"What are we talking about that we are not talking about?"
If my two daughters were to write a history of our family, I am reasonably sure that they would mention the question that became a family mantra, "What are we talking about that we are not talking about?" Generally, people are always talking about any number of things besides what they really are talking about. Down below the surface there are dependably a few things that are nearly always what we are talking about. One of these things is "Do you love me, and, if so, how much?" Another is, "Do I have any influence, power, authority, control?" Another is, "Am I included?" Most of the things we talk about are shades and variations on these and possibly a limited number of other themes, such as "I am afraid" or "I am ashamed."
In a real sense, all counseling is about getting down what we are really "talking" about. The twin skills a counselor exercises are the skills of careful, engaged listening and the skill of asking good questions. But the skills are not tricks of the trade that one can pull out of the bag on notice. They are more of an art form that can be learned, but which in the end are more intuitively than logically applied.
No one who gets into a counseling situation should be surprised to find that the counselor listens not just to the words said but to the feelings, the body language, the inflection, all of which surround and accompany whatever words are spoken. It is much like holding a live animal in one's hand, respecting its authentic wildness and at the same time being present and still, inviting trust, feeling its heartbeat, allowing it to have the space simply to be without having to defend itself.
When someone can do that to us, we sometimes find ourselves able to talk about what we have never before been quite qble to talk about.
Giving and Taking Help
When I was newly ordained and had just begun my career, I had responsibilities for making connections between my parish church and a children's treatment center, which had metamorphosed from an orphanage to a child care facility with not a few troubled children and teens among its resident population. Along the way, I encountered Alan Keith-Lucas, who at the time was a leader in the field of child care at Chapel Hill. Dr. Keith-Lucas wrote a book that has been in my library ever since, surviving every down-sizing I have gone through. It is called Giving and Taking Help.
The essence of the book is about distinguishing between what is truly helpful and what only masquerades as "help." One of my cardinal principles is that I am not being helpful if I am doing for someone what he or she can do as well or better than I. And the same goes for others. That guides and shapes what I do in my consulting work, as well as in my counseling practice. The chief tool in my kit is asking questions. And one that I usually start with is, "What do you want to happen?" That begins a conversation in which a person (you) can begin to articulate what outcome you hope for. The next step is to ask what has to happen in order for you to get there. The process is all about discovering what you already have, but which might not yet be being used optimally. And when something is needed that you yourself cannot supply, it's the consultant's job or the counselor's job to help you either refigure what you need or to get what you don't have.
Looking down from the balcony
One of the most compelling and useful images is the one Ronald Heifetz uses in Leadership without Easy Answers, that of the leader withdrawing temporarily from engagement (at least mentally) and going for a space up to the balcony to observe his or her interactions on the dance floor below.
The art of leading is nearly entirely built on a yin/yang, ebb/flow, engagement/retreat rhythm. Leaders must stay connected, yet find a way to detach enough to reflect honestly and calmly on what they are doing and why. Nearly all of the pitfalls of practicing leadership appear when leaders become overextended, too identified with the process, or dangerously detached from the process that they ostensibly lead.
Share here the kinds of things you have learned about the usefulness of going to the balcony. What form does it take? Quiet centering? Personal retreats? Periodic stock-taking? How do you remain connected with yourself and others on the dance floor (which is different from working during "vacation" or cheating by sneaking work on days off!