Take it away, Michelle!

Let’s start with a nice broad question.  What is listening, to you?

 A nice broad question deserves a nice broad answer!

 First, there’s the obvious distinction between hearing and listening. Hearing is just a function of the ears, nerves and brain—we can perceive sounds without absorbing any of their meaning. But when we listen, we process what we hear and start to comprehend it. Hearing is passive, but listening is active.

 Beyond that, I think there are two types of listening. The more superficial type happens when we take in the basic, literal meaning of what we hear, and not much else. “She says she doesn’t want to go tonight.” When we’re distracted or stressed, this might be all we’re capable of.

 Deeper listening is when we pay attention to things like cause and effect and nonverbal cues. It’s when our attention, reasoning and intuition let us see past what’s been said—“Hey, you were so excited about this party! Is everything okay?”

 We also use the word “listening” to describe more amorphous kinds of awareness, probably because hearing is such an important sense to us humans. That’s when we talk about listening to things like our bodies, our gut feelings, or our best judgment.

 If I had to boil it all down to a brief definition, I’d say that listening is the process of paying active attention to what our ears (and sometimes our other senses) are telling us.

We all have beliefs about our world – the events we observe and participate in, the people we see and interact with.  If we want to truly listen to someone, how do we do that without letting our own beliefs and judgements get in the way? 

 That’s a great question, and a really important one. For me, what usually works is reminding myself that no matter what I might think, other people are doing the best they can any given moment.

 I don’t know what forces are at play in their lives. But I do know that people always act in the best way they’re capable of, based on their cultural and social upbringing, their interpersonal skills, whatever emotional baggage they might be carrying, etc.

 I think it’s important to give people the benefit of the doubt, and to ask questions about what they’re experiencing if it’s appropriate—that’s where the listening comes in. What looks like self-centered behavior to us might be the only coping mechanism someone knows when under stress, or their seemingly irrational actions might be based on a belief or point of view we don’t share.

Another thing I do to stop being too judgmental is to recognize that truth is relative and multifaceted. It’s like the old parable about the three blind men and the elephant, where each thought it was something different depending on what part of the elephant he touched.

Another good analogy is water. It can be icy or wet or steamy depending on the conditions you’re seeing it under, but it’s always good old H₂O. If we look at it under the microscope, we see something else entirely…but it’s still water.

Truth can change its form and still be true. If we can be humble enough to admit that we don’t have a monopoly on truth, that takes us a long way down the road to empathy, compassion, and non-judgment.

Here at I’m Listening, we encourage people to take action (session 4 of I’m Listening Now downloads).  How can people do that if they’re scared of not doing things perfectly?  Frightened they’ll make a mistake?  (and please try to answer without using the words “feel the fear and do it anyway”!)

 The first thing I want to say here is that shifting those deeply grooved patterns is a long and gradual process, so the main thing is to refrain from beating yourself up because you don’t think you’re changing fast enough!

 That said, the first step is learning to just notice when perfectionism arises. It’s a sneaky beast—it can disguise itself as procrastination, fear, pride, anxiety, anger, and many other things. If you can reach the point where you’re self-aware enough to recognize, in the moment, when your need to do things perfectly is getting in your own way, then you’re doing fabulously. Really. Self-awareness is very, very difficult.

 From there, you can start to give yourself little pep talks about how your worth as a person isn’t based on what you do, but who you are. It’s not like I’m an expert at this yet, either—I struggle with it every single day. It takes a lot of patience.

 Think of your own best friend. What would you tell her if she came to you criticizing herself using the same words that you’re telling yourself in your own mind? How would you explain to him why he is such a wonderful person intrinsically, regardless of the situation he’s in?

 Start saying those things to yourself. Be your own best friend.

 Some people like to repeat affirmations. Others like to journal, or practice visualization, or get out of their heads and into their bodies through movement or exercise. You can meditate, or create art, or give some time and energy to causes that make you feel good. There are many ways to rewrite those outdated mental scripts you’re reading to yourself. Find the ones that work best for you, and don’t be afraid to experiment.

 If you’re a person who feels compassion for the plight of others or are a ‘doer’, how do you “just listen” and not try to fix their issues? 

