November 16, 2014 - 22:52
Mental Health at Bryn Mawr
A Series of Listening Conversations
Nkechi Amelia Abby Rebecca Sula Bridget
Our Process
Each of us had a one-on-one conversation with a person outside of the group. In our private conversations, we used the techniques learned from Monsoon and Benaifer to listen to stories that people had involving their experiences with mental health at Bryn Mawr. After listening, we gathered as a group and shared their stories from a third person point of view. Before speaking, we cleared the space and listed what kept us from being fully present listeners. We also set guidelines for our conversation based on what we learned from the Two Women Talking workshop. We were initially going to separate emotions from the storytelling, but that proved to be impossible because of the content of theconversation and we felt it did not do the stories justice. Throughout the conversation we used Benaifer and Monsoon’s technique of pausing and silently reflecting after each story. We shared stories depending on the tone and content of the one before and it flowed naturally. After we shared others’ stories, we moved onto sharing our experiences with mental health at school and our interactions with the Health Center. The dynamic of the conversation changed after we began telling our own stories. There was much more vulnerability speaking from our own lives. Knowing that we could not write a cohesive response as a group that would reflect on each of our personal experiences in the conversation, we chose instead to individually write reflections in response to one another’s--much like a webby post.
Sula
The listening conversation we held yesterday was far more emotionally draining than I expected. When we gathered in my room, there were five of us, and after a few minutes, one person had to leave for work. Not knowing how vulnerable we would all become, we invited the fifth person to rejoin us when she finished her shift. What I discovered when she returned was that this additional presence (even though we knew her well) felt violating. I no longer felt comfortable sharing stories that were as deep as those I had already shared, and I was hesitant to speak at all. Logically, this made little sense to me, but I understood that the shape of the space had been changed—the three others in the space had filled their bowls with my stories and had figured out what of their own to share based on my contributions (and vice versa), while the fifth contributor was starting her bowl from scratch when she entered the room. I felt too vulnerable at this point to be accommodating, or to try to catch the fifth member up on what had occurred in the space before she had arrived.
As far as the conversation itself went, we quickly came to an agreement that we would give up on the “no feelings” rule imposed by Monsoon and Benaifer. One of our original group questions had asked how we could continue to use this rule when mental health is so often expressed through feelings, rather than through something physical, or an event. I quickly came to realize that there didn’t have to be a way to use the rule—we had the power to change the rules of space if we all agreed on them. Sharing a story that was both factually descriptive and inclusive of my feelings felt more liberating than the same story, feelings-free, would have. This rule was particularly applicable in the case of the outside stories that we brought in, because for these, we were speaking on a event that we ourselves had never experienced. My partner had not painted a perfectly detailed picture of the events that occurred for her, but she had voiced how difficult they had been, and I had to mirror this in repeating the story in the larger group. I felt that the inclusion of outside Mawrtyrs was valuable, in that it provided additional experiences free from the disability studies framework we have been operating under for much of the semester.
Of course, I experienced an internal conflict around the basic idea of representing another person in a process that is so much about representing yourself and becoming empowered as a result. The space I had shared with my partner in the first stage of the process was an intimate one, and I couldn’t say whether the same story would have come out, had we been sitting in a less personal space with more people (such as the space we used for the second conversation). Still, I understood the value of the space that we had spent months creating, amongst the 360 members. We had ground rules that were understood and established not just in the space that day, but in the relationship we had formed since the beginning of the semester. Though we shared others’ stories in a way that could have easily turned into something like harsh gossiping, we had established rules that turned that sharing into something much more than that.
Although each of the stories I had the opportunity to experience was deeply meaningful and troubling in its own way, what is staying with me the most from the group conversation was the collection of silences we gathered by the time we dispersed. Monsoon and Benaifer had expressed several times the importance of pausing after a story, taking it in, and resisting the urge to react vocally. Though we did not set this rule up at the beginning of our conversation, I found that it came to us very naturally--we sometimes spent over a minute between stories, and I deeply appreciated this. The silence was truly a pause--not an awkward space between two stories or an anticipation of a story to come. It was a way of respecting what had just been shared, a chance to truly sit with something. I would love to see that more integrated into conversation in and out of Bryn Mawr.
