WORDS OF WISDOM: A Stranger’s Story Gives Lesson in Listening

By Neal Lemery

We were strangers, both stuck in limbo in a waiting room, with no place to go. He started talking, telling a story of moving here a month ago, enjoying nature, and looking for a friendly face. We shared fishing stories, and I shared my favorite fishing holes.

He started to tear up, telling me of his wife, and their move here. He took a breath and then went deep, telling me of his daughter, and her black eyes and bruises, and her boyfriend, how mean and unpredictable he was. “Erratic”, “violent”, “unpredictable”.

Another deep breath, and he tells me of his bruises, his black eyes, from his daughter, and her boyfriend. He paused, a distant gaze away from us, his pain from all that clouding his face, his eyes vacant, vulnerable. For a few minutes, he opened his soul, sharing with me our new brotherly bond, his pain, his emotional poisons, his wounds, now just barely starting to heal.

I tried to show him I cared, leaning into our conversation, me deeply listening, me trying to show that I cared. I felt trusted, the waiting room turning into a confessional, my shirt collar becoming ministerial, pastoral.

We were safe here, in the anonymity of the waiting room. We had our own little corner, far from prying eyes and big ears.

He told me he and his wife moved here, not telling the daughter where they’ve moved to, cutting off all ties with the daughter he now fears, now distrusts, and now disowns. I could sense his fear of her finding out, she and her boyfriend clenching and swinging fists, inflicting more harm. Another breath, a deep sigh, and then relief.

“I’m safe here, now. Away from all that.”

He wiped a tear from his face. I nodded, trying to be affirming, to be kind, compassionate.

I spoke words of reassurance, of accepting his story as his truth, his experience, his reality. I sensed he wasn’t seeking help, or direction.

A staff member called my name. It was time to go. I wanted to linger, maybe take him for coffee or lunch. But, maybe the right thing to do was just to be present, to listen, not to judge, or console. It was enough just to share space, to be anonymous, to be human, to give him acceptance and credibility. And, to be a witness to his bravery and honesty. This wasn’t the time for anything more for me to do here. Being a listener and a believer of his story was what he needed from me today, a stranger in a waiting room, being a guy who believed him and took time to listen.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “You’re a good man.”

He nodded, wiping away another tear.

I had my appointment. I ran my errands, and headed back home.

My wife asked if I had finished my list of errands and chores.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, “including a task I didn’t know I needed to do. It was the most important task of the day.”

My new friend’s tale is not an unfamiliar one. Domestic violence is all too common, and the instances of men as victims, is also common. Gender bias, secrecy and shame cloud our awareness and our responses. And the stories of men as victims are often silenced by society expecting men to be macho, tough, not vulnerable, and often, not to be believed because of social stereotypes and biases.

The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV) reports:

1 in 9 men experience severe intimate partner physical violence, intimate partner contact sexual violence, and/or intimate partner stalking
1 in 4 men have experienced some form of physical violence by an intimate partner
1 in 7 men have been victims of severe physical violence (e.g. beating, burning, strangling) by an intimate partner in their lifetime
5.1 million men in the United States have been stalked in their lifetime

The national domestic violence hot line is 800-799-7233.

Tides of Change is the local resource center, offering confidential counseling, information, and referral.

Address

1902 Second Street

Tillamook, OR 97141

Contact

Office Phone 503-842-9486

Toll-free 800-992-1679

Text 503-852-9114. E-mail: info@tidesofchangenw.org