 Oh, do I struggle with this one, too! Part of the “fix-it” compulsion comes from our innate compassion, but some of it goes right back to equating our self-worth with our actions. We think we always have to be problem-solving to be worthy of love and respect.

 But if we understood how significant “just” listening really is, we wouldn’t be so dismissive of it. I’ve only begun to work with this in a conscious way very recently myself. And what I’m noticing is interesting.

 Even though we mean well when we try to fix things for other people, it can also be something of an escape mechanism for us. It’s much more comfortable running around and hammering nails than it is simply being present with someone and trying to understand why they feel their house is falling down around them.

 But that’s exactly the kind of validation which will make someone feel we’re truly listening to them. Think about it. When you’re suffering, would you rather tell someone about it only to watch them jump up and scurry around trying to fix it for you, or would you rather have them sit quietly with you for a while first, trying to grasp the situation from your point of view and identify with you? Maybe even ask whether you want to be helped? Maybe they just want a listening ear. That might be the exact type of help they want right then.

 I’m not saying that active aid is bad. It’s wonderful—when we have the proper foundation to base it on. And that foundation is built on deep listening and empathy.

 I believe that at the core of each of us, we have an inner guide – our inner wisdom – that, if we can tune out the crap and tune into that voice, we can solve almost any problem.  What is your response to that?  And how does perfectionism get in the way of hearing that voice, and responding to it with appropriate action?

 To the first question, I’d say it depends on how we define “solving” a problem. If we remain rigid in our outlook, thinking we’ve solved a problem only when the solution looks like we originally imagined or expected it to, then we’ll be disappointed fairly often. But if we can remain flexible and allow our ideas to morph as our understanding changes, then we’re much more likely to succeed.

 That also brings up a spiritual principle regarding success. There’s an old joke that goes, “Do you want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.”

 Whether or not you believe in God, I think you get the point. If we judge our success or failure according to outer appearances, we’ll “fail” a lot of the time. But people who have achieved outwardly great things will tell you how many so-called failures were necessary stepping stones to their eventual accomplishments.

 We can consider everything as a learning experience—and that’s where the inner wisdom you talk about comes in. I think of that internal guide as intuition, plugged into a higher source (however you want to conceptualize that). If we look at it that way, then true success comes not by solving our outer problems, but by immersing ourselves in the flow of experiences our inner guide wants us to have. Spiritually speaking, we’re talking about faith and surrender.

 I actually think I’ve circled around your second question and answered it, too. Perfectionism gets in the way of hearing that inner voice by giving us tunnel vision; we have a very limited view of how things can work out satisfactorily, and how to get there. For us perfectionists, that usually involves forging madly ahead at 110% effort—a perfect way to lose touch with everything internal.

 If we can loosen perfectionism’s stranglehold, we’ll be able to see workable alternate solutions. We’ll understand that sometimes what appears to be failure is really success from another angle. Our understanding will mature. We’ll be mentally and emotionally supple, so our actions will be more appropriate to whatever circumstances arise.

 And we’ll be a whole lot more relaxed and happy.

Michelle Russell

Michelle Russell writes about the high price we pay for perfectionism and how to come to terms with the fact that life is, in fact, quite messy. She is finally starting to “get” Twitter, and you can follow her there, too.

I hope you enjoy this guest post by Stacey Curnow!

My most trusted advisor.

My body is my most trusted advisor.  It assimilates information from the Universe that I can’t understand at first. I know the Universe wants my best life, but sometimes I don’t heed its advice – sometimes I don’t even hear it.

Pebbles or brick walls? Life sends you messages – first it will put a pebble in your path, then a rock, and then a brick wall. If I don’t hear the plink of the pebble, the rock shows up – usually as a bodily symptom. I pay attention because I really want to avoid hitting that brick wall.

If I ignore my body’s messages, it’s capable of great drama. I’ve seen my body produce some Oscar-worthy performances.

I work as a nurse-midwife in a hospital. I consult with physicians when I care for women who are considered high-risk.  Occasionally I don’t agree with the physician’s plan for managing the case.  One night I told a doctor that I was disinclined to follow his plan and he responded by saying, “That’s why I’m here, to tell you what to do.”

I knew the doctor’s plan was not going to cause harm and I didn’t want further conflict, so I followed his orders. Within a few hours I lost my voice. My throat hurt and I couldn’t speak above a whisper.

