To Hear or Not to Hear – Courage Or Insanity?

Oh, the exquisite agony of being human! We wander around, these glorious, complicated beings, convinced we’re operating on a level of self-awareness that would make a Buddhist monk weep with envy, and then bam! Someone, usually someone we actually, genuinely care about, has the utter audacity to point out some little… quirk of ours. Some pattern. Some reaction. Something they “see” in us. And what is our immediate, deeply intelligent, utterly mature response? A resounding, “What the flying eff are you talking about? I do not do that!” Or perhaps a more nuanced, yet equally dismissive, internal monologue that sounds suspiciously like a kettle starting to whistle.

It’s all taken as fact, you see. Their subjective observation, filtered through their own historical wounds, their own biases, their own particular brand of neuroses, becomes, in the heat of the moment, an undeniable objective truth about your character. Because, obviously, they have access to some secret, all-seeing surveillance footage of your soul that you, the actual inhabitant of said soul, are somehow tragically blind to. And the infuriating part? They’re often, maddeningly, frustratingly, partially right. But not in the way they see it. Not in the way it feels like an accusation.

We carry these invisible scabs, don’t we? These deep, festering wounds from past slights, past rejections, past perceived failings, all carefully bandaged up with layers of ego and denial. And when someone, with the best of intentions or perhaps just the clumsiness of a ‘bull in a china shop’, pokes at one of those bandages, the primary reaction isn’t, “Oh, interesting, tell me more about where you see that.” No, no, no. It’s an immediate, primal, reptilian brain scream of, “INTRUDER! DEFEND THE EFFING CASTLE!” Because in our own internal narrative, we genuinely, truly, cross-our-hearts-and-hope-to-die, do not see what they’re seeing. How could we? It’s a blind spot, for crying out loud, or at a minimum, a perspective outside our field of view. That’s why they call it a blind spot. It’s not a deliberately ignored, strategically obscured spot. It’s just… not there, in our field of vision. Like trying to see the back of your own head without a mirror. Good luck with that, pal.

So, the stage is set. We’ve got two perfectly reasonable human beings, both convinced of their own infallible perception. One has just delivered what feels like a truth bomb, or maybe just a mildly irritating observation. The other has just received what feels like a personal attack, a completely unfounded slander against their meticulously curated self-image. Neither party, bless their stubborn, fragile hearts, wants to admit they might be even a tiny bit off-base. Oh, the humanity! To be wrong! The sheer, unadulterated horror of it! It’s practically a moral failing, isn’t it? And so, the battle lines are drawn. Each wants the other to say, “Ah, yes, I see your side now. You are brilliant and I am a fool.” Or, at the very least, “Okay, I get it. Your perspective has merit, and mine is perhaps just a misinterpretation, or mine fits what I saw also, but I now see what you saw and how you got there.” But no. That’s too easy. That’s too… sane. The heels are dug in, the nervous system is set on fire and the volcano is erupting.

Instead, we launch into this exquisite dance of conversational attrition. We dig in our heels, we marshal our evidence, we resort to logical fallacies that would make a debate club dropout blush. We bring up past grievances. We extrapolate current behavior into a lifetime of character flaws. We become lawyers, prosecuting attorneys, each hell-bent on convincing the other that their version of reality is the version, and any deviation is simply… wrong. And these created arguments, my friends, these masterpieces of mutual misunderstanding, they get heated. Oh, so very heated. Because under all that bluster, under all that righteous indignation, there’s a raw, tender wound that’s been jabbed. And that hurt, that deep, self-conscious sting, it rarely gets delivered as a tearful “I feel misunderstood.” Oh no. That would be far too vulnerable, far too honest. Instead, it gets packaged up, wrapped in a jagged ribbon of righteous fury, and delivered with all the subtle grace of a brick through a window, manifesting as anger in our affect. Because anger, you see, is a shield, a push, a powerful dominant fight response to have the other back off, back down or go away. It’s a louder, more dominant emotion that conveniently distracts from the quiet whisper of profound insecurity. Amazing, isn’t it? The convoluted ways we protect ourselves from the terrifying possibility of being seen, truly seen, in a way we haven’t yet managed to see ourselves.

And in the aftermath, there’s just… wreckage. A crater where connections used to be. A chill where warmth once resided. All because two people couldn’t, or wouldn’t, or perhaps just didn’t know how, to step off the merry-go-round of accusation and denial. It’s a tragedy, really, played out daily in countless living rooms, boardrooms, and chat threads around the globe. We’re so busy being right that we forget to be human.

But what if… and brace yourselves because this is going to sound absolutely revolutionary, terrifying, and maybe even absurd - what if we were able to remain grounded? Just for a second. When that perceived accusation hits, when that internal alarm bell starts blaring, what if we could take a breath? A genuine, lung-filling, diaphragm-engaging breath. And then, here’s the kicker, what if we got curious? I know, I know. It sounds absolutely preposterous. Curiosity? In the face of an existential threat to our self-image, our precious perception of our own divinity? The audacity!

But imagine being curious enough to actually, truly, and sincerely want to see what that person sees in us. Not just the surface-level observation, but how they see it. What’s the lens they’re using? What past experiences of theirs are coloring their perception? What specific action, what particular word, what subtle shift in tone, triggered their observation? This does not, and let me repeat this for the hard of hearing in the back who are already preparing their counter-arguments, this absolutely does not mean you agree with it. It doesn’t mean you suddenly declare, “Oh my god, you’re right, I am a monster, thank you for enlightening me!” No. It means you want to understand their perspective. It means you’re willing to temporarily step into their shoes, see through their eyes, and experience, however briefly, the world as they see it. A world where you, apparently, do that thing you swear you don’t do.

And here’s the truly mind-blowing, potentially world-altering part: in that act of genuine curiosity, in that rare moment of putting down your sword and shield, they may, just may, want to understand what you see. They might, in their shock at your sudden, non-combative demeanor, lower their defenses. They might actually be willing to hear your side, to understand your experience of the situation, your intention, your blind spot. It’s a radical concept, I know. Reciprocity. Mutual understanding. It’s practically the stuff of children’s fables, isn’t it?

If we could just, for one magnificent moment, let go of right and wrong. If we could let go of the utterly pervasive, soul-crushing fear that my wanting to understand your perspective means I agree with you, means I capitulate, means I admit defeat. What if we just made it more about understanding each other? What if the goal wasn’t to win the argument, but to deepen the connection? To truly see each other, with all our glorious imperfections, all our blind spots, all our perfectly valid, yet wildly differing, perspectives. I mean, holy hell, if we could actually manage that… F***! Miracles really can happen! And maybe, just maybe, the world wouldn’t feel quite so much like an endless, exhausting, argumentative war zone. Just a thought. Don't go getting any ideas now, you might accidentally connect with someone. The horror!

By Daniel McMath