The Soft-Spoken Parent
Most of us are like writers of fiction. We take our life experiences and weave them into stories. But our stories are never entirely objective. We write to make a point. We color every account with our own point of view.
Each of us is like a child viewing the world through a paper-towel tube—or perhaps a drinking straw. We see only a tiny fraction of the whole picture. Yet we are remarkably confident that we know what is going on!
Social psychologists have observed that we humans are not very objective—even at our best. Fiske and Taylor described our tendency to arrange the evidence to support what we already believe:
“Instead of a naïve scientist entering the environment in search of the truth, we find the rather unflattering picture of a charlatan trying to make the data come out in a manner most advantageous to his or her already-held theories” (Fiske & Taylor).
We humans don’t see very well—or very much. Yet we are inclined to believe that our interpretations are the truth.
This seems to be the Savior’s point when He talks about our inability to remove a tiny splinter from someone else’s eye while our own vision is obstructed by a thick beam (see Matthew 7:4; Luke 6:41; 3 Nephi 14:4).
What a graphic image! In our time, Christ might have talked about us trying to remove an eyelash from a family member’s eye while wearing a football helmet—backwards!
The Lord is not being subtle. He is making it clear that we are poorly equipped to sort out someone else’s life while our own vision is so impaired.
Before we can help someone else see more clearly, we must remove our own beam—or helmet. We must set aside our assumptions, interpretations, and judgments. Otherwise, we may cause more pain as we clumsily attempt to remove the eyelashes troubling our children’s eyes.
That is why listening is such a vital parenting skill.
When we suspend our judgments and listen with open hearts, we may discover that the children who have drawn our ire are simply struggling to do the best they can. They may feel confused, lonely, discouraged, or afraid. They may not understand their own feelings. They may not know how to do any better.
What we have interpreted as defiance may be discouragement. What we have labeled laziness may be overwhelm. What looks like selfishness may be a desperate effort to get some need met.
We cannot discover these things while we are busy prosecuting our children. We must stop making our case and start listening to theirs.
How many times have we looked at friends, spouses, or children and filtered their stories through our own values and expectations?
Carol Lynn Pearson shared a memorable experience that illustrates how dramatically our perceptions can change when we discover more of another person’s story.
I can remember many occasions when my perception has crumbled and a glimpse inside has wiped away judgment. During my college years I looked at a fellow student, whom I will call Roy, in amazement. Where did he get such a gigantic ego? His need to be recognized and praised was never-ending. Every conversation he had with anyone always centered on his recent triumphs and the projects he was now involved in that would ensure his fame. He was underappreciated and let everyone know it. His name became a joke. We had him pegged as an obnoxious egomaniac who blew his own horn from morning until night.
One day I learned that one of my friends knew his family. She began to tell me some things. “Roy’s father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. He made their life just miserable. He was a crazy man. Once, when Roy was about five he walked in the kitchen and saw his father attempting to kill his mother. It was a terrible scene and Roy was there to watch it all.”
The tremor was instant. All my perceptions, all my judgment shattered, and I saw past the facade in the reality. I saw past the obnoxious adult to the traumatized little boy that I wanted to take in my arms and comfort. I never looked at Roy the same again. I knew his secret, or of his secrets, and I understood.32
What a transformation! Roy’s behavior hadn’t changed. Carol Lynn’s understanding had. Where she had previously seen an obnoxious egomaniac, she now saw a wounded child trying to find his way through life.
I wonder how often something similar happens in our homes.
We see a child who is uncooperative, irritable, demanding, or withdrawn. We may assume that we know exactly what the problem is. We may even launch into a lecture designed to correct it.
But what if we are missing the most important part of the story?
What if our child is carrying a hurt we haven’t recognized? What if the behavior that irritates us is the child’s imperfect way of telling us that something is wrong?
Having spent a lifetime learning to interpret everything we see and hear, we are now invited to do something quite different: Turn down the interpretation and turn up the listening.
Instead of rewriting our children’s stories to fit our expectations, we can invite them to tell us what life looks like from where they stand.
Listening is not merely gathering information. It is setting aside our own story long enough to discover the story our child is actually living.
We might ask:
- “Help me understand what happened.”
- “What was that like for you?”
- “What has been the hardest part?”
- “Is there something I’m missing?”
- “What would you like me to understand?”
And then we listen. Not to prepare our rebuttal. Not to identify the flaws in their reasoning. Not to find the right moment to deliver our wisdom.
We listen to understand their stories, their hearts, and their hopes.
This does not mean that we abandon standards or ignore misbehavior. It means that we seek understanding before attempting correction. We will be far better equipped to help our children when we know what they are actually experiencing.
Listening does not require us to agree with everything our children say. It does require us to care about what they are trying to tell us.
This isn’t easy. Our interpretations are persistent. Our judgments are eager. And our parental wisdom is always ready to deliver a lecture!
But compassion grows when we make room for someone else’s story.
I love this wise counsel:
“Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and the strong. Sometime in life you will have been all of these” (variously attributed).
Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is the experience of being understood. Before we try to straighten out their thinking, correct their behavior, or improve their choices, we can offer them the priceless gift of our attentive hearts.
Sometimes the most helpful thing a parent can do is simply listen.
Reflection
Think of a time when you set aside your own assumptions and listened carefully to what one of your children was communicating through words or actions.
- What did you discover that you might otherwise have missed?
- How did listening change your feelings toward your child?
- What helped you suspend your judgments?
- How can you make that kind of listening more common in your parenting?
Applying This Strategy
Check the steps that might help you make this strategy part of your parenting.
☐ I ask Heavenly Father to help me see my children as He sees them.
☐ I remember, with gratitude, times when listening helped me better understand my children.
☐ I remind myself that my interpretation is not necessarily the whole story.
☐ I plan how I might respond the next time a child’s behavior troubles me.
☐ I imagine myself setting aside judgment, asking a compassionate question, and listening attentively.
☐ I try it out!
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References
Susan T. Fiske and Shelley E. Taylor, Social Cognition (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1984), 88.
Carol Lynn Pearson, “Secrets,” New Era, March 1984, 17.
