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“We don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said.
Such power - was I really the sort of person who could intimidate just
by keeping my mouth shut?
What I had been thinking, in fact, was
that I felt too intimidated and unconfident to speak up. Nowadays
I sit more comfortably with my silence, particularly in new
situations, having been told that when I do say something it’s usually
to the point.
Keeping my mouth shut doesn’t work with
compulsive talkers however, many of whom need to fill the silences,
the spaces between when we draw breath. By compulsive talkers I mean those who appear to be
constitutionally unable to listen to anyone else’s stuff. A
second’s pause and they’re off with the ball and running. Do they
never come up for air? Are they ever interested in anyone else’s
voice? Why should I even bother if they’re not?
My world is divided into listeners and talkers, and by nature and inclination I’m a listener. Probably goes
back to childhood and the family mantra which said ‘thou shalt be seen
and not heard’. As kids at the dinner
table, we were told with great regularity to keep quiet so the
grown-ups could talk. With equally great regularity we watched the
grown-ups struggling to fill the silences and felt smug.
Perhaps my childhood hang-ups did me a favour. Turned me into a social
worker, counsellor and writer. Listening to people’s stories is what I
do – professionally. And socially it never used to worry me that
talkers showed little interest in my own stories. Now, however, I get
enraged and wonder if my rage is just part of growing up or the first
signs of lost marbles? Or am I just really really boring?
I don’t think so - well, sometimes, as we all are, aren’t
we?
As a sentient human being, I think I’m entitled to some air-time, and
while I realise that compulsive talkers need listeners for their very
survival, in the process they are breaching my human rights.
Strasbourg next stop?
In this month's Talkback Column Helen responds
to Heather's article with
Here’s talking to you, kid |
