cavatica

Was in Charleston, SC the past few days for the Southeastern Writing Centers Association conference. It was pretty fun; the other student tutor and I spent more time wandering around beautiful downtown Charleston and oggling at all the goodies for the uber-rich kids who live there than going to panels (this wasn't delinquent on our part; our director only wanted us to go to a few panels a day, and we did so quite diligently). I'd give more details, but I'm lazy, so.

The ol' self-esteem took a beating yesterday. I stayed up late talking to a friend of mine about it, and you wouldn't believe (well, maybe you would) how profoundly relieving it was to have the sense that someone else besides my best friend was actually LISTENING to me. Not just sitting and nodding at the right intervals. Listening. Actually processing the words that came out of my head. No unasked-for advice, no arguments, no opportunistic rhetorical analysis of how this is my problem and not everyone else's. Eye contact, visible concern, silence. And then his own experiences relating how he often feels the same way. It was a ping-pong match of mutual attentiveness. I didn't feel humored, I felt HEARD; and at the end, we discussed and advised.

So I felt better. Mostly. I still have some things to take care of-- but at least I know, you know, I'm not alone on this one, and it's not just the double-X chromosomes who give a shit.