Learning To Listen
What Silence, Practice, and My Own Learning Edges Taught Me About True Connection
I was reading through my reflections from when I was training to be a counsellor and came across an essay I wrote reflecting on a 10-week strengths-based training module. I was looking back on how I spoke to people in practice during role-plays—we did a lot of them in training! It was quite beautiful to read through the thoughts I had reflecting on how I communicated. I remember how much I enjoyed the process of reflection, yet how confronting it was, too, coming across my own learning edges.
I realise that this reflection could relate to anyone, whether studying counselling or just being mindful of communication and how you hear. So I thought I would share a few takeaways that I summarised about how a big challenge was to be quiet, and listen.
When I first stepped into the space of supporting others through counselling, I assumed the hardest part would be learning what to say. I thought being helpful meant having the right insight at the exact right moment—being quick, articulate, and ready with an answer.
Instead, I spent my time learning how to listen, how to slow down, and how to stay comfortable when the words get quiet and the emotion is loud.
Here are five gentle lessons I’ve learned about what it really takes to connect with people on a deeper level.
1. Curiosity is a Superpower (When Used in a Genuine Way)
When someone we care about shares a complex story or struggle, our minds naturally race to find a solution. We want to take away their pain or fix the problem.
What I’ve learned is that rushing to a solution can actually close down the conversation. Real curiosity isn't about solving a puzzle; it’s about making space for someone’s story. When we stop trying to fix things and simply lean in with genuine interest, everything changes:
We hear the hidden strengths: We start noticing not just the problem, but the quiet undertones of resilience and hope underneath it.
We build real trust: When people feel you are truly interested in their perspective, rather than trying to give them advice, they feel safe enough to open up.
2. Silence is Harder (and More Powerful) Than Talking
Silence can feel uncomfortable. When a pause lasts more than a few seconds, it is so tempting to fill the void with a question, a reassurance, or a quick comment—particularly when you feel uncomfortable in it yourself.
I realised (and still do) that when I rushed to fill the quiet, the other person felt the underlying tension. They couldn't relax because I wasn't relaxed. I also realised that space and stillness provided something that talking doesn’t: air to breathe and mindfulness to think about the next thing you might say, perhaps shining light on an emotion rather than just a story. This creates more trust and connection (and this was challenging too, because I had to be comfortable holding the emotion that I was feeling and sensing, without interrupting it).
Learning to sit in silence is a gift. A quiet space is where people do their deepest emotional processing. When we quiet our own minds and just stay present, we give others permission to catch their breath and feel heard. It requires patience. To be quiet with ourselves today, requires it. We can hear ourselves deeper when we allow ourselves to be patient, and so it's only natural we hear deeper when we are patient with others too.
3. Warmth Needs Soft Boundaries
Being an empathetic person means caring deeply about others comes naturally to some of us. But one of the trickiest lessons I learnt during those ten weeks of practice—and continue to learn—is that empathy still needs gentle boundaries.
When we care, it’s easy to step into a role where we absorb everyone else’s emotional weight. But holding a supportive boundary isn't cold or distant—it’s actually what keeps the space safe for everyone. True empathy isn't about carrying someone else’s burden until you burn out; it's about staying grounded so you can walk alongside them while they carry theirs. This is an ongoing practice for anyone who is empathetic, and if you're anything like me, it can be really challenging.
4. Listening is a Mirror, Not an Echo
There was a skill we practised in counselling training named paraphrasing, and I hated it at first because I found it to be quite robotic. Repeating someone’s words back to them felt so artificial, and I had to allow myself to trust, listen, and be comfortable with emotions in myself so I wouldn't worry about someone thinking, "Well, yes, I just told you that."
It took me time to understand that it’s not about parroting back what you hear, but going beneath that—listening beneath the expression. Real reflection isn't about echoing words; it's about being a thoughtful mirror. When you reflect what someone says with genuine care, you aren't just repeating them. You are helping them step back, hear their own thoughts from the outside, reflect emotion (which is confronting when we are not comfortable with our own emotions), and make sense of their feelings. It’s not about showing them that you have all the answers—it’s about helping them understand themselves. The only way we do that is when we let go of a need to project biases and be in the other persons emotional experience.
I remember thinking: I’m studying to be a counsellor and I’m afraid of intimacy! There was a real irony and contradiction in the experience of speaking to an emotion, because I had to allow myself to experience it too.
5. Meeting People Where They Are
Whether working with children, neurodivergent individuals, or adults going through a hard time, real connection requires us to drop our expectations of how a conversation "should" look.
Comfort comes before compliance: Expecting someone to make eye contact or sit perfectly still can create unnecessary stress. Meeting people where they feel physically and sensorially comfortable builds true trust. Some of us, like to talk and fidget, or talk and move, perhaps online counselling benefits those (I am one of them, sometimes I like to clean and talk on the phone) and sometimes I’m able to be more comfortable in a conversation this way.
Drop the assumptions: No two people experience the world the exact same way. True listening means watching non-verbal cues, respecting boundaries, and honouring each person's unique way of expressing themselves.
Be a Human
One big takeaway from counselling training was that being a good listener isn't about mastering clever techniques or always knowing the right thing to say. It’s about warmth, boundaries, curiosity, and authentic presence.
Growth is messy, and communication can be. We will all be clumsy, overthink, talk before listening, or stay quiet when we wish we’d spoken up. But every misstep teaches us something valuable. Learning to offer grace, patience, and a strengths-based mindset to others always starts with offering that same gentleness to ourselves. We can do this by being patient and mindful, allowing ourselves to feel our emotions as they rise and holding them.
Perhaps you can practice listening before responding to your partner, colleague, friend, or even yourself... and see if you hear something more. One thing I recognised through reflecting is that it is a practice—like letting go—and that to truly listen in a counselling space, with myself alone, or to a friend, is both a practice and an art. But it brings so much depth and connection.
Try it out. The narrative technique related to this art is called “double listening”—it’s listening beyond the surface expression. It is fun, challenging, and inspiring all at once. It requires attentiveness and patience and we can all benefit from practicing it more!
Warmly,
Alana
Please Just Listen
When I ask you to listen to me
And you start giving me advice,
You have not done what I asked.
When I ask you to listen to me
And you begin to tell me why
I shouldn’t feel that way,
You are trampling on my feelings.
When I ask you to listen to me
And you feel you have to do something
To solve my problem,
You have failed me,
Strange as that may seem.
Listen! All I ask you is listen.
Don’t talk or do—just hear me.
Advice is cheap
And I can do for myself; I am not helpless.
Maybe discouraged and faltering,
But not helpless.
When you do something that I can
And need to do for myself,
You contribute to my fear and
Inadequacy.
But when you accept as a simple fact
No matter how irrational,
Then I can stop trying to convince
You and get about this business
Of understanding what’s behind
This irrational feeling.
And when that’s clear, the answers are
Obvious and I don’t need advice.
Irrational feelings make sense when
We understand what’s behind them.
Perhaps that’s why prayer works—because god is mute,
And he doesn’t give advice or try
To fix things,
God just listens and lets you work
it out for yourself.
So please listen, and just hear me.
And if you want to talk, wait a minute
For your turn—and I will listen to you.
Jessie Swick