A small steam room at the local YMCA might be an odd place for an informal counseling session, but there’s something about the hazy, quiet atmosphere that helps people relax and open up.   

People talk. I listen. That’s what I do.  

Invitations

Hansel and Gretel tells the story of a brother and a sister lost in the woods. Gretel is clever and leaves a trail of breadcrumbs to mark the way home. What she didn’t know was that crumbs aren’t just bits of bread or crackers. Crumbs can also be an invitation.  

Unfortunately for the children, the birds did what birds do. They gobbled up the crumbs as fast as they were laid down! 

Have you ever sat and fed pigeons at a park? At first, birds will watch from a distance. Toss a few crumbs for a single bird and suddenly the whole flock descends. Any movement will scare them back to their safe spot, but they continue to watch and hope for more. 

The crumbs are an invitation for the birds to come and engage. They are a form of communication.  

Crumbs come in other forms too. 

Steam Room Conversations

After my water exercise class, everybody heads for the steam room to warm up after being in the cold pool. We say that’s our reason, but it’s really a time to gather and share before we step back into the cold world of everyday life.   

Sometimes I stay a bit longer in the steam. These brief moments of solitude give me a minute to say a little prayer or simply plan my day.  

On this day, a large, muscular man sat in the steam room. Not too close and not too far away. The steam dissipated and details emerged. He was a very fit man in his 70s. 

I was just about to leave when he arrived. A conversation quickly began. As I mentioned, people talk, and I listen. 

The man, John, said he retired as an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT). He told me about the deep slump that followed his retirement. It was tough, but his wife and friends didn’t let him give up.  

Now, he was on a mission to help other EMTs suffering from the trauma they see and feel daily. 

He was focused on his training for a bicycle fundraiser for military dogs. 

As I began asking more questions, the heat hit me. My body reached its limit, and I needed to leave. I gave a quick goodbye and left. The sharp, cool air around the pool provided instant relief.  

A sip of cool water restored me a bit, but another part of me didn’t feel quite right. Somehow the conversation with John didn’t exactly feel finished.  

The unfinished conversation nagged me throughout the day. I repeatedly ran it over in my mind. Why did it feel so incomplete? 

Deeper Signals

The answer came that evening as I sliced crumbly cornbread for dinner.  

John dropped crumbs for me. Those crumbs were words slipped into the seemingly normal conversation. They reflected a need to speak of something deeper. The words “depression,” “trauma,” “mission,” and “SEALS” … had he been a Navy SEAL? 

I thought of the few patients over the years who trusted me with memories of near-death experiences. They had a need to tell their tale and process it, a need to understand their experience. These were life-changing events not to be trusted to just anyone. Could they trust me with their story?   

For one patient, the crumb was an offhand remark about an out of body experience, seeing himself lying in the hospital bed, I encouraged him to continue. “Then I heard a sound that was green.”  

I passed this patient’s loyalty test. He went on sharing his experience. He was given a choice to stay over on the other side or return to fight his way back to health. The thought of the special-ed students he taught instantly brought him back into his very sick body.  

Love. Love brought him back. Love was the thread weaving through the stories of return and recovery that were shared with me. 

Deeper Connection

A listening study I led with critical care nurses showed us that when you listen, really listen, deep things happen. 

Deep listening leads to connection. Connection leads to transformation.  

What is transformation? Change. Maybe it’s a quiet rumble. Maybe it’s a massive, tectonic shake. Either way, it’s a noticeable shift. 

That’s why listening is so important. Change can happen for you as the listener and for the individual telling their story.  

To the man in the steam room, I apologize. You wanted to trust me with your story, and I let you down. I was getting too hot. I couldn’t stay any longer.  

I had hoped to see you again, but I haven’t. Those moments of trust and openness are so delicate and precious that they rarely occur twice.  

So, when somebody tosses you a crumb, grab it. Accept this incredible gift of connection. That’s what’s important. That’s why we do what we do. It’s all about love.  

That man in the steam room gave me a gift. I wasn’t there for him. He was there for me. I needed to remember how important something as simple as a crumb can be. 

Because people talk, I listen. That’s what I do, and you can too.