What is this telling me? When I got home I looked up laryngitis in Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life.  To me, this book provides clues to understanding the messages underlying an illness or imbalance in your body. If you decipher these messages and, more importantly, act on them by changing your thinking, you will improve your life.  This tunes me into my most trusted advisor.

For laryngitis she writes that the probable cause is “So mad you can’t speak. Fear of speaking up. Resentment of authority.” I was struck by the truth of this: I was mad. I had been afraid to speak up to the doctor. And I resented that he didn’t seem to value my expertise. 

The new thought pattern she offers is “I am free to ask for what I want. It is safe to express myself. I am at peace.” I applied this new thought to my mind like a healing balm and my voice returned quickly after that.

The affirmation also helped me gain insight into the fact that I don’t need to compel others, in this case the doctor, to agree with me or even to see my side. All I can do is use my best judgment and present a plan of care. And trust that all is well.

Valuing me. For me, being at peace means that my worth is not predicated on others valuing me. I value me. Since that epiphany I’ve had other differences of opinion with my physician colleagues but I haven’t had that sense that my value as a practitioner was diminished. And I’ve never lost my voice again.

Insomnia. Many of my coaching clients are women in their middle years and a common issue is insomnia. We all know that there are lots of suggestions for how to improve your sleep through better habits – like eliminating caffeine, increasing magnesium, exercise, routine bedtimes and getting acupuncture. All of these strategies address the hormonal changes that come with menopause.

But insomnia is often a way our body clues us into a deeper truth about ourselves. Christiane Northrup, M.D., in her excellent “The Wisdom of Menopause,” writes that insomnia and fatigue are frequently “the result of unprocessed and unresolved emotions such as anger, sadness, or anxiety,” which accompany the enormous changes of midlife.

She encourages her readers to identify the emotions that challenge them and look for their underlying meanings. Are you anxious about a daughter getting into her preferred college? Do you feel guilty about the things haven’t gotten done in a day? Do you feel resentful that everything seems to depend on you?

Louise Hay’s affirmation for insomnia is “I lovingly release the day and slip into peaceful sleep, knowing tomorrow will take care of itself.” When you have good sleep hygiene, when you address the probable causes — and when you release the negative emotions that occupy your waking life—you will, most likely, find yourself able to sleep like a baby.

You don’t need a copy of Louise Hay’s or Christiane Northrup’s books (although I highly recommend them!) because all you need to know is that if you ignore the wisdom available to you, your body can create a painful drama.

On the other hand, when you know that you are worthy of love and respect and that you can have a life filled with health, happiness, connection and joy – you listen to the wisdom from your body and you learn to trust it.

Do you think your body may be trying to tell you something right now?  Are you willing to listen?   Tell us in the comments

 About the Author: Stacey Curnow works as a certified nurse-midwife in North Carolina. She is the founder of Midwife for Your Life, a website, blog and series of coaching programs designed to help women give birth to a life they love.

Many of her articles have been published in print magazines and online. You can find out more about her illustrated children’s book, Ravenna here, and order it here.  Stacey lives in Asheville, North Carolina with her husband, young son, Ruby the wonder chicken, and Ruby’s sidekick, Spencer the wonder dog.

 So what are these hidden keys that will make you a Jedi listener?   Thanks to an overdose of books, tapes, courses and blogs dedicated to the topic of “communication”, it’s easy to become blase about what makes for outstanding listening.  It just seems so, well, obvious.   I know, it seems obvious to me, too.  It’s only when you stop and take a moment to really notice that you see how much there is to this thing called listening.

What you’re about to read may sound simple, but these are three things that only Jedi listeners consistently and consciously do:

 1.       Jedi communicators focus. They focus on you, exclusively.  Exceptional listeners are able to focus 100% on the person they are interacting with at that moment.  Exceptional listeners close down distractions and other inputs, and give full attention to the dialogue.  Jedi listeners make you feel that, for this moment in time, you are the most important thing in the world and that you have their full attention. They may only have a few minutes, but that time is all yours. In contrast, when you engage with someone who continues to “multi-task”, rapport is broken, and true dialogue and exchange disappears.

