Mattering

My husband is currently researching the Lynmouth Flood, which marks its 75th anniversary next year, using his well- honed genealogical research skills to flesh out the stories of the people who sadly lost their lives. Conversation inevitably turns to the one recovered victim who has not been identified. Why weren't they reported missing? Who did they matter to? Surely we all hope that we matter to someone?

Mooching around Toppings in Bath after work, as I do fairly regularly, I picked up a copy recently of Mattering by Jennifer Breheny Wallace. Before long I had read fifty pages and the staff had brought me a cup of coffee to enjoy whilst I did so. (They treat you well in Toppings!)

The premise of Wallace’s book is simple, and that’s what made it so readable. Feeling that you matter to someone or somehow doesn’t just give you a warm, fuzzy feeling; it's a core human need, as essential as food or sleep. It’s in our DNA. To our ancestors mattering meant being included in the tribe, safety. Literally a matter of life and death. Mattering is the felt sense that we are valued, and that we have value to give.

Cultivating a culture of belonging

I spent years as a teacher before moving into bereavement support. In fact, I’m briefly back covering an A Level class while their teacher is on maternity leave. Back talking about student mental health, absenteeism and how to engage with families who are struggling. Belonging is the latest buzzword when discussing strategies to improve attendance.

It’s not rocket science.

A sense of belonging makes children feel safe and keen to come to school. It also keeps teachers buoyant in a profession of high-stakes accountability, heavy workloads, and increasing pastoral responsibilities. Building a sense of belonging means showing someone they are part of something and that they matter.

Wallace identifies four things at the heart of mattering: being recognised for your impact, being relied upon (though not to breaking point), feeling prioritised, and being genuinely known as a whole person. That's what changes things in classrooms and staffrooms and in marriages, friendships and communities.

What grief takes away

I've sat with a lot of grieving people.  What so many of them describe, underneath the loss of a loved one itself, is the collapse of the identity that is intrinsically linked to that person helped them build. When we lose someone who valued us, whether that’s a partner, a parent, a closest friend, a pet, a group of work colleagues, friends, neighbours or way of life, we can lose our sense of mattering along with them.

Wallace writes about this with tenderness and understanding. Bereavement, retirement, an empty nest or a redundancy can knock that sense of significance sideways. And the instinct, almost always, is to withdraw. Wallace’s research gently pushes back on that instinct. She writes about what she calls the upward spiral of interdependent mattering. When you reach out to someone by asking for their guidance, letting them help, drawing on their experience you are sending them a message: you are valued. And it works both ways.

The book ends not with a to-do list but with an invitation to notice. Look around and ask: who do I know who might be feeling invisible today? And then invites us to do something small about it. Its so very aligned with the principles ofsolution- focused practice. Noticing and taking a small step to make someone feel seen, understood and valued. In a world that has got very good at making people feel overlooked, that feels like an easy way to turn the tide.