It Takes Two to Tango
Insights on listening, healing and moving forward.
Before I begin, I am sending love, care, and resources to all who are impacted by the California Wildfires. I personally know people who have evacuated or lost everything. If you’re like me, it feels unmooring to not know how to help.
Below are some of the best places I’ve found that are shared widely. Please feel free to share more community resources in the comments.
Mutual Aid LA’s list of organizations in need
GoFundMe pages of Displaced Black families in Altadeena
GoFundMe’s full curated list of those displaced and in need
Giving Generously (Their Instagram puts out calls all the time)
Last night, I sat on the cold marble tile of our marble bathroom begging for my 2-year-old feisty daughter, Evie, to let me put on her diapers after a bath. Her voice is a shrill guttural scream when she can’t find her words, something that happens often as her vocabulary expands these days. As soon as the high-pitched noise came out of her mouth, I felt myself radiating the sweet combo of rage and desperation, a new emotional duality that I’d only just internally clocked within the past few months.
This is going to be a long night, I sighed, closing my eyes.
It had been a long day of solo parenting, complete with a hail mary attempt to take her and her 7-year-old brother, Brendan, swimming to wear them out. Five seconds before her screech, I half-yelled “Put a bubble in your mouth” to Brendan after he encouraged Evie to run around the house naked. It was the last resort to “shut up”, and I’ll take that as my only win in this scenario.
I could feel the spiral bubbling and kept my eyes closed for a few more minutes, breathing deeply. My hand on Evie’s chest, I could feel her breathing become more shallow, gearing up for another shrill bark.
Her yell started as a screech and instantly switched to the silliest, most pure giggle I’ve ever heard. Surprised, I looked at her and traced her sightline to the bouncing blonde hair poking out from a t-shirt, barely holding Brendan’s thin arms from swinging wildly in the air.
Brendan turned into the inflatable “silly guys” we always see at car dealerships, begging for you to come in and buy something off the lot, likely a lemon.
None of us could keep a straight face. My rage/desperation spiral dissipated and I snorted, which made us laugh even harder. She was too distracted to care about clothes and diapers, and my heart felt lighter as it saw something in Brendan that I craved, even though I didn’t know what it was.
After putting Evie to bed, I went downstairs to check on Brendan for our Sunday night ritual of watching America’s Funniest Videos before bed (don’t judge, it’s our guilty pleasure). He snuggled up to me and a few tears fell down my cheeks.
“What’s the matter, mama?” he asked.
“My heart is full, and I have you to thank for it,” I said. He looked very puzzled, but stared off into the distance, listening intently.
“You knew just what needed to happen with Evie tonight, and you also saw that I was really struggling. How did you know what to do?”
“I listened,” he said, matter of fact.
“But I didn’t say anything, so how did you know?”
We sat silent for a while, letting the TV screen flash clips of people falling off ladders.
“I remembered what you said before about how to help you when you’re struggling. You said you either want a hug, or you want me to make you laugh.”
I honestly don’t remember saying this to him at all. Of the 20,000+ words we share in a day (an estimation on the small end), I can’t imagine that any of them stick. Yet, I trust his memory - it truly is a steel trap on most things. If anything, it was likely an off-hand comment after we had calmed down from an argument. When we have our repairing conversations, we share what we would do differently and what we need from the other person at that moment.
He asked and listened. Amid crisis and chaos, he listened.
Watching the events of the past few months - even the past few days as LA burns and families lose their homes, treasures, and lives - I’m struck by the dichotomy of sharing versus listening.
We so desperately don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable, that we rush to fix whatever problem arises, sprint to say the right thing, or swoop in to save. Don’t get me wrong - in times like these, immediate responses of goods and resources are vital. It comes from the best place within us - the part of our humanity that wants to lift each other and get back on our collective feet.
And yet, whenever there’s a moment of heated tensions - whether that’s a toddler power struggle at home or global crises like war, hostage situations, a national election, or the world on fire - we tend to skip over the most important detail of being there for each other: asking questions.
I do it, too. I did it last night in the bathroom. In my rush to get everything done and have a sliver of time to myself after they went to bed without being too exhausted before the magic melatonin/magnesium combo kicked in, I didn’t ask what Evie wanted. It was inconvenient. Now, I know that reasoning with a toddler is often fruitless. And yet, I want her to grow up having seen how we navigate our internal compass to know what we need when asked and how to begin difficult conversations with deeper questions, even if the other person doesn’t have an answer to that deep well of an ask.
Because it’s not about the answer, friends. It’s about care and holding space. It’s about helping others feel seen and understood. It’s about not glossing over the agita and anger and ache in tough times and meeting each other where they are now, even if it’s messy.
Especially when it’s messy.
It’s about the simple act of care in asking a question instead of making an assumption. It’s about a softness of understanding that we’re able to be ourselves and trust ourselves and others, even when times are rough.
Trust builds connection. I’d argue that is what we need most in this world, now more so than ever. When I look back to the times I’ve felt most connected to those in my life who are making a difference, it’s because they’re asking questions more than offering advice. I also feel more connected to others when I’m asking more questions as well, something that I haven’t had any emotional bandwidth to do recently as I’m pouring most of it into my family. It’s a balance I’m still exploring, often messing it up as I go.
It takes two to tango. It takes open hearts and curious minds. It takes space and time. It takes thoughtful questions to build connection. It takes both of us to do our part. And, for a young boy, it means acting like the best inflatable air dancer he knows because he previously asked the question and, in doing so, healed 7-year-old Amy a little bit in the process.
Calling All Creatives!
Something I’m craving in the new year is a space dedicated to creating. I’m trying to find my weekly writing rhythm and want a set time each week to be inspired and work toward the many projects that I have spinning in my head.
Do you feel this tug, too?
If so, I’d love if you could share more about your needs in the comments. If you don’t feel comfortable doing so there, shoot me an email at amy@amykugler.com. Specifically, I want to know the following:
What is a good day or time for you to meet virtually?
What projects are you working on?
What support do you need? (Writing/creating prompts, time set aside, constructive feedback on your ideas, something else?)
I’ll be back in touch with more details soon.
How are you taking care of yourself in the new year? I’d love to hear - please share in the comments.
Sending love,
A lovely post, Amy! I'm thinking about the weekly creative "office hours/meet-up" and if it makes sense for me . . . stay tuned!