I’ve always prided myself in being a listener; chanting an oft-repeated mantra that, in certain situations, what another person needs the most is a simple listening ear, not a mouth to offer a different point of view or biased advice. But lately, it’s been hard to focus, hard to contain myself.

I’ve listened to stories of many: the broken, the addicted, the ones who have given up, and the borderline victims. There are pages in my book full of others’ stories and I’m beginning to run out of room. I want to listen, I want to help, but my mind struggles to process any more auditory information.