The Heart of Listening: Part II

We’ve all told our stories to people, but how many times have you felt truly listened to?

The School Run

I dropped Leander off at the school gates this morning.

The head was greeting all the children at the door, as she often does.

On the car ride over he’d been keen to demonstrate how well his reading was coming along (wonderfully) and I’d been keen… in-between paragraphs….to remind him of the importance of recognising his own needs. This…following the conversation over breakfast where he stated he didn’t want to go to school on a Thursday because of music. Now, I know Leander loves losing himself in music, so it could only be something in the delivery that was unsettling him.

I found myself doing that parent thing of telling your child to do something that, as an adult, I hadn’t really figured out how to do myself…

1. Feel one’s own needs

2. Clearly express those needs in a way that they get met.

In between paying attention to his exquisite reading, I was also aware that his 2yr old sister was in the back and needed to be brought into the conversations. All of this is going on, whilst paying attention to other motorists, speed limits and stray dog walkers.

So, like most parents, I no doubt had that frazzled look about me as I approached the schoolyard with child and toddler in tow.

I said good morning to the head and then…well, I wish I’d been able to articulate my own needs with more clarity and perhaps more authority…but I mainly just mumbled something about enabling Leander to “vouch for himself”.

The head, in turn, said she’d speak to him which is often the default response. She didn’t exactly lean into the conversation. She more, gate-kept the conversation from travelling through the halls of the school and maybe finding its way to teachers who may or may not have found that information useful but will never know either way.

I guess this is a vulnerable moment. This sharing of what you genuinely need and being met with space and silence. Not the good kind of silence… It’s the kind of silence you hear when you’re intently listening for clues as to finding your way back home when you’ve found yourself staying at a friend’s house and got separated on a night out.

It’s a silent world I’ve been circling around for some time.

What happens when we share our stories?

Often it’s difficult enough to organise your own thoughts around your life’s ins and outs, but what happens when we tell our stories to others?

• How do we feel when we share ‘little’ stories about ourselves? You know, the stories that reveal the flavour of who we are (I don’t drink coffee, I drink tea, my dear), but don’t involve any real vulnerability.

• And how do we go near the BIG scary stories? You know, the ones we’ve wrapped our whole nervous system and psyche around.

Maybe in a way, that’s what love is… a sharing of our intimate stories and in doing so we get to drink from each other’s wellspring. But what if people aren’t ready or equipped to hear those stories I ask myself. Can we get to that in a moment?

Portals

Threshold Moments

Generally, opportunities to share our delicate stories are few and far between but sometimes the universe will just throw a ‘threshold moment’ at you from out of nowhere. A conversation with a friend or even a relative stranger might just open up and present you with the opportunity to share your struggles, difficulties or innermost fears. You have the choice to make the leap and share or alternatively, to close the conversation down and move on

I see these moments as standing in a doorway in an unfamiliar house. If these conversations go well, they can lead us into new rooms and spaces within ourselves. If they don’t, a door slams in your face and maybe that room becomes forever out of bounds.

Understandably, whether the door slams shut or whether you take that brave step forward into the new space almost entirely depends upon the reaction, and the unvoiced thoughts of the person listening.

Those soulful eyes; a window back to ourselves

Do We Even Need to Share Our Stories?

I guess we all need to decide that for ourselves, but if you want my answer… *spoiler alert* Yes.

I’ve been an island (self-sufficient and stoic) most of my life, but parenting has beautifully upended all of that. Raising a family requires the village as they say, and that requires communication and honest expression.

And whilst it’s fun to pretend that we’re ‘All Out of Fucks’ to give, our nervous systems are hardwired to be soothed by one another…and really, to be loved by one another. So the truth of it is, regardless of what we say, we really do give a fuck what people think about us and it may even be more fundamental than food & water.

If we agree that to be loved is a necessary part of the human condition then we must risk being seen (note I’m not talking about romantic love).

The Darkside of Vulnerability

Believe me, you can be as heartfelt and vulnerable as you want but don’t expect compassion, understanding or even sympathy in return. People have their own shadows and their own blindspots and you might not survive when those two worlds collide.

Your wounds and their ignorance = Chaos

little old us and the BIG old universe - what chance have we got!

Standing on that threshold, you might just want to ask yourself, ‘who is this person that I’m entrusting to mirror my vulnerable parts back to me?’ and what has pre-qualified them to hold this precious moment?

When these conversations go badly, and they quite often do, we are left feeling invisible and a little lost.

There’s also a sense of wishing you hadn’t said anything and the circle of people we feel safe sharing our inner landscape with closes that little bit more. As ever I value your thoughts…

Like the ripples in a pond, our stories should organically and effortlessly reach out to touch one another. Instead, in our de-sensitised world they head in the opposite direction smaller with every telling.