Every now and then I think of Dumbledore’s woolen socks.
When Harry asked Dumbledore what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore said he saw himself holding a thick pair of woolen socks.
One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.
— Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Of course, Dumbledore wasn’t really short of socks. For a great wizard, conjuring socks is hardly a problem. Woolen socks stood for family affection.
Just as Dumbledore wanted socks but kept receiving books, I too often have small, genuine needs that go unnoticed or suppressed.
My WeChat profile picture hasn’t changed for six years. I’m not the kind of person who likes taking photos. In the past I was always too reserved, often transparent in group activities. I’d look through all the photos of an event and not find a single one with me in it. So when someone finally managed to take a good picture of me, I kept using it until it wore out. And the person who took that photo happened to be a girl who liked me. Which made me wonder: is it only someone who loves you that can take a good photo of someone who never looks good on camera? After all, who else would bother to focus on you, to find the right angle, and even refine the photo afterward?
But this led me to think further: If I clearly have needs, why I am always too ashamed to voice them?
Maybe because I’ve experienced too many moments where saying it made no difference. Over time I developed this passive emotional mode:
If you don’t say it, but others can still guess and meet the need—that’s a huge bonus, affection skyrockets.
If you express it just lightly, and the other person goes to great lengths to meet your subtle need—that’s another bonus.
If you say it and others ignore it or dismiss it—even after you emphasize it repeatedly—that’s a deduction.
Worst of all, like my father: you tell him, and he mocks you for it.
But this way of thinking is too twisted.
When we were younger, maybe it wasn’t so hard for others to understand. But as we grow in mind and experience, to still expect unspoken understanding is basically waiting for a miracle.
A more mature way is to express your needs bravely and honestly. This not only takes care of your own feelings, but also gives others the chance to understand you.
Back then, I was ashamed to speak up because I misunderstand human relationships. I thought it was a zero-sum game: if others had to go out of their way to meet my needs, it meant I was somehow taking advantage.
But that’s not true.
Existential isolation is a condition every human must face. And the main force that counteracts it is relationship.
Relationships can break through the walls of isolation, building bridges between different selves.
In fulfilling our own needs, we are also giving others the chance to practice loving.
Through encountering another person, we are changed. Our inner world grows richer. Even a brief encounter can become an internal reference.
Just like the Sword of Gryffindor absorbs whatever makes it stronger.
If you doubt it, just look at how many of your habits—picked up unconsciously—might trace back to someone’s example or a stray word in your past.
This is also why, when friends ask me whether they should have children, I usually encourage them to.
It’s not that children need parents—it’s the opposite: parents need children.
Children offers parents the chance to experience need-free love, directed toward another human being.
And it is precisely this process that helps parents fight and dissolve existential isolation.
So, my friend, do you also want a pair of woolen socks?
Reference
Irvin Yalom, Existential Psychotherapy