Abby
I would like to echo Sula’s sentiment about how ill-at-ease I felt when the fifth person joined us. Looking back, people came and went during the Two Women Talking workshop when we were all in a large group, and I noticed then what Monsoon and Benaifer were worried about with changing the space. Although our group was large, the energy was noticeably altered and it felt uncomfortable to have people leaving and coming like they did. However I was very acutely aware of the impact people’s presence (or lack thereof) can have on a smaller group when we met up to have our small conversation. Since the group was so small, it was jarring to have one of our members return after being absent for most of our sharing. There was no way that the mood could have been maintained with such a drastic alteration and I was surprised at how much it affected the conversation.
The partner I asked to tell a story is a close friend of mine, and although I had already heard her narrative before it was a completely different experience listening to her using the techniques we learned at the workshop. Also, hearing her story told in one sitting as opposed to bits and pieces like I had heard before had a powerful impact on me. I feel more connected to my friend now through her telling. I was relieved when we decided to include emotions in our telling, because I don’t think I could have shared her story from an objective standpoint (and it would have felt wrong to do so and I could not have done it justice that way).
Again, I would like to agree with Sula that I felt empowered listening and sharing others’ stories in conjunction with my own. I think it helped me realize that I was not alone with my own struggles, and also like we were giving testimony to our peers’/friends’ experiences too. Instead of being gossipy, it was like we were honoring their stories.
Rebecca
Living somewhat off campus this year has allowed me to adopt a different perspective of Bryn Mawr as a whole, and especially how it has affected my mental health and that of the people around me. With a distinct line between my living space and the space in which I work and listen to lectures, I have more time for reflection in the space in between. One thing I have noticed about where I am now living and eating my meals is that stress seems to dissolve on the way back home from campus. Before this year, I felt constantly engulfed in stress at meals, between classes, and in the dorms at night. Any conversation seemed to devolve into a game of misery poker or some expression of guilt for being distracted from work. Further, this 360 and the critical issues we have discussed within it, aided by Monsoon and Benaifer’s gift of improved listening, have allowed me to take a step back and feel present when I am on campus in order to engage and observe.
My personal listening conversation revealed a lot about the sacrifices Bryn Mawr students make and are expected to make for their work. My storyteller reflected that there is little visible disability on campus, yet it’s striking how many people suffer from disabilities they are expected to overcome for the sake of academic rigor. A lot of these motivations seem to be cultural, related to a kind of protestant ethic and driven by an obsession with success, but they have uniquely manifested at Bryn Mawr. My storyteller went through the process of a Bryn Mawr student’s academic life. Each student comes into a new independence in college and struggles with asking for help to build the resources needed for adjusting to this new situation. Many students get into unhealthy behavior patterns that could involve self medication (especially smoking and drinking) and altogether feeling guilty for spending time away from work. Others find their stride in being constantly engaged in one activity or another. The latter option can be positive, but it frequently seems to drain students and stress them out more.
This exercise has enabled me to realize that some of my favorite listening moments are the silences between conversations. Attending Quaker meeting this morning, I thought critically about the lack of silence on Bryn Mawr’s campus. This kind of silence requires self reflection (in a way that is not an exercise for class), room for breathing and taking note of one’s own situation and that of those around us. I remembered how uncomfortable we all were during Monsoon and Benaifer’s silent thinking communication in parallel lines and was thankful for that opportunity to challenge myself and the climate of the Bryn Mawr community.
Bridget
As Sula and Abby have alluded to, I had to leave right at the beginning of our conversation (around when we were sharing our intentions) for work and came back after my shift. In doing so I was removed from their space, and it frankly felt intrusive and disrespectful to reenter, to insert myself into an intimate listening conversation an hour in, when the space I’d cleared before for the conversation had been refilled, where my metaphorical basket had shrunk whereas theirs were already filled with each other’s stories. I felt out of place, an outsider. It wasn’t until someone else vocalized her discomfort and I was encouraged to share that I was able to tune back in at least a bit, to try to seek out the space they were in. I was also relieved to know that I wasn’t the only one feeling like I was out of place, strange though that may sound. In many ways, it was reassuring to realize that our listening conversations really do draw us in that strongly—that there is so little room for coming and going, and that, once we are a part of them, we wholly commit every part of ourselves to the space. After sharing, I felt more connected to the vulnerability and sensitivity of the conversation, and was able to better open my 'basket' back up and listen to the remaining stories being shared (although I know that I experienced the remainder very differently than my other group members, and even what I was experiencing was a different dynamic than the one prior to my reentry). The conversation had a flow already that I gradually tuned back into, but by the end I still had yet to arrive at the space I was at for my one-on-one listening conversation as well as the original session with Monsoon and Benaifer. I regret this. I regret it a lot. I am sorry to my group for disrupting the conversation, although I know we didn't realize at the start what would happen. I regret disrupting the safety and monopolizing the vulnerability of an intimate conversation and being absent from an important conversation. I regret not thinking ahead to consider more carefully if I should go back--I was more focused on being physically present for the sake of our group event rather than considering that event as what it actually was--a delicate listening conversation. I wish I could have been a part of the conversation, that I could have heard their stories and shared my own and shared more about my one-on-one conversation, since it had such a profound impact on both me and my partner. But if nothing else, this was a learning experience: learning from hurting others, learning from being present, learning from being absent, learning from listening.
