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18 Sep 2011
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Amy is one of my dearest friends, and I’ve known and lover her nieces, Chelsey and Katie, since they were little girls. When Chelsea was about 5 years old and Katie nearly twelve, they would enjoy going for trips in my van. The two girls, sitting way in back, would chat with each other while I drove. Until we arrived at our destination, they usuall kept their own counsel. But occasionally, one or the other of them would pipe up and ask question or provide some commentary.
On one occasion, just as we pulled up at a stoplight, I heard Chelsey’s small voice coming from the back of the van “Uncle Danny, what does having sex means?”
I didnt want to answer. This was the kind of question she should be asking her aunt Amy, not me! Not here! Not now! But as my face reddened and my mind went into overdrive, I reflected that I was, after all, somewhat knowleadgeable in these matters. Twenty years earlier, I had addressed questions about sex with my own daughters. And furthermore I was a pscyhologist as well as a good friend to these little girls. All I had to do was think developmentally and come up with an answer approriate to Chelsey’s age and experience.
I took a deep breath. And with a bit of anxiety and feigned confidence, I announced: “Having sex is what grown-ups do when they want to have a baby.”
An adequate answer under the circumstances, I thought, and I was somewhat puzzled when it was followed by a very long pause. I figured the silence meant everyone was satisfied with the answer. It was Katie, the older sister, who finally broke the silence. “Uncle Danny, what are you talking about? Chelsea just asked you, ” What does heaven’s sakes mean?”
“Oh,” I said as I could feel the blood rushing to my face, telegraphing my embarassment to the world (or at least the backseat).
And then Katie thought it would be a good idea to follow up: “Uncle Danny. What were you thinking about?”
In fact, Katie’s question was exactly the right one. Something didnt get in the way of my listening, and it wasnt earplugs. I was so lost in my own thoughts when Chelsey asked her question that I could not hear clearly. Thoughts literally interfere with hearing. Emotions like anxiety, insecurity, depression, and anger also impair it.
Even positive emotions like elation and exuberance interfere with hearing. As the pace of life increases, so does the speed of thought. And so does the intensity of our emotions. When that happens, the chances of patient, thoughtful listening decrease. These days, when Im talking to kids about their lives, what i hear more often than anything else is that they feel unheard and misunderstood.
We adults are living such fast-paced lives, we’re so caught up in our own concerns and insecurities, that many times we dont even hear what our children are trying to tell us. Sure, we may hear the words, but too often we miss the meaning. One teenager decsribed it as “drive-by parenting.”
I know how my own anxiety - dating back to the days when I had so much trouble in school - got in the way of listening to my children. When my daughter struggled in school one year, it pushed all my buttons, reminding me of old shame and insecurity. With what I thought was concern for her, I pushed her to study more, we got tutors, and her mother and I checked homework even more carefully than usual.
Sure, I was mobilized because of concern. But the anxiety was about my history and not my daughter’s future.
I see so many parents push their children relentlessly to achieve, ultimately because the parents are afraid of the future. One adolescent girl said to me, “Why does my mother mistrust me? When I bring home a B on my report card and tell her I did the best I could, she never believes me.” But what if I could have managed my own anxiety so many years ago when my daughter was having trouble with her schoolwork? Maybe then I could have seen it as my daughter’s struggle, and not mine. Maybe then I could have been more compassionate. Maybe then I coudl have had more faith that my kid would be okay.
Of course, listening is an issue between adults too, not just with children. ‘He doenst hear me” or “She doesnt listen to me” are refrains often repeated in my workshops with married couples. At one of those workshops, I decided to ask the men and women to tell me about listening to another kind of voice - the one that comes from within.
“When you listen to yourself - your truest self - what do you hear?”
The women and men in that group responded quite differently. Almost all of the women told me they could hear the voice but they couldnt respond. Many said they felt guilty or selfish, so they “kept it at arm’s length.” The men said they knew the voice was in there, but they just couldnt hear it anymore.
What happens when we cant hear our own voices?
A man in the group who had been a lawyer all his life said,”I am successful by all measure.” He had belonged to a powerful law firm, attained his career goals, and made lots of money. I asked him to tell me about his life. When he was a boy, his father had told him to make honor roll, and he’d done so all through high school. In college he consistently made dean’s list, and in law school, following his father’s advice, he made law review. Again at his father’s urging, he joined a prominent law firm and made partner. “Here I am facing retirement,” the man told me, “and I dont know whose life I’ve been living.”
His own voice - the one inside - had been silenced. He had never listened to it, and now he didnt know where it was. And that’s what happens. Over time, if we dont hear ourselves, our own quiet voice gets silenced.
If we want to hear our children, we need to take time first to listen to ourselves. Only then we can listen to them.
My most poweful lesson about listening came during my early days after my accident. I noticed that the more I simply listened, the more people spoke to me. And the more people opened their hearts, the more deeply I cared. I listened with my open heart, and people spoke with an open heart. How did this happen? Well, in addition to losing many functions in my body, I “lost” all of my personal pronouns. It was always about them - that is, other people - and their humanity. I had no responsibility to change anyone, only to listen and learn. And in the process, I discovered how to care deeply.
Adapted from Learning from the Heart - Lessons on Living, Loving and Listening by Daniel Gottlieb
