A Therapist’s Lesson in Listening
by Rebecca Shafir
As I was leaving my office one evening, frazzled by a full day of patients and the paperwork that came with them, a middle-aged man poked his head nervously into my doorway. He asked timidly, eyes tight, lips knotted, with an uncontrolled static to his speech, if he could speak with me for a few minutes. He did not have an appointment. He was here on his own account. Little did I think that this man dressed in old clothes, gripping his hat like a friend he couldn’t bear to lose, was about to teach me a lesson about listening.
I offered him a seat. He introduced himself as Mr. Hennman. A severe stutterer from as far back as he could remember, Mr. H shifted in his chair several times searching for a way to begin. He proceeded to explain that his doctor had sent him to our clinic for tests to determine the cause of his indigestion, high blood pressure, and sleeplessness.
Mr. H said his doctor was very concerned about these symptoms, but was reluctant to hear Mr. H’s take on the subject. (I could imagine how difficult it was for a physician with a busy schedule to listen to someone like Mr. H. His stutter was so severe, that it took him several minutes to complete a few sentences.)
Transfixed by this unusual character, I became absorbed with Mr. H’s story. Raised to be a metal-smith, and sheltered by loving but misinformed parents, young Mr. H’s rare interactions with people were heart-wrenching experiences, usually doomed to failure. Either people made fun of him or felt sorry for him, nothing in between. Mr. H., a man with a sixth grade education, but a genius for his insight was convinced that his physical problems were due to a lifetime of isolation.
No one would take the time to listen. Instead they would finish his sentences, interrupt him, give him a pat and send him on his way. He wanted to try speech therapy as a way of connecting with people. He also felt strongly that this would be the solution to his health problems.
As Mr. H neared the end of his story, the tightness in his face eased, and occasionally, patches of smooth phrases would alter the choppy landscape of his speech. A look of relief spread across his face. Suddenly, I realized I was back in my office, holding my briefcase on my lap as though time had stood still. I felt like I had been swept away to witness another person’s experience. These few minutes apparently changed us both.
I hadn’t uttered a word of advice, yet Mr. H thanked me profusely for lifting a weight that had trapped him for years. I couldn’t have been more grateful for the experience of putting myself aside, forgetting my agenda, and for abandoning my usual ‘clinical’ approach to listening.
From that point, I could see why the psychologist Sidney Jourard called listening “an inspiriting activity,” and how listening is really an attitude of the heart, one that can benefit the listener as well as the speaker. This short course in listening taught me that it’s not just the words, but the gestures, facial expressions and pauses between the words that scream the real message.
Allowing a few seconds of silence lets a speaker get to the source of their concern and actually saves time in the end. The most valuable lesson Mr. H. taught me, however, was that what we really want is to be understood. Listening doesn’t mean having to agree, it just means seeing from another’s vantage point. Reportedly, Mr. H. slept very well that night. You can bet I did too.
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