insight was shared—if it was shared at all.
That restraint protected the storyteller.
7. Storytelling was not debate
There was no “other side” to a woman’s pain.
Pain wasn’t an argument.
It was a truth that stood on its own.
No counterpoints required.
8. Stories were held in trust
What was shared stayed within the circle.
No public retelling
No embellishment
No turning someone’s pain into status
Story holding was an ethical role.
9. Advice was invited, not imposed
When advice came, it came gently.
Often as:
A story in return
A proverb
A question, not a command
“May I share something?” was the posture—even if the words weren’t spoken aloud. A gentle grabbing of your handing before offering a word.
10. Listening was understood as communal labor
No one woman was expected to carry everything.
Stories moved through many listeners across time.
That’s why women survived.
What Social Media Changed
Social media taught us to:
Respond instantly without thinking of impact
Perform intelligence
Prove moral positioning
Idolize the specific academics and “smart people” who decided to stop listening to stories from the masses a long time ago.
- Worship monetization, followers, impressions, and number rankings over stories
Call women the uglier names than yesterday and then tell them it is a “compliment”…same for Black people and other populations.
“Hope this helps” when you really don’t. Snark over genuine well meaning assistance.
Align with mean spirted bots and people who don’t even live in your region and will not suffer the consequences of the actions they advocate for
That is not listening.
That is display.
It is a dark hamster wheel.
The Old Knowing We’re Remembering
Women often just heard the stories. On the porch. Outside of the store. Around the clothesline. At the fish fry. At the hairdresser’s.
They let them rest.
They let them breathe.
They let them be unfinished.
And in that space, something healing happened:
The storyteller no longer carried it alone.
A Gentle Reclaiming
We are not broken for finding this hard.
We were trained out of it.
But the old way is still in us.
It begins when we choose to say:
“I hear you.”
And then we stop talking.
That is not weakness.
That is wisdom remembering itself.