The Good Listener (2 page)

Before he became unemployed we were happy; at least majority of the time.

For the most part, life was great.

But since the year plus of being unemployed, things between us had been horrible.

At first, he was hopeful, but when a few months of looking for work, turned into over a year, his whole attitude changed; especially, towards me.

Somehow I had turned into the enemy.

“You will do great. Everything will fall into place.”

“Maybe,” Joel commented, sitting the plate of food in front of me.

Instead of continuing the conversation, we talked awkwardly about miscellaneous things as though we were on a bad first date.

I never understood why Joel was so angry.

It wasn’t as though we were struggling.

Financially we were just fine.

I made more than enough money to carry the load of bills and our expenses all on my own.

And I had been doing just that without one single complaint and with no questions asked.

But Joel made me feel as though I was doing something wrong.

Maybe he just wanted to be able to look in the mirror and see a big, strong, husband and provider.

But this wasn’t the stone ages.

Women could do it too, and quite frankly, I had been doing one heck of a great job.

Get over it already!

But finally, there was some light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel.

He finally found a job, and though he wasn’t saying much, I could tell that the good news had already started to make him feel a little better about himself.

His body language told me that he was letting go of stress, bit by bit, moment by moment, and I couldn’t do a thing but smile.

I also noticed that he’d gone to the store, and not only had he washed and dried the laundry, but he’d folded all of the clothing too.

Things were looking better already.

The next morning, we both got dressed for work, together, just like we used to.

I cooked a quick breakfast, and heading out before him, I took a chance and went in for a kiss.

And for the first time, in months, my husband actually kissed me back.

Walking out of the front door, I greeted the morning sun with a smile.

Immediately I became relaxed.

I felt as though a hundred-pound weight had instantly been lifted off of my shoulders.

Finally, I was able to breathe. I smiled as I drove towards the office, knowing that the best part of my day was about to begin.

I was a therapist, a psychologist to be exact. And to me, there was nothing better, more fulfilling than helping people in their times of despair.

I’d somewhat followed in my mother’s footsteps, and it was the best decision that I’d ever made. I remember her coming in from work, smiling and always full of so much joy.

She worked long hours, but I never heard her complain, not even once.

I admired her for her hard work and dedication to helping others, and it wasn’t long before I figured out that helping other people gave me the same satisfaction.

But unlike my mother, I didn’t pursue marriage counseling or couple’s therapy. I preferred the one on one interaction. I would help a husband or a wife individually, but I craved a special connection with each and every one of my patients.

I wanted to connect with them. I wanted to get to know them. And I allowed them to know a little about me during the process.

In order to help them, they had to trust me. And I was damn good at getting them to do just that. I took pride in saying that I was one of the best. I was one of the best in the city, in the state, and according to the recent reports and news broadcast, maybe even the world.

There wasn’t a patient that I couldn’t fix.

I was sure of it, and so far, I hadn't been proven wrong.

Actors, athletes, regular people and even other psychologists with their own problems, all came to see me.

And who could blame them?

I could talk anyone off of a ledge and depression didn’t stand a chance against my words and my methods.

It was all about mind manipulation and getting others to see things about themselves that were there the whole time.

I cured years of depression in just a matter of months.

I was just that good.

Well, some patients needed a little longer than that, depending on the issue.

But the point of the matter is that I always got the job done.

And I was always striving to be better.

Some would say that I was consumed with work.

They were probably right.

Some even said that I seemed to be a little obsessed with my patients. And maybe I was, but I was fine with that.

Joel complained so much about my job, but I’d learned to ignore him. He hated that I worked so much but sometimes an eight-hour work day just wasn’t long enough.

I had some big shoes to fill, and I didn’t plan on letting anyone down, anytime soon. Everyone wanted to know my secret. But my secret wasn’t really that big of a secret at all. My secret to success rested on one simple fact: I was a good listener.

My mother always told me that the key to any good therapist, counselor, or psychologist in my case, was to master the skill of listening. Hearing the patient’s problems was one thing. But actually listening to them was another.

Most therapist would say that they had this skill, but truth be told they didn’t.

It took patience. It took practice.

I didn’t listen to diagnosis them. I didn’t listen to give them an answer that I’d learned in school or in a textbook. I didn’t listen to have an expert, professional response that was going to make them feel like they were getting a whole lot of bang for their bucks.

No.

I actually listened to hear them.

I heard every single detail, and every single word that they said; whether they said it out of their mouths or with their bodies instead. I worked overtime to find the root of the problem so that I could address it, get to know it, and then get rid of it. And needless to say, my mother’s tip had been absolutely right, and it had brought me more success in my career than I’d ever imagined.

Whether it was matters of the mind or matters of the heart, I could fix it. I could fix anyone.

Arriving at work, I looked around.

I was still curious as to who had been lurking in the shadows the night before.

