Read The Lost Art of Listening Online
Authors: Michael P. Nichols
snow off the car before you start to drive,” Sheila protested feebly, “I was in
a hurry to get to the cleaners.” When Lenny countered, “You’re always in
too much of a hurry,” Sheila capitulated, “I guess you’re right.”
Experience has taught me to listen not only to what people say but
also for what they’re not saying. I soon found out why Sheila hesitated to
protest. One time she said, “Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”
and Lenny flew into a rage. He started shouting at her. “You
never
listen to
anything I say! You have
no
respect for me. You say you love me, but it’s a
goddamned
lie!”
It was awful. I don’t really remember all of what he said because,
frankly, I was too upset. What’s more, the same thing happened every time
Sheila said anything critical to Lenny. His reaction was so extreme that it
was impossible to really understand what he was saying.
Having read these two accounts, you can probably guess something of
what both Corinne and Lenny felt. But clearly the intensity of their reac-
tions was inappropriate to the situation. Let me also tell you that these are
two instances when it’s a lot easier to read about something than to witness
it firsthand. Corinne’s abject remorse and Lenny’s rage made listening to
them almost impossible. What makes people respond so inappropriately?
Long memories.
From these brief descriptions, some people might say that Corinne
was insecure and Lenny suffered from unresolved aggression. Others might
say that Corinne’s turning her anger inward and Lenny’s lashing out were
typical of their genders. In fact, these inferences are so general and judg-
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THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN
mental as to constitute virtually meaningless clichés. For a more subtle
appreciation of a person’s overreaction you need to know its trigger.
A listener’s emotional reaction seems inappropriate
only as long as you can’t see his or her memory.
As a therapist, when I see someone responding “inappropriately,” I
ask myself what circumstances
would
make the response appropriate. (In
my own relationships I just get upset like you do.) What would make it
reasonable for a woman to feel hopelessly worthless for having made a
minor mistake? (Hint: Most of us manage to survive childhood, but not all
of us outgrow it.)
Corinne was the last of four children in a talented and ambitious fam-
ily. She had three older brothers “who were jealous and competitive” and
“never liked me.” Her father was cerebral and distant; her mother was a
depressed underachiever who drank too much. Corinne was the baby, but
rather than being doted on she was ignored. Early on, she decided that the
only possibility of ever being loved was to be the perfect child, docile and
mediocre—docile so as not to burden her parents, mediocre so as not to
challenge her brothers. They tolerated her as long as she played the good
little sister, but they couldn’t acknowledge any sign of accomplishment
from her. Deprived of acceptance themselves, they belittled their little
sister’s achievements and mocked her mistakes. They called her “lardass,”
“Miss Piggy,” “stupid,” and “retard.” Even the smallest slipup could trigger
their scornful laughter. Years later Corinne was still so hypersensitive to
humiliation that she sank into despair whenever she made the slightest
error. The man who pointed out her mistake did not say “retard,” but that’s
what she heard.
When you’re a little child, it’s hard to fight back.
When you’re an adult made to feel little, it’s hard—
but not impossible.
What made Lenny so critical of others and yet unable to tolerate criti-
cism in return? Not the kind of cruel treatment you might expect. Lenny’s
parents were decent, loving people. But their lack of involvement out-
How Emotionality Makes Us Defensive
115
side the family led them to expect a lot from each other and from their
children. When they didn’t get what they wanted, they criticized and
complained. This alone might not have made Lenny so unable to tolerate
criticism. But his parents, for all their basic goodness, never gave him the
empathy that would have solidified his sense of worth. Without a store of
loving memories, without a sense of being taken seriously and appreci-
ated just for himself, and without expectations of more understanding to
come, Lenny harbored deep and ugly fears of worthlessness. Hard work
and family devotion kept these feelings at bay, until, that is, someone said
anything remotely resembling what Lenny himself feared in his heart of
hearts—that he was no good.
I once had a gray-and-white cat named Tina who was perfectly friendly,
except that once in a while she’d lash out violently with her claws. These
attacks were totally unprovoked. One minute Tina would be purring to
have her head stroked; the next minute you’d have a bloody scratch on
the back of your hand. Eventually we took her to the vet and learned
that she had an injured hip— possibly from a car accident when she was a
kitten—so that what seemed to us like a harmless touch could actually be
quite painful.
Shame and insecurity are the wounds that make people react vio-
lently to criticism. Some people retreat from hurt feelings, others attack.
The most shame- sensitive individuals flare up at the slightest sign of criti-
cism. Such people are hard to live with. But reacting to criticism with
hurt and anger is something we all do. What varies is only the threshold
of response.
The universal vulnerability to criticism is related to the universal
yearning for love and approval. What we really want to hear is that we’re
terrific (sometimes “okay” will do).
Our sensitivity to criticism varies with the situation. We’re hurt most
by criticism of something that feels like an important part of ourselves—
our motives, for example, or the products of our creativity, or, during ado-
lescence (and sometimes slightly beyond), our appearance. We’re espe-
cially sensitive to criticism from someone whose opinion we care about.
The right person saying the wrong thing can puncture your ego like a pin
bursting a balloon.
