Understanding The Art of Deep Listening
A gentle return to ourselves
Lately, I’ve been thinking about deep listening—and how frightening it can be. Our nervous system is wired to protect us from going too deep, too fast. That defense is necessary, a safeguard against overwhelm. In my years as a music therapist in a mental hospital, I saw what can happen when that threshold is crossed. I witnessed people unravel under the weight of fear, anxiety, and the mind’s many afflictions.
The other day, a physical therapist worked gently with my injured thumb, coaxing it toward healing. His touch was so tender, so caring, that I unexpectedly began to sob—releasing something deep within me.
Sometimes, we can only enter our deepest places when someone else is there with us, supporting us.
Over the years of teaching, I’ve held many students as they wept—sobbing from a place beyond words. Letting go of something ancient, something they’ve carried longer than they could remember… by the part that holds on, trying to take care of us, protect us.
It reminded me of the caregivers I’d meet through my arts council job, bringing music to housebound patients. Though my role wasn’t to support the caregiver, I’d ask how they were doing. Just that small gesture—asking—they would often well up with tears. They were exhausted, worn thin, and unseen.
This came to mind again recently, thinking about my thumb, my injured right thumb. Stubbornly, it had overcompensated for my broken left arm, in a sling. While the left arm received the attention and care, the right thumb absorbed the strain. And, it seems, the grief. In trying to take care of my injury, my body got out of balance, held on too tight.
Even when we know it’s not helping anymore, it can feel impossible to release that grip. I picture a small child, fingers tightly clasped around the adult’s finger. There’s security in that hold. Maybe it’s ancient—an echo of survival from when our ancestors lived in trees, high above the ground. The need to cling. It’s instinctual, buried deep within. We grasp for safety. But in times of injury, that grasp can become its own problem.
With this new insight, I have come full circle, back to listening. I am gently massaging my thumb, letting it speak to me…trying to slow down, not just to hear but to listen deeply.
If you’re anything like me, with a few perfectionist tendencies, the fear of getting it wrong is always nearby. But if I reframe that fear into being curious instead, something might be revealed…