Empty Chair Diaries: Entry 5

The space where doubt begins

There’s something small we don’t talk about very often.

Not because it’s unimportant, but because it feels difficult to admit. Most of us like to think we’re independent, unaffected by what others think, quietly getting on with our lives. Yet beneath that confidence sits a very human need: the need to be acknowledged.

Not applauded. Not admired.

Simply noticed.

These days, much of our lives are lived online. We share a photograph, a thought, a story or a piece of work and send it out into the world. Then we wait.

Not deliberately. We don’t sit staring at the screen. We make a coffee, answer emails, walk the dog or get on with the next task. Yet somewhere in the background is a quiet question: Did anyone see it?

Most of the time, nothing happens.

No comment. No reaction. No message saying, “I enjoyed that” or “That made me think.”

We tell ourselves that people are busy, and that’s usually true. They’re working, driving, caring for family, dealing with their own challenges and distractions. The silence rarely means what we think it means.

But silence has a habit of creating space.

And where there’s space, doubt often moves in.

Maybe it wasn’t very good.

Maybe nobody was interested.

Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.

They’re small thoughts at first, but if we’re not careful they begin to shape the way we show up. We share a little less. We hesitate a little more. We start questioning things that once felt natural.

What strikes me is how different this is from the way we once connected. A smile was returned. A greeting was acknowledged. A conversation gave immediate feedback that another person was present.

Now, much of our communication happens in rooms we cannot see. We speak into them without knowing who is listening.

And then, every now and then, something wonderful happens.

A comment appears.

A message arrives.

Someone takes a moment out of their day to say, “That meant something to me.”

It’s rarely dramatic. In fact, it’s often just a few words. Yet those few words have a way of cutting through all the stories we’ve been telling ourselves.

Because in that moment, the silence is broken.

The wondering stops.

And we’re reminded that someone was there all along.

Perhaps that’s why small acts of encouragement matter so much. Not because they change the world, but because they remind people that what they do matters.

Sometimes all it takes is a simple acknowledgement to help someone keep showing up.

And sometimes that’s enough.