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THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN
How to Listen to Complaints
Do you often find yourself interrupting someone who’s criticizing you
before the person has a chance to finish? This understandable but coun-
terproductive impulse robs the other person of a sense of having been
heard. You don’t have to agree to hear what someone has to say.
To avoid getting defensive, concentrate on listening to the entire
complaint. Then ask, without sarcasm, “Is there anything else?” Finally,
offer your understanding of what the person was trying to say—
not a
paraphrase
but what you think the other person was trying to get at.
Why Do People Complain to Us?
Behind every complaint is a request. Listen for the request and then ask if
that’s what the person would like.
Respond to the request by accepting it or making a counteroffer—in
the spirit of trying to give the other person what he or she is asking for.
What Makes Us Intolerant?
When you’re trying to figure out why you or anyone else overreacts,
keep in mind one of the great ironies of understanding: We’re likely to
be as accepting of others as we are of ourselves. That’s why those lucky
enough to be raised with self- respect make better listeners. Still, you
needn’t be stuck where you find yourself. If you learn to respect other
people’s feelings, you will learn to treat your own feelings more kindly in
the process.
What we can’t tolerate in others
is what we can’t tolerate in ourselves.
We can’t listen well to other people as long as we project the mistaken
idea that parts of us aren’t good enough to be loved, respected, and treated
fairly. A wider respect for human dignity flows from and enhances respect
for ourselves. Tolerance and appreciation of our own and other people’s
How Emotionality Makes Us Defensive
117
feelings helps us hear and understand the hurt that inevitably lies behind
anger and resentment. When our feelings aren’t heard, our spirits are sup-
pressed and distorted.
What Turns Conversations into Arguments?
Reacting emotionally to what other people say is the number-one reason
conversations turn into arguments.
If you’re not sure what emotional reactivity is, take inventory of your
feelings the next time you rush out of the bathroom to catch the phone on
the last ring—and it turns out to be somebody selling something. That agi-
tation, that anxious upset that makes you want to slam down the phone, is
emotional reactivity. Is it wrong or unjustified? No, of course not. But it’s
that feeling, in relationships that do count, that makes it hard to listen,
hard to think straight, and hard to say what you want to say.
Reactivity is like a child interrupting an adult conversation—it isn’t
bad; it’s inopportune. Our intrusive emotions may need to be hushed, but
they may also need to be listened to later. Why are we reactive? What are
the reactive parts of ourselves, and what are they reacting to? Disruptive
feelings are messages from our inner spirit about something we need to
change or pay attention to in our lives. Our reactivity can lead us to parts
of ourselves that we haven’t yet befriended—angry and resentful parts,
frightened and lonely parts.
If Corinne were to tell a friend how stupid she felt for screwing up the
newsletter, the friend might try to reassure her by telling her not to worry.
Everyone makes mistakes. Yes, but when Corinne made a mistake, she
could hear the savage brothers sneering: “Lardass! Retard!” And she’d feel
again what she’d spent her whole adult life running away from: that she
was ugly and stupid, nobody loved her, and nobody would ever love her.
Lenny’s dishing out but not being able to take criticism might seem
less unreasonable if you realized that deep down he, too, felt worthless and
inconsequential. Inside him were dark and ugly voices he anxiously shut
his ears to lest he get in touch with the part of him that still felt like a little
boy who was never good enough.
What turns conversations into arguments for some people (not infre-
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THE REAL REASONS PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN
quently mothers) isn’t so much something inside of them as the fact that
they can’t tolerate certain things in people close to them.
One of my patients doesn’t want to hear what’s going on in her
daughter’s life. It’s too upsetting. Allison was arrested for prostitution at
age fifteen. Despite her mother’s heroic efforts, Allison continued to get
into trouble, using drugs, hanging around with a motorcycle gang, coming
home drunk night after night. Finally, when Allison was eighteen, her
parents insisted that she get her own apartment. They supported her for a
while, then gradually stopped paying her expenses. Allison now works as a
cocktail waitress, when she works, but her parents are reasonably sure that
she’s using drugs and that she probably still prostitutes herself from time
to time. They know she occasionally gets arrested for drunk and disorderly
behavior, because they’ve had to go to the jail in the middle of the night
to bail her out. Her mother still loves her but finds it necessary to cushion
their relationship by visiting infrequently and avoiding the details of her
daughter’s activities, which she finds too upsetting to listen to.
This mother’s avoidance is based on a correct assessment of her own
vulnerability. It isn’t just worry that she’s avoiding; she can’t listen to her
daughter’s troubles without feeling the need to reform her. The temptation
to tell her daughter to stop taking drugs and hanging around dangerous
characters (as though these were novel ideas) interferes with listening;
yielding to that temptation triggers shouting matches.
The worst thing about reactivity is that it’s contagious. When anxiety
jumps the gap from speaker to listener, it escalates in a series of actions and
reactions, which may eventually lead to an emotional cutoff. The cutoff
may be as simple—and simply frustrating—as walking out of the room or
as sad as someone walking out of another’s life.
The next time you have the misfortune to witness two people arguing
without hearing each other, notice what each of them does to keep the
argument going. (If you’re one of the parties to the argument, just notice
what the other person does; the alternative is too demanding.) Notice how
the argument could end if either one of them would let go. In the runaway
logic of arguing, both parties feel compelled to get in the last word.