The Art of Being There and Listening

Posted on September 23, 2025 by Robert Cabin PhD, One of Thousands of Life Coaches on Noomii.

Bearing Witness
I watched another adult sob uncontrollably on the couch. The room was silent. No one looked away.

I had never seen anything like this. A steady procession of successful, high-functioning adults crying their eyes out. Heck, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen an adult cry.

I had expected something very different when I signed up for this five-day retreat. Silent meditation, silent meals, silent chores. The usual.

Not this retreat.

Each day did in fact start with about a half hour of silent meditation. Then Sandra, the leader of the retreat, would start talking about whatever was in her heart:

The art of being there and listening.
Acknowledgement of the creaturely body.
The role of sovereignty in taking selflessness into embodied action.
How to let your understanding migrate from glimpses of truth into lived wisdom.

I sat there each morning on my cushion, back straight, legs crossed, eyes closed. Her voice was gentle, compassionate, and hypnotic. It all made perfect sense and no sense at all, like a song in another language or a painting that moves you even though you can’t explain why.

After she finished speaking, Sandra would invite anyone so moved to come up and sit with her on the couch, which she christened “The Love Boat,” and do whatever they wanted to. Talk about anything, or nothing. Hide under a blanket. Get a hug, or a fist bump. Curl up with your head on her lap like a child.

At first, almost no one wanted to go up there. By the end of the retreat, everyone did.

Sandra radiated warmth, total acceptance, and above all, love and kindness. She had no agenda, dogma, or quick-fix solutions–she detested what she called “drive-by spirituality.” But she had an almost superhuman ability to understand and connect with everyone. If someone was nervous, or struggling to get the words out, she might encourage them to just sit there and close their eyes and feel their body and breathe. Occasionally she offered a few suggestions, or if someone was totally frozen, she might ask something like “Does it feel like…?” or “Is it like you want this but that keeps happening…?” Invariably she was spot on. Sometimes she told humbling stories about her own “Dark Night of the Soul” period which had brought her to her knees and dragged on for years.

While everyone’s story was unique, the common denominator was suffering: Trauma. Tragedy. Grief. Guilt. Failure.

Some were crying even before they made it to the couch. Others just sat there or talked calmly until, often without warning, the dam broke and the tears flowed. Some cycled between crying, laughing, cursing, and back to crying. A few cried the entire time and never spoke a single word.

Through it all, Sandra somehow managed to be 100% present and empathetic, yet not absorb any of the darkness. In the space of a few minutes, she could be as reverent as a yoga teacher, curse like a sailor, and as zany as a slapstick comedian.

The rest of the 25 or so of us sat in complete silence, bearing witness. Sometimes, such as when people said things like they felt that everyone judged them, or that nobody liked or accepted or understood them, or that they couldn’t feel any love and compassion from others, Sandra would ask them to turn and look out at the rest of us and tell her what they saw.

A Protective Cocoon
On the first day of the retreat, Sandra explained the critical importance for us to never talk about anything that happened on the couch to anyone, during or after the retreat, in a specific, individualized way. No matter how well-intentioned, we were never to go up to someone and say “I was really moved by what you said about…” or “My dad also did things like that…”, let alone offer advice or condolences.

So when we passed each other walking around the retreat center, gathered for meals, and did our chores, we had quite conventional, often light-hearted conversations. Everyone came across as your average stable, well-adjusted, regular person.

On the final night, we had a kind of open mic session. People sang and danced and played music and recited poetry as if they didn’t have a care in the world. If I hadn’t just witnessed it myself, I would never have had any inkling of the deep pain these people carried around inside.

My Turn
During the first few days, I told myself there was no reason for me to board the Love Boat. But I ultimately decided that would be chickening out. And it wouldn’t be fair to the others.

When I finally summoned enough courage to raise my hand. Sandra pointed to me and smiled. I stood up slowly, shuffled nervously up to the front of the room with heavy feet, and plopped myself down on the couch. I had no idea what I was going to say.

Up close, she was even kinder and more loving than she appeared from my cushion. She had an incredible presence, yet was also completely authentic and down-to-earth. There was no “I am the guru” vibe. Maintaining eye contact with her was comfortable and reassuring.

“Take your time,” she said gently. “Breathe. No rush.”

I took a few deep breaths, opened my eyes, and began.

