I do group therapy on Sundays. It’s an outpatient setting in a downtown area. 95% of my clients are court ordered to get some help. That means they usually come in a little bitter. Think about the last time someone made you do something. Stings, doesn’t it?

By the end of their treatment, most of my clients can realize the benefits of group work. Still, a judge made them do it so they’re not signing up for additional services.

Group starts at 1:00. Often, a new client will treat group like their job and show up ten minutes late. They do it only once. They learn quickly that if the door is closed they are better off turning around and coming back next week. The door closes at 1:05. Many new clients have knocked on the door and faced the embarrassment of being turned away, no matter the excuse (and I’ve heard some good ones). But while they learn to not come late, they don’t come early either. 12:55 they come rolling in like a herd.

Once in the group room I have each client come down to my desk in another area and have them “check in.” A “check in” includes me asking how their week was and if they need anything outside of group. “Check in” takes less than 2 minutes per person.

I got a new client a few weeks back. He’s an elderly man who has lived a hard life. I assume this because of his scars and his jailhouse tats. My problem with this guy is that I can’t understand a thing he says. His tongue rolls around inside his mouth like a superball. Seriously, out of 50 words I can maybe make out two. Maybe. He compensates for this by using his hands to communicate. But still I can honestly say I have no idea what he is talking about. Which is a problem for me since I am his therapist.

I use the customary tools while I am listening to him. I nod my head. I repeat the words that I understand. When I see an emotion in him I try to reflect that. We call it active listening.

He started showing up early on his second week. 15 minutes early. Unusual in my setting. He wanted to come down to the desk and get started on his “check in” right away. I think I heard the word “crack” and “mother” and “sonofabitch.” But I can’t be certain.

Week three: 30 minutes early. For all I know this guy is planning the takeover of the world.

Week four: He’s waiting for me on the steps. Grinning. I haven’t seen the grin before. What usually takes a couple of minutes now takes 45. Interestingly, the transformation continues into the group session. He still doesn’t talk much in group, but he’s paying attention now. Before, he would keep his head down and appear to be completely out of touch with what was happening. Now he looks at people when they are talking. He smiles and frowns at the right times. He is engaging the process. Don’t ask me if it’s helping him; I have no idea. But he seems better.

Initially I found myself wanting to comprehend what he was saying. Words are the tools of my trade. When that didn’t work, I was overcome with a powerful desire to cut him short. It was almost painful to listen to something I couldn’t understand. I found myself drawn to daydream, putting imaginary words into his mouth. If you want to know what this felt like, click on my video link on the bottom of this post. Now focus on the people speaking. See how long you can do this before you start planning the rest of your day. What I have eventually settled on is just “being” with him. I’ve turned off my therapist switch (it’s just above my navel). Now I just sit and try to find words that I understand. It’s kind of like Wheel of Fortune. With profanity.

I have learned this lesson late in life. When I was young I thought that people who asked for my opinion actually wanted it. I would dig deep into my cerebellum and deliver (sometimes eloquently) my verdict. I’m laughing right now at the folly of it all. This is why most people have never followed my advice; they didn’t want it in the first place.

My new friend has reminded me of the power of attending. The only thing he wants; in fact, the only thing he needs, is to be heard. Not understood. Understanding would be nice, but at this point it’s just the icing on the cake. In telling his story he shares his life. Now two people carry the load.

No advice. No comprehension. Just listening. Not understanding. Not empathy. Just listening. Followed by change.

You probably know what its like to NOT be attended to. You’re having a conversation and someone looks at their watch. Or they cut you off. Or they scan just over your shoulder to see if there’s someone else they need to talk to. Or someone tries to mold you into their own likeness. Or they try to change you for “the better.” Which translates into “different than you are right now.”

Maybe, just maybe, you know what it’s like to be attended to. Maybe someone likes to listen to just the tone of your voice. Or your cadence. Or the sound of your silence. No circus act required. You’re not on a stage, and your value is not determined by what you bring to the table. You know when you have a conversation like this. You feel lighter. You feel heard. Maybe not understood. But heard. And changed.

It is in these moments of attending that our great fear of being insignificant is assuaged.

If attending is the tool, then worth is the whetstone.