The story of our life unfolds through our relationships – with parents, siblings, children, friends, neighbours, colleagues, even strangers. These connections are our true wealth. Through engaging with these individuals, we forge our identity, who we are and where we belong, and we make meaning from our short and precious lives. But our relationships have increasingly become frayed and routine; we are bereft of the recognition and understanding that we crave.
And the reason? We no longer invest time and energy in the very fibre that connects us: listening. Too often, the standard way we listen fails pitifully. An unspoken assumption often lurks beneath the surface: why should we invest in hearing their perspective when we are already certain that they are wrong? Our children, of whatever age, aren’t sharing what’s truly going on in their lives, and we’re stuck in dysfunctional misunderstandings with our partners, parents, siblings and sometimes our colleagues too. At work we struggle to engage with people from different generations and backgrounds, people whose beliefs stand in stark contrast to our own. Too often, those attempting to speak to us feel ignored, dismissed, unheard.
From a very early age, I was aware of the profound consequences of not being heard or recognised. My father, Harry, came to the UK as a child refugee, just before the outbreak of World War II. When he died, I was 13. It felt as if I had entered a different land, with oceans of water between me and those around me; friends were too fearful, too out of their depth, to even ask me how I was. While I received much kindness, in the turbulence of loss there were few opportunities to unpack my thoughts or make sense of my world upturned.
These memories have inspired me to embark on my Deep Listening journey, to enable people in divided communities to authentically listen and understand each other, to be curious and connect with people who are strangers to me and to help create a world where people feel truly understood.
So, what’s the difference between standard listening and Deep Listening?
Standard listening is transactional. We often only truly listen momentarily, pantomiming the act of listening as we’re ‘re-loading our verbal gun with ammunition’,2 to use a phrase coined by writer Jacqueline Bussie, getting ready to fire. Then we jump down the throat of the speaker to explain our own ideas, our own solutions, the ‘right’ answer – interrupting meaning and destroying thinking. Even if we’ve learned to listen better, we tend to treat the speaker as a resource. We listen to them to extract information, or because it is expected of us. This type of listening blinds us to what is not expressed in words and can leave a speaker feeling brushed aside or used.
Deep Listening is transformational. You acknowledge a speaker’s humanity when you practise Deep Listening; you grant them respect and empathetic space so they can ignite sparks of fresh thinking. You listen openly to truly learn about them – and yourself. Through an interactive process, your speaker crystallises their ideas and feels witnessed. They can then share a more authentic story that allows you to understand them far more profoundly, even if you still disagree.
One of the most important aspects of Deep Listening is listening to yourself before an important encounter.
If you haven’t listened to yourself first, you might find that you’ve closed yourself off from truly hearing what the other person has to say. Memories, strong emotions, prejudices or an unacknowledged agenda can distort an exchange, if you haven’t first recognised and addressed these internal challenges. In the words of the poet Robert Frost, ‘Something we were withholding made us weak/Until we found out that it was ourselves.’1 Your shadows, the ‘unaccepted’ parts of yourself, buried inside, leap out and hijack you when you’re trying to listen. If you haven’t taken the time to listen to yourself, the part of you which feels young and vulnerable can take over. So, you listen less, and judge more.
The words of Robert Frost point to the potential of becoming aware of what we have been ignoring in our inner selves – the hidden forces that shape our thoughts and deeds, including the way we listen and react to others. Fortunately, there are ways to acknowledge, accept and disarm your shadows, so they can begin to heal and repair, so they’re less likely to invade your important conversations.
The shapes of our shadows are not obvious. We can’t look directly into their hidden domains, as they are, by nature, obscured. Therefore, we sense them indirectly, in what we perceive as the loathsome traits and actions of others. It’s safer to observe our shadows in other people; they often show up when we are listening to their challenging ideas. You might notice, for example, how uncomfortable you feel when your friend mentions his angry exchanges with his parents. This uneasiness could be a sign of your own unresolved issues with your family, stemming from a childhood where open communication and emotional expression were discouraged.
How do you know when your shadows are pulling the strings? Notice when you judge what you are hearing as being black and white, with you 100 per cent in the right and the other person blatantly wrong. You may also feel a sense of loathing towards your speaker as you project your own shadow onto them, in an unconscious effort to banish it from yourself.
Ideally, in advance of a significant conversation, try to recognise any personal baggage that may intrude upon your encounter with this specific individual. It’s often far easier and more comfortable for us to avoid looking inside ourselves. Once you feel courageous enough to explore your inner landscape, the impact on your most significant conversations can be profound.
