Stone Soup: Two Magic Words

Twenty five years ago a couple who were friends of mine lost their son in a drowning accident. It was a horrible unspeakable loss and everyone around them attempted to give them comfort. The wife, completely bereft and full of sorrow, sought counseling with a therapist. The husband did not.

Fast forward a year and a half. I’m standing in the nail polish aisle at the local pharmacy when the husband walks by. I called to him and he turned, smiling. “Hi!” he said walking over to me. “How are you?” I said I was fine and asked him the same. “I’m good!” he said smiling. I leaned in a bit closer, looked him square in the eye and gently said two words- “Are you?”

At the end of these two words he inhaled, blinked twice and then unleashed the most primal, guttural cry I had ever heard. He came completely unglued, unable to speak, sobbing right in the middle of the store. I hadn’t expected it and I stood next to him, my hand on his arm, waiting.

People must have been staring, but I didn’t notice. I was a bit freaked out to be honest, it was so unexpected. I had nothing wise to say, so I just waited. We both knew what the tears were for, and there really weren’t any words required. After about two minutes, he looked up and just shrugged. He couldn’t speak, just gestured with his arm like he was trying to push away a horde of insects and tried to calm his breathing down. I hugged him tight for a minute and then he rushed out the door, somewhat awkwardly.

In nursing school some years later I would discover that those two words “are you?”
are really part of a set of tools one can use that are called active listening. Now previous to my nursing school training I had heard other wanna-be psychology students attempt to analyze their friends with pseudo-intellectual psycho babble and found this nauseating and annoying. I had a chip on my shoulder about trying to “learn” to use language as part of being a good listener.

As part of our training we were placed in a chair across from a “patient” and videotaped as we interacted with this person around some event that was difficult for them to talk about. We were instructed in the art of shutting up, giving non-verbal cues to let the person know we were listening. This included nodding when appropriate, holding eye contact and sitting still so as not to shift attention away from them. We were also given some short phrases to use when it felt right. These phrases were simple things such as “ I see” “That must have been difficult” “How did you feel when that happened” and “Tell me about that”.

Now all of this seemed phony and canned, and I wanted no part of it. But here’s the thing, when I tried these “techniques” it seemed to really help the other person. I found this unbelievable. Didn’t they hear how artificial I felt saying it? Nope.

As I became more comfortable with active listening over time and with the critique of my peers I was persuaded that when used with a genuine intent to open a dialogue with a person, what this does is open a space for the other person to just be. A space where they won’t be interrupted or judged, or hurried or shamed or instructed.

It takes a fair amount of humility to use these techniques because you’re basically admitting that your great knowledge and wisdom are totally unnecessary, but if you can get your giant ego out of the way this person who is suffering emotionally may be able to find healing in the space created between you. Most people who are carrying a burden of sadness or grief aren’t looking for answers, they are looking for someone who can just allow them to vent, to process and through sorting out their feelings, that’s all.

A high school friend of my son’s lost her father to leukemia. A few months later at the choir concert I asked how she was doing. Again she replied “Good!” and again I said “Are you?” to which she replied “Well, it’s really hard sometimes because I keep expecting my dad to come home at night”. I nodded and acknowledged how hard that must be. She said she was excited about the concert and I told her I was too. Life goes on, but taking a moment to allow that brief acknowledgement, is sometimes all that’s needed.

Recently I ran into a man I know who lost his mother six months ago. We exchanged greetings and when I asked how he was doing he said “Good!” and again I looked at him and gently said “Are you?” He lowered his eyes and admitted that it was really hard now that his mom was gone. He knows that I lost my mom twenty years ago and so I could say yes, it is. No big words of wisdom, not trying to make it better, just opening the space.

It’s a lost art, the act of listening. We so often want to help that when someone expresses a problem our brain begins the task of solving the problem even while the person is still getting the whole story out. We are so focused on our fantastic idea of how to solve their dilemma that we become lost in our own ego centered game of playing savior.

I have found that if you want to help someone it’s better to just shut the hell up. Try to listen. Nod. Affirm. Be silent. And then wait for the magic which will be found in the space that opens between you. It’s not easy for sure, but at the end of the day isn’t it good to know that those two little words –“are you?”-can be such a powerful tool?

The Art of Listening