I told her I felt some major survivor’s guilt. That I was embarrassed to admit that I was actually quite happy and healthy. My family was happy and healthy. I wasn’t struggling with any past or present trauma, wasn’t carrying around any deep repressed pain, and had neither the desire nor ability to cry. My biggest complaint was that life felt like it was flying by too quickly.

“Well,” she said joyfully, “Yea! There is no obligation or expectation to cry.”

I could see that she understood and knew that I wasn’t bullshitting or deluded or afraid or ashamed to cry.

“So why are you here?”

Good question.

I took another deep breath. I said that I was looking for clarity. I explained that since leaving academia a few years ago and reclaiming my own life, I have been helping others build resilience and reclaim theirs. I love this work, and believe I am making a real difference.

But, I confessed, I’ve become very good at living inside my own happy little bubble. I increasingly skip the heart breaking news: Gaza, Ukraine, climate change, racism, child abuse, Trump. I avoid violent and depressing movies, books, and podcasts. I tell myself that when I was a much more informed citizen, my mental health suffered, and if anything I was probably doing less good then than I am now. Yet I still often feel like I could and should be doing more to help reduce the staggering amount of pain and suffering and injustice in the rest of the world. But how best to attempt to do this wasn’t clear.

I finished by revealing that I had no idea what I was in for when I signed up for this retreat. Witnessing all this pain and suffering had been a bubble-bursting, excruciating experience.

“Maybe,” Sandra said softly, almost whispering, “You ended up here for a reason.”

She went on to suggest that the first step towards finding our “true work” might be to fully accept not-knowing. Then we can open up, soften, and be receptive to the possibility that each of us might be here on this planet to do something beautiful. Once again her words rang true, and I had no idea what they actually meant or how to put them into action.

Two Take-Home Lessons
One month later, I’m still unpacking it all. But two insights have emerged.

First, there is way more pain and suffering all around me than I realized. So now, when I encounter some seemingly well-off, successful person who is being difficult, or despondent, or dysfunctional, I find myself wondering what they may have endured, and what’s on their plate now. Perhaps they were neglected as a child and believe they are unlovable. Maybe they had to give up their baby for adoption when they were 16. Or their brother just committed suicide. Or their soul mate has dementia.

Second, just fully being there and truly listening may be the kindest and most helpful thing we can do for someone. At least at first, people in pain don’t want or need our advice, opinions, solutions, pity, or comfort.

Ironically, as I was sharing these insights with someone I recently met, he kept asking more follow-up questions. Finally, I asked him why he was so curious about all this (if the situation had been reversed, I would have tried to change the subject after about 15 seconds!).

“Because,” he blurted out, “ I want to attend her next retreat!”

“But,” I replied incredulously, “you’ve had this incredibly successful life–ivy league education, rapid rise up the corporate ladder, tons of money…”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “and I’ve secretly limped along bleeding inside through all of that.”

He then proceeded to tell me about his horrific childhood and the incredible pain and suffering he had endured in his adult life and passed along to his children, all of whom had attempted suicide at least once. He was finally starting to turn things around now, and telling me his true story, which he said almost no one else knew, was part of his healing process.

I’ve always thought of myself as a good listener. But since the retreat I’ve been working on taking the art of being there and listening to a higher, deeper, more authentic level. Like so many other things worth doing, it’s much easier said than done.

Just the other day, while running with my teenage daughter, I told her about these two insights, and what I’ve been practicing since coming back from this retreat. She listened and nodded, then gave me one of her “duh, dad!” looks that said “you had to go on a five day retreat to figure that out?”

A few minutes later, near the end of our run, she started to tire and get down on herself. “How did I ever do that half marathon last year ?” she almost sobbed, panting. “I think I’ve gone backwards since then; I can barely run 5 miles now. Maybe I should just give up, and you should run the half marathon by yourself this year.”

“No!” I interjected. “You totally got this! You just have to ramp things up again. Remember, you were running a lot more often last year, and you were following that training program that had you… ”. Then I caught myself.

“Wow,” I said as we slowed to a stop, “even though I literally just finished telling you about the importance of just being there and listening, I immediately jumped right back into my cheerleader/problem solver mode there, didn’t I? Next time, I promise, I’m really going to just be there with you and listen, ok?”

She looked at me and smiled. “OK,” she said. “That sounds nice.”