The dog park is one of my favorite places to witness joy. These days, my little Sol is sixteen. His joy isn’t the bounding leap of a puppy anymore, but a gentler delight, the slow savor of a breeze, the warmth of the sun on his fur, the curiosity of sniffing a familiar patch of grass. There’s a dignity to his presence, a quiet reminder that joy evolves with age but never disappears.
Last week, as we settled into our familiar rhythm, a kind man approached us. He asked how old Sol was, and I smiled, warmed by his interest. I began to share about Sol’s years and the sweetness of these elder-dog days. But before I could say much more, the conversation shifted.
The man began to talk at me. He told me about his dogs, the supplements he swears by, and his experience caring for an elder in his life. His words poured out in a steady stream. His intentions were good, even generous, but I noticed myself shrinking from the exchange. There wasn’t much room for me, or for Sol.
Have you ever had this happen?
A conversation that starts as a meeting point suddenly becomes one-sided. Someone hijacks the air, unintentionally, but leaves no space for reciprocity. Instead of walking away feeling connected, you leave a little depleted, unseen.
The rhythm of real dialogue
True dialogue has rhythm, a give-and-take. Like waves meeting the shore: one recedes, the other flows in. Both have space to move, to be. When listening gets lost, the rhythm breaks. The nervous system feels it, a subtle tightening in the chest, a weariness in the mind, a sense of contraction instead of connection.
At the dog park, this moment was small. But small moments add up. They remind us how essential it is to be witnessed and how much it stings when that’s missing.
Why it matters
Being seen in conversation isn’t about ego; it’s about regulation, belonging, and human connection. Neuroscience tells us that when someone truly listens, our nervous system shifts toward calm. We feel safer, more open, more resourced. When someone speaks at us, even kindly, the opposite can happen. We lose that relational grounding.
In caregiving roles, therapists, parents, partners, and friends, this matters deeply. The way we hold space for one another either nourishes or depletes. At its heart, listening is an act of love.
How to handle it
So what do we do when we find ourselves in these well-meaning but lopsided conversations? Here are a few gentle practices that can help:
Notice your body. Pay attention to the subtle signals, the tightening jaw, the restless urge to look away. These are cues that listening has become too one-sided.
Redirect with kindness. You can softly shift the flow by saying something like, “That’s interesting. It makes me think of what’s been happening with Sol lately,” or “I hear you. Can I share a bit about what’s alive for me right now?”
Name the dynamic (if it feels safe). With close friends or family, it can help to be direct: “I’d love this to feel more like a conversation than a monologue.”
Hold an inner boundary. When redirection isn’t possible, remind yourself: I don’t have to disappear in this exchange. Their words don’t define my presence.
Practice reciprocity yourself. In your own conversations, notice: Am I leaving space for the other? Am I asking questions as well as telling my story? Am I listening as much as I speak?
Returning to presence
As Sol tugged at his leash, ready to move on to the next smell, I smiled. There’s a purity in the way dogs connect. They don’t talk at each other, they sniff, they play, they meet in real time. Presence is the whole point.
Sol, in his elder years, teaches me this daily: connection doesn’t have to be complicated. It doesn’t need to be filled with endless words or advice. It just needs space, reciprocity, and presence.
So the next time you find yourself at the dog park, or anywhere, notice the rhythm of your conversations. Notice if you feel seen, and if you’re offering that same gift in return.
Because when listening is found, we all leave more whole.
A note
If you’ve noticed yourself getting stuck in one-sided dynamics, always listening, rarely feeling heard, or unsure how to set boundaries without guilt, therapy can help. In my practice, I support clients in learning to recognize these patterns, regulate their nervous systems, and reclaim their voices in relationships.
If this resonates, I’d be honored to walk alongside you. 🌿
Therapy with Michal