The Grace in Venting and the Strength in Listening

From my point of view and after long conversations with family members about other family members and listening to their painful experiences with eachother, I have come to a conclusion… that there is an undeniable sanctity in being able to speak freely… especially when the thoughts brimming inside feel too heavy to hold alone. I have come to understand that the act of venting especially about another human being, is not inherently cruel, nor is it an act of betrayal. Instead, it is a cry for clarity, a sacred expression of overwhelming feelings, pain, confusion and/or conflict that seeks nothing more than to be understood. To vent is not to vilify… it is to release. And to listen… to truly listen to someone venting… is not to condone gossip or hostility, but to offer them refuge and grace.

Somewhere along the path of cultural conditioning we began to confuse emotional honesty with malicious intent. We were told that if we speak about someone’s actions when they are not in the room, it is gossip. We were taught that to express anger or disappointment toward a family member or another human, means we are dishonoring them. But I reject that notion. I believe in the nuanced, raw, and often painful reality that humans are complicated, relationships are messy, and emotions are valid even when they are uncomfortable. And I believe that we deserve the freedom to share those truths without being shut down or made to feel as though we are small, mean, or disloyal for needing to express them.

When I speak about someone who has hurt me, I am not painting them as a villain… I am painting my experience with that person. I am describing the shadow they may have unknowingly (or knowingly) cast over my heart. I am navigating through the barrage of words that stung or gestures that confused me. Venting is not a performance… it is a process. It is the delicate art of unraveling the threads of our emotions so we can see what lies beneath the surface. It is not for the purpose of humiliating someone or crafting an army of sympathizers…it is for the purpose of survival. Emotional survival. Sanity. Validation. Clarity.

We all deserve at least one person in our lives who is willing to sit across from us and say, “I hear you. I see how this affects you. You’re allowed to feel this.” That person is not a co-conspirator in wrongdoing. They are not encouraging division. They are providing the most basic human need… empathy. And someone to just listen. And yet, somehow, this beautiful act of holding space has been twisted, by many, into something shameful. But it is not shameful. It is profound. It is revered. It is necessary.

The truth is, I am not always looking for advice when I vent. I am not asking the listener to pick sides. I am not asking them to label someone as toxic, or to echo my frustrations with louder disdain. I am asking to be witnessed. To be understood. To release what has taken up too much space inside of me. When someone I love listens to me without judgment, they give me a soft place to land. They remind me that my feelings matter, and that my version of the story is not invisible.

And yes, sometimes the things I say while venting are raw, intense, or unpolished. Sometimes I am trying to piece together my thoughts in real time. I might say something out of frustration that I will later reflect on with more gentleness. That doesn’t make my venting wrong… it makes it human. Emotions do not always arrive in tidy boxes. They come in waves, messy and demanding, and we are allowed to let them crash a little before we calm the waters again. That’s the beauty of safe spaces… we don’t have to perform in them. We can be honest.

There is a powerful difference between venting and badmouthing, and I wish more people could learn to distinguish the two. Badmouthing is rooted in malice. It seeks to damage reputations, turn people against each other, or spread bitterness. It is driven by ego or revenge. But venting is rooted in pain, confusion, or the desperate need to understand and be understood. It is a form of emotional processing and healing. It is not concerned with character assassination… it is concerned with finding peace.

Sometimes I talk about my family, my partner, or someone close to me in moments of distress… not because I don’t love them, but because I do. Because their actions affect me deeply. Because I care enough to try to make sense of the hurt rather than bury it. Because love does not cancel out pain, and family does not cancel out the need for boundaries or truth-telling. Speaking about what I’m going through with someone I trust allows me to approach my relationships with more clarity and compassion in the long run. Silence does not protect relationships… honesty does.

There is also a certain sacredness in being the one who listens. When someone chooses me as the person they can vent to, I see it as a gift. A deep sign of trust. They are not handing me gossip; they are handing me their heart. They are saying, “This is where I’m struggling. This is what I’m trying to carry. Please don’t let me carry it alone.” And so I listen. Not to judge. Not to solve. Not to scrutinize the person they are talking about. I listen to hold space, to remind them they are not too much, too messy, or too emotional.

And I refuse to feel guilty for that. I will not shame myself… or anyone else, for being a safe place. For being someone who can hold another person’s hurt without shoving it into a box labeled “drama.” It is not drama. It is life. It is real. It is heartbreak, fatigue, fear, and hope wrapped in words.

In the end, I have learned that the only way to heal from pain is to feel it. And feeling it often requires saying it aloud. Processing it. Examining it from different angles. If we are never allowed to speak about the people who have hurt or confused us, how can we ever hope to work through those wounds? How can we grow? How can we become better friends, partners, siblings, or children if we are silenced in the very moments we most need support?

I will continue to believe in the power of venting… not as a weapon, but as a balm. I will continue to believe in the power of listening… not as an accomplice, but as a healer. And I will teach my children, my friends, and anyone willing to learn that emotional expression is not a flaw. It is a form of bravery. It is not always graceful or easy, but it is always worthy of space.

So if you come to me needing to talk about someone who has disappointed, confused, or hurt you, I will not tell you to be quiet. I will not shame you for needing to be seen in your rawest form. I will not label your grief as gossip. I will say: “Speak. I’m here. Let it out.” Because I know the weight of carrying words unspoken. And I know the freedom of finally releasing them into the open air.

You are allowed to be complicated. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need someone to say, “I get it.” And the people who love you should never make you feel ashamed of that.

Venting is not a sign of disrespect. It is a sign of trust. And listening is not a weakness… it is one of the most powerful forms of love we can offer.