“Good Morning Hannah. Your eight-thirty is already here,” my assistant and one of my closest friends, Summer, greeted me.

Summer had been working for me for the past few years. She had been searching for a job for a while when she’d come my way, but immediately we connected and despite some trouble in her past, she had been doing an amazing job. I depended on her for so much, and she always delivered. She was also reliable, honest, and she just made everything easier.

But her great work ethic wasn’t the only good thing about her.

Summer had the personality to die for. She was fun, single and every bit of sexy. She was like a happily ever after, and a “to be continued” all rolled up into one.

The best of both worlds.

And I was proud to say that she was also my friend.

“Okay, give me ten minutes and then send her in. Oh and send out a mass e-mail and put the security guard suggestion back on the table. I think it would be a really good investment.”

I shared an office space with four other licensed psychologists, all specializing in different areas.

But I didn’t limit myself. I tackled everything. You couldn’t be the best with limitations.

Moments later, I took a deep breath, placed on a painted smile and I headed to my office door to greet my first client of the day. After talking with her for only a few minutes, the conversation went in an unexpected direction.

“Dr. Lewis, I just want to say thank you. You’ve helped me get my life back, and I couldn’t thank you enough. Words can’t express how much I appreciate you. But I came here today to tell you that I don’t need you anymore.”

I smiled.

I never rushed a patient to heal.

I allowed them all to leave when they were ready.

No matter how many folks were on my waiting list, and no matter if I felt that they no longer needed my services.

I never suggested to them to stop coming.

I’d learned to trust the process, and so far, so good.

My patient, Mrs. Whiteside, didn’t bother to stay for the remainder of her session.

After a few more minutes of conversation, we said our final goodbyes.

I’d never had a patient return to therapy, ever, so I was sure that this was the last time that I would see her inside of my office.

She was healed.

Another job well done Hannah
.

“Summer, can you bring in the list of people waiting for me to have an opening? One just became available; for three days a week. And I need you to clear Mrs. Whiteside from my calendar. She won’t be coming back anymore. Archive her file under the Depression folder. Thanks.”

I internally praised myself and I smiled as I talked to parents from my heart, all the way up to Heaven.

My mother died from breast cancer. Amazingly, she’d saved hundreds of marriages, so many people, but in the end, she hadn't been able to save herself. Soon after her death, my father died from cancer as well. Lung cancer caused from his years of smoking. I swore that I would never pick up a cigarette or such a bad habit, but here lately, I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off of them.

But the sudden reminder caused me to vow that I wouldn’t end up the same way that he had. Neither of them had been gone all that long, but I missed their presence more than I could put into words.

Every memory that I had of them was a good, positive one, and I was so thankful to have such great role models to mold me into the person that I was today.

Coming to, I noticed that Summer hadn’t made it in with the list yet. Just as I was about to give her a buzz, she stormed into my office, but she wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Lewis, I tried to stop him,” Summer said in frustration.

Her cheeks were a rosy red as she looked at the impeccably dressed man with displeasure.

“It’s okay, do you have the list?”

She reached it to me.

I glanced again at the silent stranger and nodded Summer in the direction of the door.

Once she closed it, I spoke to him.

“How can I help you?”

I motioned for him to take a seat.

I had about forty-five minutes to spare before my next patient was scheduled to arrive and I figured that if he’d felt the need to burst into my office, unannounced, then it must be important. Without answering my question, he took a seat in front of me.

His silence was strange, overbearing, and it seemed to make the room feel small. I studied him.

Just from his body language, I could sense that he was tensed or unsure. I could also tell that he was uptight; which probably meant that he held things in until he was about to explode.

He was nervous. And he was in some kind of pain.

Yet, instead of looking down, or looking away, he looked firmly, directly into my eyes; which told me that he was bold, daring and maybe even a bit troubled.

And maybe he liked it. I opened my mouth to repeat my question, but he spoke instead.

“I need your help.”

Of course, he did.

Why else would he be here if he didn’t?

He had my full attention.

I listened to his breathing pattern.

I even listened to the tapping of his nervous foot.

“How can I help you?”

He stared at me a little while longer and then he stood up once his phone started to ring.

Instead of answering my question, he pulled out his wallet and sat a card on my desk.

“I need your help,” he repeated and with that he turned his back to me, answered his phone, and headed out of my office.

I was unsure of what to think of his performance.

I hated to look at my patients or future patients like they were projects, but he was definitely a person that I wanted to have as a patient so that I could pick his brain apart and see what was going on with him.

I could tell that he wouldn’t be an easy fix.

But I was always up for a challenge.

I grabbed the card and headed for Summer.

I guess now I knew who I was going to give that open spot to.

~***~

“Still no answer?”

“Nope.”

Summer joined me in my office.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Why do you think something is wrong with me?”