Amelia
Our listening conversation was intensely emotional to say the least. We created a space that allowed for safe vulnerability by using some of the tools we learned in the Two Women Talking workshop. We took the necessary time before starting our stories to talk about how we wanted our conversation to be structured which lead to a comfortable and connected sharing experience. Clearing the space and setting our intentions also helped me to get back to the mental space of the workshop. I suppose it doesn’t really need to be said again, but having one of our group members leave the circle and reenter was disruptive and shifted the dynamics of the group. We had come to an understanding of each other’s levels of comfort, and we discovered patterns and connections between the stories we were sharing, but once a new person was added to the mix, it felt disjointed and uncomfortable. There was simply no way to catch her up on what had happened to make her feel like an included part of the circle. I could feel her hesitation to share, which is completely understandable, but it really did hinder the process of healing through storytelling. After a few minutes of discomfort, I voiced my feelings about the altered energy of the room and encouraged others to do the same. While addressing it helped to ease some of the tension, it couldn’t fix the problem. I could see that it was difficult for bridgetmartha to want to share and participate but not know how to because it was clear that we had already gotten to a place of emotional connection and exhaustion. We wanted her to be there for the whole time, but because she couldn’t be, there was guilt all around for not being able to participate fully and for not being completely open and welcoming to her. Neither source of guilt was malicious or intentional, but I don’t think it could have been avoided. I wish we hadn’t had that disruption, but I do think we can learn from it. Being fully present and making sure everyone is on the same page when it comes to delicate conversations like the one we had is crucial for making safe spaces for listeners and storytellers.
When I was the storyteller, I was amazed at how good it felt to be listened to. In the past when I’ve told the story I spoke yesterday, the reactions of pity and advice I’ve gotten have made it feel almost not worth telling to begin with. To retell a difficult story is already exhausting, but to then also be forced to mediate my relationship with my listener when it’s clear that they aren’t really listening or they’re trying to tell me what to do to fix something is even harder. In our listening conversation we didn’t react verbally to each other’s stories, and we allowed for a few moments of silence before the next person spoke. That space let us breathe and think and take it all in without pressure to respond immediately. It felt completely respectful and supportive.
Nkechi
When I did the listening conversation with my partner, I was very worried that I wouldn’t be able to recreate the experience that we all had with Monsoon and Benaifer. For me, and I know for a lot of us, that experience was incredibly rewarding, and has changed the way I have conversations, and listen to my friends. Very quickly into the conversation, though, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to give someone that same experience through the small amount of time we had, and because I couldn’t explain to them how to do it as well as Monsoon or Benaifer. I did, however, get the chance to hear some really interesting and devastating stories that made me look at my partner, who is a really good friend, in a different light. At the end of the conversation, she said she wished she could have conversations like those with her other friends. I too wish we had more of those conversations.
Once we started the listening conversation, I was surprised by how quickly we moved from told stories to personal stories. Within the first round, we were sharing personal experiences because of how they related to the story that came before. As said before, when the fifth contributor came into the room, the dynamic instantly shifted. I tried to express the feeling I was having, but in some ways, I would never be able to tell her how that had happened had affected all of us. Personal sharing seemed less appropriate, less safe, and the conversation ended shortly after that. I was disappointed afterwards because of how cathartic the experience had been up until that point.
I feel really lucky to have had the Two Women Talking workshop experience, and I’m excited to continue using the skills in future conversations. I feel closer to the people in my group because of this, but also, I feel closer to the partner that told me their story.