 2.       Jedi listeners are patient.  They don’t rush you.  You rarely hear “so, what’s the point?” or “would you get to the point?” when you’re being listened to by a Jedi listener. Exceptional listeners give you time to make yourself understood; they don’t give you the sense that you are “on the clock”.  Nancy Kline talks about how “urgency destroys”.  She says that “Being, with no rush, is what produces results… when it comes to helping someone think, doing requires not doing.  To pay attention with a heart and mind at ease is what produces results”.  What a simple yet radical approach – slow down and give the other person time.  And not just because it’s a nice thing to do, but because it will also produce results.

3.        Jedi listeners encourage.  They don’t try to fix you, they don’t assume or jump to conclusions.  Exceptional listeners believe that you are the expert on yourself and they don’t try to impose their frames or filters on you without first checking that these feel appropriate to you.  An encouraged speaker will share more, and a criticised speaker will shut down.  Jedi listeners know this.

 I recently asked some colleagues about their experience with exceptional listeners (I didn’t call them “Jedi’s” then – that came later).  Seems there’s precious few exceptional listeners out there, that’s the first thing I discovered when I started asking this question.  Part of the problem lies in the belief that exceptional listening should come naturally to us.  Most outstanding communicators had to learn how to do it – Jedi’s are made, not born. 

And here’s what I learned about Beth, an exceptional listener:

  “Beth works with groups and people of all ages and personalities. Beth has amazing empathy, she is respectful and thoughtful and committed to hearing people out.  What strikes me about her is her capacity to sit with people and encourage their sharing without rushing them and without having to contain the emotional content of their stories.  Listening is the key to creating a space that honours the tellers’ stories”. 

 What strikes me most about what Beth can do is she doesn’t try to contain or suppress the emotional content of other people’s stories – there’s no “there, there” with accompanying body language that sends the message that you need to squash that emotion down.

 What an extraordinary gift this must be to the people who are being listened to by Beth!  To know that whatever you say (and whatever you aren’t saying), whatever you are feeling, and however you are expressing it, she won’t judge and she will listen fully.  Makes me wish Beth was my friend.  Makes me wish I could give her a light sabre and officially dub her a Jedi listener.

Try this over the next few days:  Double the amount of focus you give to the people you are listening to.  Double the amount of time you usually spend listening to them. 

Notice what happens.  Notice how you are being and who you are being when you “sit in the listening chair”.  Notice what happens to the dynamic when you listen more patiently, with more focus.  Notice if the opposite happens and you find yourself trying to contain the person you are listening to in any way.

And stop by the comments and let me know about any Jedi listeners you know.  What do they do? Who are they being?

Indy - where she loved to be. What a happy girl she was!

Our dog Indigo died last week.  She drank some anti-freeze and was poisoned.  It was a terrible accident.  She was only 9 and had many good years left in her.

I miss her.   The first time I drove into our driveway and she wasn’t there to greet me, with her happy smile and wagging taile, I thought my heart would crack open with the grief.  This morning, a courier came to drop off a package – normally Indy would have warned me of his arrival long before the bell rang.  And she would have been right there, making a bit of a nuisance of herself, dancing around us both, as he brought the box in.

Yesterday when I hung up the washing, I missed her company as she trotted down to the line with me and sat at my feet while I pegged up the laundry.

I even miss how she would howl at the wind at night time, shrieking out at some unseen menace or possible predator onto her territory. 

The week leading up to her death was terrible.  We knew she was sick but we didn’t know why until a few days beforehand — we just thought it was some mystery illness that had caused her kidneys to fail.  There are some sounds I will never forget — the fear in my husband, Dan’s, voice when he told me the vet was holding her overnight.  The sobbing of my mother as I told her the news of Indy’s death – my parents loved her, too.  The uncontrollable grief Dan expressed when he told me she’d been put down.  Awful sounds that you wish you didn’t ever have to hear.

I’ve also listened to the grief of my own heart and have cried as I’ve needed to.  I’ve been blessed with wonderful friends who have said lovely things about what a beautiful dog she was, what a faithful and happy friend.  No-one has said “oh, she was just a dog”. 

We decided not to have a service of any kind for her.  She was Dan’s dog and I was happy for him to choose what to do.  But this is my memorial for her. 

Our lives were better because she was part of it for 9 years.  We will miss her terribly.