When someone opens up about what they’re struggling with, most of us have the instinct to say: “Oh, I’ve been there too.” We think we’re building a bridge. We think we’re saying I understand, you’re not alone.
But here’s what often happens instead: The conversation becomes about us.
Your friend was telling you about their anxiety. Now they’re listening to your anxiety story. They were processing their heartbreak. Now they’re hearing about yours. They needed to be seen—and instead, they’re seeing you.
I know this comes from a good place. We genuinely are trying to connect. But I’ve witnessed this pattern play out countless times in my work as a coach, and I want to be honest about what’s really happening.
The Good Intention, the Unintended Consequence
We share our stories because we want someone to feel less alone. We assume that saying “I’ve been through that” is proof that we understand. And in a way, we do. But understanding someone’s experience isn’t the same as attending to it.
Connection isn’t about matching experiences. It’s about matching attention.
When you redirect the conversation to your own struggle, you’re essentially saying: “Your story reminds me of mine, and right now, I need to tell it.” That’s not a judgment—it’s human. But it’s worth recognizing what it does.
The person who was vulnerable enough to share just learned that their struggles are a prompt for your stories, not worthy of your full focus. Over time, this teaches people not to open up.
Why We Do This
Before I go further, I want to acknowledge: this is not a character flaw. There are a few reasons we naturally do this:
We’re trying to normalize their experience. Saying “I’ve been there too” is our way of saying “This is normal, you’re going to be okay.” It comes from reassurance.
We’re uncomfortable with their pain. Sometimes our instinct to share is actually a way of escaping the discomfort of witnessing someone else’s struggle. Their pain creates a tension in us, and we relieve it by shifting the focus.
We assume sameness means connection. We think that the more similar our experiences are, the more we’ll understand each other. But understanding doesn’t require matching scars. It requires genuine curiosity about someone else’s inner world.
We want to be helpful. We’re thinking: “Look what I learned from my experience—let me give you that wisdom.” But often, what people need isn’t our lessons. They need our presence.
What Genuine Connection Actually Looks Like
A few years ago, a client shared with me how exhausted she felt in her marriage. Instead of telling her about my own relationship struggles (which I have plenty of), I asked her a simple question: “What does that exhaustion feel like in your body?”
That question changed the conversation entirely. She went deeper. She cried. She got to the real issue—not just that she was tired, but that she felt unseen by her partner.
If I’d said “Yeah, marriage is hard” or shared my own story, we wouldn’t have gotten there. She would have performed being fine so she could listen to me.
True connection happens when someone feels genuinely attended to. When they know that, in that moment, they matter more than your need to be understood.
How to Show Up Differently
Here’s what I practice with my clients, and what I recommend to anyone who wants to be a better listener:
When someone shares their struggle:
• Resist the urge to match it. Notice the impulse to say “me too”—that’s your signal to pause.
• Get curious instead. Ask: “What’s that been like for you?” or “How are you managing with all of that?” or “What do you need right now?”
• Listen to the answer. Not while you’re thinking about your own story. Not while you’re formulating your advice. Just listen. Let silence be okay.
• Reflect back what you hear. “So what I’m hearing is…” gives them the experience of being truly seen.
• Trust that your presence is enough. You don’t have to have walked the same path to walk alongside someone.
The gift isn’t your shared experience. The gift is your full attention.
A Subtle Shift, A Powerful Difference
This isn’t about never sharing about yourself. In healthy relationships, mutual vulnerability builds intimacy. But there’s a rhythm to it. First, you listen. You attend. You create a space where the other person feels completely held.
Then, if it feels natural and serves the other person, you might share something of your own experience—not to redirect the conversation, but to deepen the connection you’ve already established.
The shift is subtle but powerful: from “I need you to know my story” to “I want to understand yours.”
When you truly listen to someone without immediately making it about you, something changes. They feel it. And they remember it. That kind of presence is rarer than you think, and it’s one of the most healing things you can offer another human.
The next time someone opens up, try it. Stay with them. Ask questions. Let their story be the whole story.
You might be surprised by how much deeper the connection becomes.
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