Active Listening

Active Listening: Truly Hearing Others — The Lifeline in a Noisy World

Let’s cut through the noise. You’ve heard the term “active listening” a hundred times. Maybe you’ve even tried it. But if you’re like most people I’ve worked with—especially first responders, veterans, and trauma survivors—you’ve probably done it wrong. You’ve checked your phone while someone was breaking down. You’ve nodded along while mentally drafting your rebuttal. You’ve said “I know how you feel” to someone drowning in grief. Here’s what works: active listening isn’t a skill you do to someone. It’s a space you create for them to be fully seen. And in the high-stakes world of trauma, that space isn’t optional. It’s the difference between a connection that heals and a moment that fractures.

I’ve sat with soldiers who’d just lost their squad leader. I’ve held the hand of a nurse who’d watched a child die. In those moments, the last thing they needed was a polite nod or a quick fix. They needed to be heard. Not just the words, but the fear, the guilt, the raw, unspoken weight. That’s the heart of active listening. Not a technique. A choice. And it’s harder than you think.

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Why This Isn’t Just “Good Communication”

Courage isn’t what you think. Most people think active listening is about being polite. It’s not. It’s about braving the discomfort of not knowing what to say next. It’s about sitting with someone’s pain without rushing to fix it. In my first tour in Afghanistan, I learned this the hard way. A young soldier, barely 19, was shaking after a mortar attack. He’d been the one to drag his buddy from the rubble. I leaned in, ready to say something profound—anything—when I caught myself. I’d been so focused on my words, I’d missed the tremor in his hands, the way his eyes darted to the ground. I stopped. I just listened. And for the first time, he started talking about the guilt. Not the attack. The guilt. That’s when I realized: I’ve seen the worst, and I’ve seen people survive it. Surviving isn’t about having the right words. It’s about having the courage to not say anything at all.

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The Core Misconception: It’s Not About You

This is where most people fail. They’re listening to respond, not to understand. You’ve done it. You’ve heard “I’m overwhelmed” and immediately thought, “I know how you feel—I was overwhelmed last week too.” But that’s not listening. That’s comparing. And it shuts down the speaker. In therapy, I call this “the empathy trap.” It’s not about sharing your story. It’s about holding space for theirs.

Real example: A firefighter came to me after a call where he’d failed to save a child. He said, “I should’ve run faster.” I wanted to say, “I’ve been there—I’ve felt that guilt.” But I didn’t. I said, “It sounds like you’re carrying the weight of that moment right now.” He broke down. That’s the power of active listening. Not fixing. Holding.

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The 5 Key Practices — Deepened with Real-World Weight

• Maintain open body language

   This isn’t just “don’t cross your arms.” It’s physically lowering your defenses. In combat, I learned that crossed arms aren’t just rude—they signal threat. When a soldier is in shock, you can’t have your arms locked. You lean in. You make yourself small, not big. Why? Because trauma makes people feel unsafe. Your body language tells them: You’re safe here. In my practice, I’ve seen veterans tense up when a therapist crosses their arms. It triggers flashbacks. So I don’t just say “lean forward”—I show it. I sit with my hands open on my lap. I make eye contact without staring (which can feel aggressive). It’s not about performance. It’s about safety.

• Nod and use minimal verbal cues

   “I see,” “Okay,” “Mmm.” These aren’t filler. They’re anchors. In a field hospital, I’d say “Mmm” to a wounded soldier while I worked. It told him I was there, even as I checked his vitals. But don’t overdo it. A veteran once told me, “You kept saying ‘Yeah’ like you were on a phone call. It felt like you weren’t really listening.” That’s the mistake: using cues as a crutch. Use them sparingly. Only when they’re genuine. If you’re nodding because you’re bored, stop. Really listen.

• Paraphrase to confirm understanding

   This is where most people mess up. They say, “So you’re saying you’re stressed?” Wrong. Stress is a word. It’s not the feeling. Here’s what works: Name the emotion. “It sounds like you’re feeling trapped by the deadline.” Why? Because emotions are the truth. A veteran I worked with said, “I’m just tired.” I paraphrased: “It sounds like you’re exhausted and angry.” He nodded. “Yeah. Angry I can’t sleep.” That’s the shift. You’re not summarizing the words—you’re naming the heart of the words.

