Did You Really Hear Me?

I was packing up the Christmas decorations. A children’s book bonked me on the head. It was a gift meant for my two-year-old granddaughter that never made it to her home in Portugal. I loved the title, sat down in the midst of the junk on the floor, and read a story that has been an important theme beginning my life as a clinical psychologist, called The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld.

A little boy puts in great effort in making a large tower, of which he is quite proud. Suddenly a huge force of birds sweeps in and demolishes his construction.

He is bereft and is visited by a parade of animal friends who have unsolicited advice for him.

“Talk!” “Shout!” “Forget it!” “Start again!” are the solutions to his problem.

Nothing helped. Then a rabbit sat next to him. He gave the boy his quiet companionship. He had no advice or agendas, just his attention. He gave the boy what he needed most: the opportunity to express his feelings, to tell his story.

Respect

The bedrock of good listening is respect.

To really listen to another person is to give one of the most empowering gifts among all relationships. It means kicking our own unique and immediate attitudes to the curb and listening with a clean slate. We have templates for beliefs that we are certain will work, especially when people are hurting and we want to help them.

When I had my first miscarriage, I drowned in the advice of family and friends: get right back on the horse (get pregnant again), don’t get pregnant for a year. Get less exercise, get more exercise, get this book, change doctors, join a support group, meditate, on and on. All of their helpful comments implied that if only I’d follow their instructions I would be OK. But they missed hearing the heartbroken voice of the “almost mother” who felt like emptiness could crush her.

It was never a matter of hearing. Good listening is a whole lot harder than that. In a relationship, listening well can make or break the satisfaction and health of our connections. It has little to do with agreement or disagreement.

Helpful, connected conversation is a matter of technique, emotion, empathy, and honesty. We can heal from wounds that have left us feeling alone or lost in relationships. On the other hand, opening channels of communication can lead us to re-discover delights that have been absent in our connections.

To become a good listener starts with the basics. It’s like setting a stage. We find an “on ramp” where we are invited in. Judgmental positions doom a connection. Concepts of right/wrong, or yes/no will take two people nowhere.

One of the biggest threats to setting the “stage” is “multitasking.” It gives us a sense of accomplishment, but at a cost. How many times a day do we respond to someone talking to us with “Um Hum,” or “Yeah,” when, at the same time, we’re attending to something else.

A story about listening, and listening, until I got it right

Whenever I get sloppy, I benefit from a cautionary tale of a neighbor. I thought I was in tune with her. I couldn’t have been more wrong. She might as well have been talking to the wall.

Pam asked to talk with me about something “personal.” We were at a neighborhood cook-out where a lot of fun activities were going on and attracted my attention. While I knew I’d say yes, I wasn’t in a listening mood. I’d spent a week in my psychotherapy office, so I figured I could help her in my sleep.

But listening is work. And I was arrogant.

Pam told me she had been referred to a psychiatrist for help with her low self-esteem. She was obviously mortified to even utter this sentence out loud. I relaxed in my chair, leaned forward, and blocked out the distractions around us, all attempts to “set the table.”

In a low voice that approached a whisper, she asked, “Is it all right for therapists to open their mail during sessions?”

I almost fell off my chair. Then I almost choked with laughter. I wanted to yell,

“Get.” “Out.” “Now!”

I could think of so many ways to tell her how to deal with that joker. I had my inventory of smart-ass words. I had a list in my head of clinical associations she should contact to register complaints. I envisioned a show down where I gave him a piece of mind. Easy.

But then I realized that she was not me, her injury was not mine, and the solution to what she asked for help was not contained in my reactions.

Something was wrong.

Detours

I heard her. But I didn’t listen.

I didn’t tune into her mood, her expression, her body language or the tone of her voice- the elements that lead to empathy. It’s not like “listening empathy” knows all the answers, but it puts us in the perspective of the person we are trying to connect with. That’s why we call it “active listening.”

I had to confront the fact that a lousy piece of mail won the attention of an idiot with MD after his name, over my neighbor who felt even more worthless than when she started.

My thoughts tripped over each other, “You have to say…” “You need to report him…” “I hope you’re planning to dump him.” She had me caring about her. But I wasn’t caring with her. She seemed less and less engaged.

Pam wanted listening. She wanted some sign that I had entered her world.

Finally, I began again, “That must have felt really awful.”

She started to cry and described the humiliation she felt.

Her description made me want to cry.

She surprised me with, “I want to quit him, but I don’t know how.”

“Well, what have you thought about?” She mentioned a letter, an e-mail and a voicemail. She thought about confronting him in person but was afraid it would be too hard. I agreed with her reticence that some shrinks are quick to turn a patient’s criticism back on them.

She asked me directly, “What would you do?” I thought for a minute and then replied, “Since it’s so early, and since I hate confrontation, I’d go with the letter.” We were quiet and she added, “Or those little planes that trail messages behind them.”

We laughed. She seemed delighted to make me laugh. It was a sign that we were on the same track.

Then she looked anxious again.

She asked me what she should say.

I wasn’t going to take this achievement from her.

“Pam, I bet you could say it in three sentences.”

She thought very briefly, “He was rude… I didn’t like it… and I’m not going to be his patient anymore.”

She looked stronger. Calmer. She owned the pain. But the solution was hers as well.

I added a boost. “Pam, sometimes when I have a strong thought, it can feel good, but if I let too much time go by, the scared feeling comes through.

“Really? You?”

“Oh yeah. I have to deal with it.”

“You have doubts like that?” she was incredulous.

“Yeah, I can be right and have doubts at the same time.”

We sat in a comfortable silence.

Then we got a burger.

Being heard

There is a satisfying comforting feeling when the tables are turned and we feel heard, really heard. The clumsy holes in expression don’t matter. We don’t feel “less than” for what we say. It means we are respected, even when we disagree. It means that disagreement can lead to a reformulation, a freedom in which two voices can meet honestly with an openness to change. When is there a greater need for it than now?

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This post was previously published on medium.com.