Bea V. Larsen . . . .Commentaries |
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Bea V. Larsen is a Senior Mediator at the Center for Resolution of Disputes in |
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Talking Things Over This entry was posted on 6/18/2011 8:10 AM and is filed under Personally Speaking. I'm trying to make a difficult decision, which often has me awake for hours in the middle of the night. But as I share my concern with close friends, some calm begins to return. Long ago this became my way of coping when troubles arose, but It calls for a measure of self-disclosure, a sharing of vulnerabilities, which I know is hard for some I'm remembering a time when an old friend began phoning more often than usual. Her son was divorcing and her distress about the breakup of his family brought her low. She was my frequent talking partner when angst was in my life. It was my turn to listen. My husband and I had lived through a similar time when a child's divorce became part of the air we breathed, often the last thing we talked about at night and the first upon waking. But when I say we talked, not quite. I talked, he listened. For longer conversations I turned to my friend. One evening, overhearing us on the phone, Len gently berated me. He urged me to think and talk less about the plight of our loved ones, as a way of quieting my concerns. We did not argue. I simply ignored his advice, as he knew I would. Len grew up in a home where feelings, even if recognized, were not talked about. In my childhood home, emotion was welcome grist for the mill. Not surprisingly, we each adopted ways we learned as children. He was able to put trouble out of mind and metaphorically go fishing. Not me. We knew this about each other. Even though over time, and with deliberate effort, talk came more easily for us, we also learned to honor our differences. I probed less to unearth the feelings behind his moods, and he sought less to divert or dampen my need to talk when upset. When not in sync for conversation, a comforting touch or a loving embrace allowed us to speak without words. Now my friends, those who talk and those who mostly listen, fill the void. One dear friend who listens well and is a particular comfort when things go amiss in my life, or when I'm faced with a challenging decision, has herself suffered major losses and faced difficult choices. But she keeps her feelings hidden beneath an exterior of cheerful chatter. She willingly talks of her professional life and the problems she is working to solve for her clients, but when friends inquire about her well being, after a few reassuring words, she artfully changes the subject. I find this worrisome. Did her family meet distress with silence, and she now follows the avoidance pattern of her early years? I try to respect the boundaries she has drawn. But I am sad for her, and wonder when a self-imposed boundary becomes a cage, even a prison. For years I've kept a wonderful Edward Koren cartoon on my desk. It shows two couples enjoying a companionable evening in the living room of one of them. Behind the host couple, who are seated on their couch, stands a huge hairy monster. "We deal with it by talking about it", reads the caption. I do too, and count myself lucky to know others for whom demons are diminished by talk, even if sometimes they just listen. CommentsDisplay comments as (Linear | Threaded)
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