The Art and Importance of Listening

 As you know from previous posts I was a psychotherapist for over 30 years. This is from an old post about the art of psychotherapy and the privilege of listening, Susan Grout style.  I rewrote some of it as it feels like a very pertinent subject to readdress. I find that today more and more people have trouble listening. One of the causes is the constant interference of cell phones in our culture. People are allowing themselves to be constantly distracted. Read on.

A good listener helps the speaker clarify--and often correct--his ideas in the course of expressing them.The young become good communicators if they have parents or relatives or teachers who are good listeners.

                                       S.I. Hayakawa

Listening is a great hobby. This is a hobby I picked up living in a big boisterous family. I know in many large families everyone talks at once and in some families there even shouting matches to see who can dominate the conversation. Although it wasn't like that in our family, someone has to defer with everyone talking at once and, at certain times, that someone was me. Always? No, I can be quite the chatter box, but I like to listen. I find people fascinating. For some reason this isn't only soothing to me but when listening sometimes I come up with interesting insights that can spark new ideas and thoughts. This is very good because that's how, in my career, I made the big bucks: listening and responding with pertinent suggestions to my beloved clients.

"Come  in, welcome, sit and tell me everything, I want to hear every word." This I said to every client, at first as a joke, and then I realized I sincerely meant that.

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.          Dorothy Nevill

As a practicing psychotherapist, I was making a living out of listening. This was a privilege that I enjoyed. The people who I was honored to see, came in and revealed things to me that perhaps they hadn't divulged to another human being. Many times this was just a series of current topical problems or perhaps as serious as: the death of a loved one; or torment from their childhood; or physical, emotional or sexual abuse. Sometimes it was current abuse from a lover or friend. I'd my utmost to be keenly aware of what they were saying, how they were saying it and how long they'd have held it inside. Especially with past abuse, this wasn't always a linear process. The unfolding could be circuitous or serpentine and take weeks or months in the recitation. Knowing when to interject was/is the art form. Too soon and you could shut someone down, not soon enough and you were unwittingly propping up the bad habit of their holding on, too long, to something that needed to be set free.

So you sit and it begins:
Is it a trance I'm in
when you come in
with your own dance,
the steps and the stance
marking your life?

As you talk,
Is it a meditation
as I sit still for your recitation
of all that is ill in your quadrille
and I focus on your life?

Susan R. Grout  unpublished 2011

Know something about something. Don't just present your wonderful self to the world. Constantly amass knowledge and offer it around.   Richard Holbrook

I retired several years ago and this was written while I was in practice from my therapy notebook:

I believe in giving feedback when appropriate and at the right moment. For example, I was listening to one half of a couple telling me the sad tale of the estrangement she felt from her workaholic husband. I listened and listened and finally said, "what are the children experiencing with his continual absence?" She cried and said, "I don't know I've been so focused on my own despair that I've hardly noticed if this is affecting them." What this woman is doing, besides emotionally neglecting her children, is an example of a human error called repetitive, or circular thinking. Another example, I often hear: "my husband is an alcoholic [workaholic, gambler, etc.] how can I get him to stop?" The really bad news is you can't make someone do something if they aren't willing. [Witness toilet training on an unwilling child, or encouraging someone to get sober or go to treatment who doesn't believe he/she has a problem. Two big helpings of frustration for all.] However you can coax someone to be more willing [totally exciting underpants, bribes, rewards, praise, more pleasant experiences if they do...] and there can be consequences for that person if they don't/can't or aren't willing to stop destructive behavior. One of the great teachers of this line of thinking is Al Anon. In Al Anon you learn to focus on your own behavior first, tell that person in as direct, clear and measured a manner as possible what you want from them then--- surprise, surprise--- let go. Grown adults mature quickly when the negative reactions are withdrawn, the consequences clearly laid out and are followed through. No idle threats in other words. [All bets are off for the teenagers who are addicted to drugs, some need to be thrown into counseling or treatment against their wishes and will.]

One of the great impediments to listening is when the "listener" truly isn't paying attention but merely waiting for a pause in the conversation so they can make their own brilliant points. If I am the one making the egregious offense, I usually and candidly admit it. "Sorry Charlie, I drifted a minuted ago, could you repeat that?" Or if I really need to interject a comment I usually do ask: "I need to add something, is this OK with you?" Mostly it is OK,  but sometimes they'll blurt, "let me finish." And humbled, I take their advice and let them finish. Happily for me the vast majority of people that I listen to are really interesting, easy to listen and pay attention to and it's fine to sit and nod and encourage them to continue.

