Are You Truly Listening?

Are You Truly Listening?

To truly listen and to be deeply and gently heard when you speak…

Two ends of the same need. Lately, this theme has been prominent in my life, triggering a deeper exploration.

The deep connection I’ve built with my therapist has become a benchmark, leading me to compare it with my other relationships. It’s also turned into a longing to carry this style of communication into all my interactions. At times, this dependency on our connection and the fear of constantly seeking it has made me consider pausing or even ending therapy. When I share an emotion with my therapist, I know they listen to understand, holding space for me. When they reflect that my feelings are valid and normal, I can breathe; I feel relieved.

But when I share with others, and they offer unsolicited advice, share their own stories, or bring negativity that diminishes what I’ve said, I end up berating myself: “Why did I share? Why did I open up?” This leads to deep regret and guilt because I knew how it would play out, yet I spoke anyway. Knowing this and repeating the same mistake makes me even harsher on myself. It becomes a vicious cycle: I scold myself for sharing, then for scolding myself, and so on. I also find myself reflecting on how I once listened in the same way, likely exhausting others. This too adds to my self-criticism—it seems I can’t escape this loop 😊.

I’ve come to realize that attention is one of the most valuable gifts we can offer someone. That’s why I give my attention to those around me with love, acceptance, and, sometimes, compassion. If they’re sharing a dream, I get excited with them. If I see hopelessness or frustration, I try to open up space with a thoughtful question. In many ways, I may be coaching in daily life, but I also expect the same from others. I sometimes feel like the person across from me should be a coach too—listening deeply, asking powerful questions, and creating space for me.

I’m aware that I expect a lot, which is why I often find little joy in deep conversations.

On the other hand, I sometimes get overwhelmed by unnecessary details, old stories, or long narratives that don’t seem to lead anywhere. I give my full attention, but it drains me; I need a break, a breath. Asking, “Could you be a bit briefer?” feels impolite, yet the excess detail saps my energy.

Both of these dynamics relate to boundaries. By continuing to share with those who don’t truly listen, I harm my own boundaries and self-respect, falling into a guilt-overcompensation loop. On the flip side, in an effort not to hurt or offend those who talk endlessly, I listen until the end, even if it exhausts me. In both scenarios, I end up neglecting myself.

Telling someone, “I love talking with you, but your excessive details really tire me out,” and then moving forward without taking responsibility for how they feel is a lesson I’m learning. I also need to accept that just because I express my boundaries doesn’t mean things will change instantly, nor should I expect them to.

I want to play, to find companions who can bring joy and depth simultaneously. While I fear deep connections, I also recognize my need for them. This awareness helps me discern who to deepen bonds with and who to maintain lighter connections with. Sometimes, my need for deep connection becomes so intense that I push for it from those who fear or avoid it, often resulting in mutual wounds.

I have a tendency to force connections to go deeper than they’re ready for, especially with those who’ve never experienced deep bonds before. In the relationships where I’ve formed such connections, I long for the other person to be as self-aware as I am—to ask insightful questions, to observe themselves. When they don’t meet this expectation, I’m left grappling with disappointment.

Experiencing emotions so intensely and at the surface level drives my need to share them. Yet, at the heart of this sharing is a desire to be heard and validated. I want someone to sincerely and objectively acknowledge my feelings. Sharing my thoughts here, perhaps for others to read, like, or comment on, fulfills some part of my endless need for connection—or maybe just writing is enough.

Since childhood, writing has been my most effective way of expressing myself. When it comes to verbal expression and connection, I seek only safe spaces and people capable of genuine, deep bonds. At the same time, I’m exploring more creative ways to express myself. This exploration excites me.

I’m not hiding, running, isolating, or numbing myself with dependencies. I’m simply pursuing what I need with courage until I can meet those needs and integrate my emotions. Gestalt methodology has been an invaluable tool for me in this process. And now, having coded an AI to support me in this need feels both thrilling and a bit unsettling. It allows me to practice my coaching skills while also offering me a virtual companion.

This journey is unfolding, one connection at a time.

4o