“The human soul does not want to be fixed; it wants simply to be seen and heard.”

- Parker Palmer (The Courage to Teach)

The Listening Place

I saw a patient last week. Hers is a story, a version of which is all too common. She’d been labelled many times in her still painfully young years - depressed, anxious, personality disorder, eating disorder, ADHD, trauma. I looked at her record, all that weighty history, and asked, “From all that you’ve tried, what did you find most helpful?” She replied that the most helpful intervention (interaction) was the time spent at The Listening Place. By a clear country mile. TLP - a place run by volunteers, not therapists, doctors or nurses. A place of compassionate listeners.

I’d like to tell you more about this wonderful charity. Not least because if you’ve ever practised yoga with me on a Saturday, you’ll have donated to this cause. TLP are a charity for suicidal people dedicated to listening. Despite the difficulty of what they have to hear, the staff here do not judge, tick boxes, persuade, or attempt to fix.

The more I think about what they do, the more incredible and rare I think their work is. Because this act of listening isn’t quite as simple as it sounds.

Suicide has been many times close to my life, personally and professionally, and has led me to this charity. But first, let me tell you about an experience I had recently that led me back to the foundations of their amazing work.

Just Listening

Last month, I was fortunate to attend a training day called Just Listening, based on a Finnish model for mental health workers. I had a chance to practise listening and being listened to. It was different. It was illuminating.

Over lunch that day, a colleague told me she was worried that her twelve-year-old son was having too much screen time over the summer holidays. Trying out an exercise we’d practised that morning, I decided to observe my mental narrative as I listened.

I watched bemused (somewhat helplessly) as my brain/mouth interjected at every moment, recognising the fact only after the words had already been uttered…

“Don’t worry; I’m sure it’s just the summer months - he’s probably more bored than usual.”

“Oh, I watched screens for hours as a child; I think I turned out fine - he’ll be OK.”

“What does your partner think about all this screen-watching? Doesn’t he help?”

All About ME

My contributions were a steady reel of me, me, me, my story… my story. Even though I thought I was being helpful, relevant and supportive, it was all about me - my judgement, my ideas, my experiences (of screens, partners and boredom, no less). Observing my mind and mouth unfold was truly eye-opening as I closely witnessed my ‘listening’ process.

I always thought I was a good listener, but this made me think twice. A small revelation came to me that training day - maybe I’d never properly listened to anyone, ever. I reflected that I might have perfected the art of not-quite-listening in the consulting room.

“How can I help you today?” the doctor might ask. When you start talking, the cogs have started to turn, searching for patterns and clues. Before you’ve finished your first sentence, I’ve judged your demeanour, and your choice of details included and omitted, what I’ve read on the computer. As you continue to speak, I’m formulating potential diagnoses, excluding this and that. Throughout, I’m deciding when and how often to interrupt to get through this consultation at breakneck speed since I am already - of course I am - running exceedingly late.

My listening is superficial and incomplete (deep down, I know it) because I’ve my own agenda to address, and time seems always to be against me. Listening? Pfft, who’s got the time for that kind of luxury? As a patient, you have probably been on the other end of this type of doctoring. I’m sorry if you have.

New Ears

Of course, one needs to choose carefully when to listen and when to speak - I can’t just sit there all day like a lemon when expected to dish out medical advice. The back-and-forth of a juicy conversation satisfies like an evenly matched game of tennis. But there are many times when we don’t listen carefully, speak unconsciously and make it all about us; therein lies a bit of a problem - a problem connecting.

With this newfound invitation to listen carefully and thoughtfully, I felt like I’d been offered a set of new ears and asked to give listening another go. Ok, Listening 2.0.

Shutting up a bit more (let’s be honest, a lot more) and Just Listening felt so alien. My brain hurt with the unfamiliar effort; it felt like learning to walk again. My default mode seems to want to interrupt incessantly and fill the shortest of silences. I never knew listening like this could be so challenging.

An Awareness Practice

So, from what I captured on training day, the rough guide to listening seems to go something like this:

• Speak less (much less).
• Welcome silences.
• Be completely present.
• Be genuinely curious (though you can’t always manufacture this one).

Underpinning this practice of doing and saying less, is noticing your own mental chatter, which runs effortlessly in the background. What thoughts come to you while you listen to someone? Are you judging, distracted, or even interested? Do you already know what you are about what to say next, just waiting your turn? Perhaps the overriding principle is to be aware of yourself.

Well, this sounds strangely familiar. This guide to listening appears to be an awareness manual in disguise - a mindfulness practice. One that strives to notice (ordinarily unconscious) patterns and reactions, bring them to light, and recognise their role in the moment.

Isn’t this what I’m trying to do when I practise yoga - this pausing and becoming aware exercise, which I’ve returned to so many times on my mat? I wonder why it's so familiar when in communication with myself - watching my breath or placing my body - but so easily forgotten when communicating with others.

Just like yoga practice, maybe I need to return to it again and again. Just like yoga, I’m sure this can be learned. I find that prospect exciting. Like yoga, with repetition and intention, I can hone and call on this valuable skill and learn to connect more deeply. Wish me luck (and tell me when I’m not listening, won’t you?!)

Listen, Really Listen

When it comes to listening, really listening, it feels like an important way to give every person respect and their story justice. This means putting aside our egos and choosing to be mindful, generous listeners, especially when someone is going through a difficult time. The act of listening in this way holds space for both parties to connect with compassion and mutuality; a sanctuary is created. There's no need for labels, competition, or hierarchy; we can simply be present in our shared humanity.

The process feels refreshingly pure, unconditional, and healing. When you listen, interestingly, (and satisfyingly so for the fixaholics among you, me included), solutions can often arise without you saying a word. If you listen long enough, you might realise suddenly that you were the only one desperate for a solution in the first place.

It’s remarkable how often, so often, people just need to be heard.

Thank You For Listening

Returning to The Listening Place, at last update, I discovered that they offer 150 appointments daily and accept 500 new referrals monthly. Sadly, suicide remains the leading cause of death for people under the age of 50.

The Listening Place do something truly remarkable - something that may seem entirely simple but is very hard to do - to listen. Through their compassionate presence, they demonstrate bravery, wisdom and love; they help to save lives. On this week that marks World Suicide Prevention Day (10th September), please check out their website and thank you for supporting this work.