The exceptions, the ones difficult to pay attention to, are the ones who are incredibly tangential. One person that I'm thinking about is a dear but while talking she'll manically go off on several tangents:  her hair cut; then she'll talk about people I've never met with no explanation as to why she is bringing them up; then to her approach on dieting--- all in the same paragraph, and sometimes in the same breath. Mostly I just steer the conversation back to her reason for being in counseling--- the problem and her issues. If it is a friend or relative who is tangential, I will distract her/him to a topic we both enjoy perhaps books or movies we both love and all is well or at least more interesting.

From the client's perspective, it is a drag to figure out that their therapist is not really listening. They are paying good money for their therapy and deserve full attention. Believe me, most people I know realize when someone is not really listening. You can see it in their faces.

And if the therapist suspects that the client has drifted off, my humble perspective is it's important to say something. I usually gently acknowledge that you know that you aren't being heard. "Did you understand that last bit, Charlie?" or something like that to alert the listener that you know they aren't all there. 

'The Grout Five Minute Rule'

If you love your friends, relatives, clients sometimes we just have to accept that everyone is not built the way we are. "Tangentials" of the world unite! Go and talk to each other, endlessly. Most of us are not tangential and seemingly this could drive one mad. However I have a handy formula for this slight character flaw, and it is ta-da: "The Grout Five Minute Rule". Simply employed and executed, you tell the chatty and rambling or repetitive individual go ahead and stick to their topic, or topics and you agree not interrupt for 5 minutes. The talker, who always loves a tangent, has to agree to this as well as the listener. Then the blitzkrieg begins. I must confess that this works brilliantly and I must also confess that some times I cheat and say "time's up after only 3 1/2 minutes" or I know I will start screaming. Not a good thing in a friend or psychotherapist. However, it does put the 'psycho' in psychotherapist.

One of the things taught in psychology classes is reflective listening made famous by Carl Rogers who swiped his ideas from good parents everywhere. This is reflective listening, repeating back what someone just said to encourage them to continue. This is most natural to respond in this manner when a baby coos. I did this when my granddaughter, at only seven months old said, "Nana" as she looked right at me.  Elated, I repeated the phrase to make sure she directing this at me and naming me. "Nana" she said again as I was changing her diaper. Not a more heartwarming naming in all the world. I listened with my whole body and glowed with delight as that baby articulated that name, my new name, to herself and me.

I am truly blessed because my life's work has been to study, listen and then help people who come to me. There is constantly so much to learn and the field of psychology is not only fascinating but also exciting in its discoveries of what works best for most people. I am constant learning, so are the people in my field and so too are my clients and we all share in that wealth of knowledge. It all starts with intently listening to their stories.

Most of us long for this: to be really heard and some of us never get that. It was/is indeed my privilege and my pleasure to listen and let the music of other's lives fill my head, my heart and my room.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2018 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Thanksgiving 1986 and the contrast of now 2022

Our sons were teens and we had to coax and cajole them to set off on a Thanksgiving trip to my sister Sally and brother-in-law Dirk's house on the Olympic peninsula. We further enticed my older son,  Zach, sixteen at the time, by allowing him to drive our brand new car. Hot stuff!

This car, for all of us but especially for Zach, was an incredible improvement from our 1970 pumpkin orange Datsun station wagon which he'd inherited. Talk about uncool! But Zach was OK just to have access to wheels, finally. That Datsun was the car I'd driven all the way through graduate school. One lousy feature of that car was I had to fill the radiator ever fifty miles, big deal right? Well the metal bar that was designed to hold up the hood had snapped off and so I had to prop up the hood on my head to fill the radiator. Remember this was through two winters in the Seattle area:  rain, sleet and more rain, fog and a couple of snowstorms while I was attempting this feat.

We thought our son was a new driver and we worried, trying hard not to be back seat drivers. He was surprisingly adept. Years later Zach confessed to us that he'd been driving on the country roads since he was twelve. Then when he was fifteen, he got busted. One of his friend's fathers said, "Hey, Zach, I saw your orange Datsun driving itself down the road!" Zach was embarrassed and should have been. "I knew that wasn't possible, so..." Turns out our son would drive into town and duck whenever a car was coming the other way. Not the best strategy for an illegal driver.