• Ask open-ended questions

   “What stood out?” is good. But why is it better than “Did you like it?” Because “Did you like it?” invites a yes/no. “What stood out?” invites story. In a combat zone, I’d ask, “What felt most urgent in that moment?” not “Was it dangerous?” The first question pulls out the why; the second just confirms the what. In therapy, I’ve seen clients shut down when asked closed questions. They feel judged. Open questions say: I’m curious about you, not just your answer.

• Pause before responding

   Silence isn’t awkward. It’s necessary. In the field, I learned that the 3 seconds after a soldier says something heavy are the most important. If I rushed to say something, I’d miss the real thing they were trying to say. I’d say, “Take your time,” and wait. Really wait. In my practice, I’ve had clients say, “You’re the first person who didn’t rush me.” That silence? It’s where trust is built. Don’t fill it with “Uh-huh” or “Wow.” Just be with the silence. It’s the hardest part. But it’s the most powerful.

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The Hidden Barriers: Why You’re Not Listening (Even When You Try)

We all think we’re listening. But trauma, stress, and distraction rewire us. Here’s what’s really blocking you:

• The “Fixer” Reflex:

   You hear “I’m overwhelmed” and your brain screams, “How do I make this better?” But in trauma, people don’t need solutions—they need validation. A firefighter told me, “My wife says, ‘Just take a break!’ But I can’t. I feel like I’m failing.” Fixing her problem would’ve made it worse. I said, “It sounds like you feel like you’re failing right now.” That’s what she needed.

• The “I’ve Been There” Trap:

   “I know how you feel.” No. You don’t. You’ve never lived their pain. This is the #1 mistake I see in first responders. It shuts down the speaker. Instead: “I can’t imagine what that’s like, but I’m here with you.”

• The “Mental Script” Barrier:

   You’re already drafting your response while they’re talking. Stop. In combat, I’d catch myself doing this during a radio call. I’d miss a critical detail because I was planning my reply. That’s why I now say: “Pause. Breathe. Then listen.” It’s a drill. Not a suggestion.

• The “Distraction” of Your Own Trauma:

   If you’re dealing with your own pain, you’ll project it onto others. A veteran I worked with kept saying, “You’re not listening!” because he was reliving his own trauma. That’s why active listening requires self-awareness. Before you listen, ask: “Am I hearing them, or am I hearing my own story?”

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Your First 30 Seconds: A Practical Drill (Do This Now)

You don’t need hours. You need one minute. Here’s how to start today:

1. In your next conversation (even with a barista), notice your body. Are you tense? Crossed arms? Relax them. 2. When they say something, pause for 3 seconds before responding. Count silently: 1... 2... 3... 3. Paraphrase the emotion, not the words. “It sounds like you’re frustrated.” 4. Pause again. Don’t fill the silence.

This is the hardest part. Your brain will scream, “Say something!” But silence is where connection lives. I’ve seen this work in 30 seconds with a veteran who’d been silent for months. He said, “You actually heard me.” That’s the power.

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Why This Matters More Than You Think

In my work, I’ve seen active listening save lives. Not in dramatic ways—in the quiet moments. A nurse who started actively listening to a patient with PTSD stopped her from attempting suicide. A cop who learned to pause before responding to a distressed call de-escalated a situation that would’ve ended in violence. Courage isn’t what you think. It’s not charging into a fire. It’s sitting with someone in their fire, without trying to put it out. It’s the quiet choice to be present when the world is screaming for you to do something.

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Final Thought: This Isn’t About Perfection

You’ll mess up. You’ll interrupt. You’ll forget to pause. That’s okay. Start again. The goal isn’t to be perfect. It’s to try. Every time you choose to listen—not to respond—you’re building a bridge. And in a world that’s always asking for more, that’s the bravest thing you can do.

— Lois Brown, still serving