A few nights ago I was watching one of those NHS fly-on-the-wall hospital A & E programmes. Well, sort of half-watching because it was on a commercial channel, so I always have a book to hand to read during the increasingly longer and longer advertising breaks, and sometimes the draw of the book overcomes the TV programme and…oh, shut up, Denise! Just tell the story, eh?
I was watching this programme. And one case they showed was of an elderly lady who had presented herself to A & E feeling unwell and with chest pains. The medical team did various tests and then left her sitting alone in a curtained cubicle whilst they waited for the test results. When the test results returned it transpired that yes, indeed, she had suffered a significant heart attack and would be admitted to a ward to be assessed by the cardiology team for further treatment.
All this information was delivered to the lady in a very factual manner by a young doctor who was clearly rushed off his feet. He ended by saying, ‘All right?’ and then dashing off, leaving the elderly lady alone in her cubicle. The lady had said not a word, merely nodded as he spoke, looking increasingly confused.
Her face said it all. She was overwhelmed, bewildered and upset by this life-changing news. And I wanted to be able to step into the TV screen, sit with her and say, ‘Tell me how you are feeling.’ I was struck by her loneliness in this space, that no one had the time to sit, hold her hand, make her a cup of tea and just listen to her as she processed the news. Of course, she might not have wanted to talk about it; she might have been one of those grumpy old bat types who tells you to eff off and mind your own business. But she should at least have been given the opportunity.
And then her son arrived. She told him, almost apologetically I thought, what had happened to her. And he said, ‘Oh,’ and the two just sat there in silence, looking a bit lost and uncertain. It broke my heart.
What has happened that we have lost the ability to take time to listen to each other? Or to even have the skills or ability to ask the right questions to get the conversation started? I feel concerned when I see parents out with their children, all the while their attention glued to their mobile phone screens instead of to their child’s searching face. ‘Listen to your child!’ I want to say. ‘Communicate with this small human because they want to learn and all they are learning is that your mobile phone is more important than they are. You are teaching them it’s okay not to listen.’ No wonder there are increasing numbers of children starting school with poor communication skills who require speech therapy. And who are incapable of listening to others.
People want to be listened to. They want to be heard. They want to know that sometimes, just sometimes, what they are feeling and thinking is valuable and that they matter as human beings. We all feel better for being listened to, don’t we? And don’t we all feel a sense of loneliness and emptiness when we aren’t heard? Isn’t listening a form of medicine?
It seems to me, these days, that people are so busy shouting to make their voices heard the loudest, that they have forgotten to listen to others. And you can shout as loud as you like about your rights and entitlements, about how outraged and appalled you are by the state of the world, but if no one is listening because they are too busy shouting themselves, then no conversations will start and nothing will ever change. By all means speak up and have a say, but you have to listen, too.
And the irony is that, since the pandemic four years ago (doesn’t time whizz by?) politicians and social welfare groups have been banging on about the detrimental effects of loneliness and lack of friendship, and making funding available to set up schemes to tackle these problems. Yet everyone seems to be shouting louder these days and being downright nasty to each other. I was involved, very briefly, in one of these community schemes at the farm I worked at a couple of years ago. There was a lot of sniping and in-fighting amongst the participants. It was all ‘Me, me, me’ and talking AT people rather than having give and take conversations. And don’t get me started on the listening skills of politicians and government. Just don’t.
And so I’ve been thinking a lot about listening these days. About the importance of being a person who can be calm and still, who can hold a space with light and openness, who can say, ‘I’m listening’ and truly mean it. I think the diploma on Spiritual Coaching and Caregiving that I start in September will help a lot.
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