So we let him drive and the trip was going well, we made the ferry with seconds to spare and drove on to the Olympic Peninsula as it proceeded to get colder and colder. Then, with the gently falling snow we stopped, amidst protest from Zach, and Mr. G took the wheel. Snow on top of snow on top of snow ensued and we drove slower and slower noticing fewer and fewer cars on the road. Having done this trip dozens of times we knew that what was coming was the biggest challenge: Lake Cresent with the ten mile long twisty road, complete with zigzag switch backs and logging trucks either hurling by at dizzying speeds or on your butt coaxing you forward.

"Honey, don't you think we should stop and see if it lets up?" I said. "No," he said, "I really think we need to get there as soon as possible. It could get much worse and it's getting dark." So onward down the road, closer and closer to Lake Cresent we drove. We beheld trees bowing down with the great weight of the wet snow, bending into the road. We hardly spoke or even breathed at the sight, the stillness, all of the white contrasting with the dark green visible tree limbs in the forest. Although it was close to sunset, it was dazzling bright with the snow, illuminating the drive. Had I not been so frightened it would have been enchanting. I kept picturing getting hopelessly stuck or hit by an insecure driver. "This is great!" said our younger son Josh from the back seat, clearly not sharing my nervousness. "I still don't see why I couldn't drive" said Zach, as though we were the most unreasonable people on earth.

We made it, I almost kissed the snow covered ground and fell into my sister's house with gratitude. Usually the four of us slept on the floor of one of our nieces' bedrooms but this Thanksgiving one of their neighbors allowed us to stay in their house just down the road.  We entered their tidy little house and as we unpacked the Zach and Josh said, "hey, no TV, what's up with that?" and "there's nothing to do here, oh, wait a minute Josh said, "there's a chess board." "OK," said Josh, "you're on, let's find the chess pieces and I'll pound you." "No way," said Zach "I'll kick your butt." The testosterone levels frequently dictated this level of banter about not only chess but anything that might be construed as a contest. In the fifth grade both of our boys had Mr. Westphalen who taught all of his students to play chess, bless him. So suddenly things were less grim even though the board was miniscule they were newly enthused and I was relieved. Alas, search though the might, there were no chess pieces in the house. "Surely your Uncle will have chess pieces, let's trudge over there and get them, " I said.

It turned out that their Uncle had no chess game either and told them "the girls were not  interested so I never pursued chess with them." This was very disappointing to the boys. Instead the girls, all four of them were eager to play games with their cousins. Our boys were just as eager to brag about the music they knew testing to see if their older cousins found this too cool also. The little girls, only six and seven years old, attempting to fit in offered their grade school music. Games did take place, Bogle and Scrabble, Parchessi, along with the hot competition on who's music was the coolest.

With no chess pieces to be found I thought that would be the end of it. Not so. Zach and Josh determined to have their match, laboriously made their tiny King, Queen, knights, and pawns out of pieces of card board. Game after game was played. I can't remember who was declared the winner, but this gave new meaning to the phrase, "where there's a will, there's a way." I wonder if those small moments of determination, camaraderie and creativity mean as much to my sons as they did/do to me.

This was only one of the memorable Thanksgivings, we went back and forth, the Milici's and the Grouts sharing this holiday from the early 70's until early in the 2000's when all of the girl nieces were married and our guys also. Then with the advent of grandchildren our families just got too big to be in one household.

On Thanksgiving this year we, many of us, met at niece Vail and Jonathan's house. It was a splendid feast and absolutely the best--- only five miles away for us. One family traveled from L.A. by car, (!) the others walked on the ferry traveling from Seattle. Like so many of you we hadn't seen the LA family since 2019. Hard to be apart for that long time. Everyone has grown and all of us have aged but the spirit of joy at being together in one place was so very dear and overall really fun and funny. We roared with laughter over some of the pictures that we taken, blessedly not shared here. We played games like gin rummy and then Yatzee which I swear I haven't played for more than 40 years. Very loud exclamations and/or some swearing involved. Someone even got us to start singing Christmas carols although the early date raised a few eyebrows.

Sometime I fantasize about renting a huge cabin or lodge and inviting the entire clan for one last huge wonderful, joyful Thanksgiving. There would be many games, horsing around, great food and singing...
Love you all.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012/2022 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved