By Penny Power – Business Author & Human-Centred Speaker
A couple of weeks ago, in my weekly Ponderings, I wrote about the power of curiosity and how taking a genuine interest in others is often the first step in helping people know that they matter.
Since then, I have been reflecting on what comes next.
I am endlessly fascinated by relationships. What makes some flourish while others remain surface-level? What enables trust to deepen? What makes someone feel truly seen?
Curiosity is certainly the starting point, but curiosity alone is not enough.
The art of conversation is not easy for everyone. With rising social anxiety and many people unsure how to ask meaningful questions, we cannot assume that curiosity naturally translates into connection. In fact, we can be curious and still be poor conversationalists.
Back in the 1980s, an incredible mentor, who is now one of my closest friends, taught me the art of asking open questions.
The “why”, “what”, “how”, “when”, “where” and “which” questions.
Questions that invite people to tell a story rather than simply answer yes or no.
Even though I was naturally curious, the annoying “why?” child at home and at school, learning how to ask better questions transformed my relationships. It gave me a skill that has enriched both my business life and my personal life for decades.
But once curiosity and good questioning are in place, what happens next?
For me, the answer is compassion.
So often, a relationship deepens when someone offers a small piece of vulnerability. A hint of sadness. A glimpse of uncertainty. A quiet admission that something is difficult.
In that moment, they are not usually looking for solutions.
They are looking to be seen.
Compassion is the ability to stay with them there.
To listen a little longer.
To care a little more deeply.
To resist the temptation to make the conversation about ourselves.
Compassion is not sympathy. In fact, I have never particularly enjoyed being on the receiving end of sympathy. It can feel disempowering. Most of us do not want rescuing. We simply want understanding.
In our family, we have a phrase for a common conversational habit that we all witness occasionally, even in ourselves.
We call it the “back to me” reply.
It goes something like this:
“I’ve just lost my father. He’d been ill for a while, and although he lived a long life, it is affecting me deeply.”
And the response comes:
“Oh yes, I know exactly how you feel. I lost my father two years ago.”
The intention is kind.
But notice what happens.
The attention shifts.
The person who has just revealed something vulnerable suddenly finds themselves comforting or empathising with the other person instead.
The focus moves away from the very person who needed to be heard.
A more compassionate response might be:
“I’m so sorry. That must be incredibly difficult. How has it affected you?”
Or:
“What have you found hardest?”
Or simply:
“Tell me more.”
Compassion is often less about what we say and more about creating space for someone else’s experience.
Meaningful relationships are built through a rhythm of giving and receiving.
There are moments when we need support.
There are moments when we need to offer it.
The wisdom is knowing which moment is which.
So this week, I invite you to think outwards.
Be guided by the words, emotions and experiences of the people around you.
Ask one more open question.
Listen a little longer.
Resist the urge to immediately relate everything back to your own experience.
Show someone that they are seen, heard and understood.
Because we do not need hundreds of significant relationships to feel whole.
But we certainly do not want to lose the ones that are significant, or have the potential to become so.
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