About once a month, I pay someone to let me talk. Technically, my insurance pays for it, but I pay for that, too. The point is, there are 45 minutes every three weeks or so where I get to go into a soothing room and just unload.
It took me a while to get used to the therapy dynamic; it is objectively weird to talk only about oneself for a period of time and never ask any questions or have a normal, multi-sided conversation. But that’s literally the point — I am there to talk through what I’m feeling, to get advice and to hear someone else’s read of the situation. I am there to be the one who talks.
This is a luxury of the highest order.
Finding someone to talk to is difficult — finding someone to actually listen is even harder.
Time and again, members of the Real Change community have told me what a profoundly lonely experience homelessness is. Finding someone to talk to is difficult — finding someone to actually listen is even harder. They report feeling invisible; people walk by them without even making eye contact, let alone asking them how their day is.
And of course, our elected officials and “neighborhood activists” don’t listen to homeless folks, either. When people on the margins say “we want affordable housing, we need apartments that we can actually afford,” the housed community responds with their own solutions — often, more cots in big rooms. When they say that they want higher-paying jobs or the ability to be financially independent, community leaders tell them it’s just not possible. Instead, they give advice like “do more with less, tighten your belt.”
We convene task forces to talk about homelessness, but never actually ask homeless or recently homeless folks what they need.
We convene task forces to talk about homelessness, but never actually ask homeless or recently homeless folks what they need.
That’s not listening.
The real, measurable value of being listened to has been reflected in numerous cognitive studies; researchers have, for decades, noted that just feeling heard and being able to emotionally unburden oneself has clear positive benefits. People who feel listened to are more likely to be open to the perspective of others and able to exercise empathy.
On the other side of that equation, loneliness has also been found to have powerful effects. Prolonged loneliness can create further maladaptive social behaviors that can make re-acclimating to indoor life extremely difficult. They can impact a person’s ability to keep a job.
In short, by depriving homeless folks the ability to be heard — by failing to listen or create opportunities to be listened to — we are creating further pain points down the road. Not listening is more than just ignoring or downplaying; not listening does a dramatic disservice to the individuals who aren’t being heard.
Hanna Brooks Olsen is a writer, policy consultant and currently, the interim editor at Real Change. Her work has appeared in The Atlantic, The Nation, GOOD, Salon, Fast Company and Pacific Standard.
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