Lately, I’ve been hearing all sorts of things. “Are you Lifelining me?” — from my daughter. “Are you mmm hmming me?” — from my sister, when micro-encouragers have slipped into our conversations. I heard my mum ask someone, “On a scale of 1 to 10, how ready do you feel to make that change?” I had to smile—she’s using motivational interviewing techniques! It’s one of those quiet moments that reminds me how far psychological learning reaches — into conversations, relationships, even family dynamics.

What I’m hearing most clearly is this: We’ve all changed. And at the heart of that shift is how we listen—to each other, and to ourselves. 

I used to feel safest observing from a distance. I was drawn to art conservation, where I could apply patience and focus to something silent and still. I felt like I could hear the paintings telling me what kind of care they needed. It was a quiet kind of listening. That quiet bubble burst when I became a mother—and then certainly as a teacher. I spent over a decade teaching, including senior psychology classes, and eventually I began formally studying psychology myself. For the first time in my life, I was studying not just to pass or get a degree, but to understand. Learning about learning was helping me—and my students. I started receiving heartfelt feedback from students. “Miss, you’re the only teacher who really gets me,” or “I actually feel calm in your class.” At first, I brushed those comments off as students hedging for good grades. But over time, I realised they were something more—they were my not-so-“micro” encouragers.

I could hear the future: psychology was calling me. It was time to dip my toes into the real world with Lifeline as my first steps. Now I was hearing something else—a phone ringing, and a person in crisis on the other end. I was hearing real need. I’ll never forget how daunted I felt the first time I answered that call. But once I listened — really listened —s omething shifted.

The skills I developed in PSYC421: Professional Practice 1 and PSYC423: Professional Practice 2 became central to my work with Lifeline and later as a Family Relationships Advisor at Relationships Australia. These units gave me practical training in building rapport, using open questions, reflecting, and maintaining ethical boundaries. At Lifeline, I learned to sit with callers in distress without rushing to solve. At Relationships Australia, I used those same foundations to support people navigating complex dynamics. The micro-skills I’d practised became tools I now use to create safe, non-judgemental space.

One of the most valuable aspects of phone-based support is that without visual cues or assumptions, I had to tune in more closely to what I could hear—tone, pauses, breath, the words spoken, and those held back. This kind of listening helped me build trust quickly, and connect more openly across age, culture, and socioeconomic background. It also made my early steps into counselling feel more culturally responsive. As my confidence grew, so did my opportunities. I received specialised training to support callers on the Gambling Helpline, the Elder Abuse Support Line, and the National Redress Scheme. Each role deepened my understanding of trauma, resilience, and the power of holding space-that is, being fully present and supportive – even when all I had was my voice.  

My work in gambling support has been strongly shaped by what I learned in PSYC314: Behaviour Modification: Learning Principles Applied. That unit introduced me to practical tools for understanding behaviour patterns—like reinforcement, extinction, and functional assessment—which I now use in conversations with clients. Helping people identify triggers, build alternative coping responses, and track behavioural progress has been a tangible way of turning academic knowledge into meaningful support. What began as theory in a lecture is now something I apply every day, supporting real change in people’s lives.

I didn’t always like what I was hearing, but I learned to meet it with empathy in a safe and grounded way. Discussions around suicide, trauma, or addiction were new to me and emotionally intense. Over time, I discovered that I could hear difficult things without losing myself in them. That skill has allowed me to go deeper in my relationships, too. Those close to me now feel safe sharing their emotions, because I’m no longer uncomfortable sitting with the emotions – or with the people feeling them.  I’m not rushing to fix, soften, or turn away.

I also found myself drawing on these skills to support a close friend whose mother chose to access voluntary assisted dying (VAD). I’d recently completed a short course that built on what I’d learned in university counselling and ethics units, and I was able to offer phone support to him during the lead-up. Eventually, I travelled to be with his mother in person. Because I was outside the immediate family, she felt comfortable talking openly—without judgement. I listened, asked gentle questions, and allowed space for her to explore conflicting feelings with someone who could hold it all. It was one of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had, and it reinforced for me how important non-directive, compassionate presence can be in end-of-life care.

Just as importantly, I’ve started listening to myself — my needs, limits, and when I need rest or space. I’ve learned that holding space for others doesn’t mean holding everything for them. Through my work, I’ve come to value healthy boundaries, supervision, and self-care. These practices keep me grounded and allow me to continue showing up with compassion, patience, and emotional clarity. Today, I work in the gambling support space, building longer-term therapeutic relationships with clients. Every role has built on the last—step by step, confidence by confidence. I’m hearing new things now: clients growing in strength, colleagues offering trust, and myself saying—I love what I do. I love this field, this study, this work.

Some say studying psychology changes you. If it means listening more deeply to others and yourself—then hear, hear.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash