I had thought to myself many times, “You should throw away that rubber ducky. It’s small enough to go right down the drain.”

Mr. Rooter just left.

Why didn’t I act on my intuition last week when we bought the new duckie set? Why not put the rubber ducky in the sand box or the trash like the small voice insisted?

We all have that small voice that can be our best friend—and for parents, that small voice is especially important. It keeps us from letting our kids get into dangerous spaces. It saves us money (I now have a $250 rubber duckie swimming in my septic field). And it honors our own wisdom—the things no how-to book can ever teach us.

I have been actively trying to turn up the volume on my inner voice, and in so doing I think I have discovered some of the reasons we tune it out. I’ve found a few things that have worked. And I have found that as with most things, it allows me to be a better parent and hopefully instill in my child the ability to be a better listener to that small voice.

Why We Don’t Listen to Our Inner Voice
In some ways, it’s not surprising that we ignore our inner voice. We’ve been trained that way. Chances are your mother at some time made you hug or kiss a relative when you didn’t want to. Or made you apologize when you weren’t really sorry.

Such forced acts, though they groom us to be socially appropriate, also train us to override our inner sense of knowing. They detract from our ability to determine for ourselves what we want or need to do.

Another reason we ignore our inner voice: exhaustion. And most parents I know are pretty tired if not overwhelmed. Last week, I ran into my hair dresser on the street and made an appointment to meet. For six days I told myself, “You should call and confirm,” but her number was never handy at an appropriate time, or if it were, I felt too busy or preoccupied with my child to make the call.

I should have made the call. After all, I had to make the call to my parents to set up a fairly elaborate scheduling plan that allowed me to have an hour to go to the haircut. But I didn’t listen to the voice. I didn’t call. And she didn’t show up. In the end, we both apologized for making assumptions, but the bottom line is I have shaggy hair for the next three weeks till I can make another appointment.

Turning Up the Volume On Your Inner Voice
Though we may be exhausted and predisposed to ignoring our inner voices, there are some things we can do to help ourselves pay attention to our intuition. Let’s look at three concepts:

1) Practice listening to other people.

When other people talk, are you distracted? Are you focusing on their words or on your to-do list? I know I am often guilty of this with my son … I will be doing dishes or balancing the checkbook or gardening when he comes to tell me something about his trains. And instead of looking him in the eye and turning toward him, I mumble “Oh really” with feigned interest and continue with the task at hand.

Here’s an exercise. Next time you’re at the post office or your job or with your train-story-telling toddler, try to give the speaker your full attention, even if it is only for two minutes. This practice, perhaps because it requires conscious listening, can translate to the way that we listen to ourselves.

2) Reflect.

When something does go wrong, like a rubber duckie down the drain, take a few breaths before you respond to the situation. Try to not beat yourself up. I can’t imagine that inner voice likes a whipping. Instead, say, “I’m learning,” and think about how next time you will honor that voice.

In order to reflect better, silence is darn nice. How often do you afford yourself silence? I am not one for straight meditation, but I don’t have a television, so it isn’t constantly blaring in the background. I often drive with the radio off. I walk without a walkman. This allows for a centering and a time to enjoy that inner silence out of which the inner voice rises.

3) Be here, be here, be here.

Give each act your full attention. Multitasking mutes the voice. It’s like static. With so many other commands barking, how is a person supposed to hear the quiet little bleat of the inner voice, much less pay attention to it?

I fail at this one. I am a queen multitasker, as most mothers are. But if we can’t give something our full attention, at least we can change the way we focus. The word focus comes from the Latin word for fireplace or hearth. It suggests the center of a room, warmth and light, the lifeline of a family. Focus is the art of making each act intentional, and intentionality is what allows us to make good choices. It allows us to honor the voice when it says, “You need to put the scissors up high so your son doesn’t play with them.”

Passing on Good Inner Listening Skills
In just a few days of conscious thinking, I have already improved my internal listener. For instance, when I watered the hydrangea I just placed on the good walnut table, my small voice said, “You would be really sad if you didn’t put a plate under that plant and the water leaked out and stained the table.” Instead of my usual mumbling, “Oh really,” I stopped in my rush to get out of the house, found a plate and put it under the plant. Refinish avoided.

And I have been talking about the process with my three-year-old boy. When I tell him stories this week, I make him the hero and have the hero hear his inner voice. The story goes something like this:

Many times now we’ve talked over how the duckie incident could have been avoided if only Mommy had listened to her intuition and put the baby duckie in the sand box instead of the tub.

“Mommy, you should have put it in the trash,” he says to me yesterday.

“Yes,” I say. “I should have listened to that little voice in my head that told me to do that.”

“But you didn’t,” he says in a quiet lament. Oh the heart flutters.

We learn best from our own mistakes. For me, the $250 consequence was a tough sticker price for learning to pay attention better. But through talking, in just three days, my boy shows a heightened awareness for listening to his own small voice.

This morning, he came to me in the kitchen while I was making his lunch. “I knew that would happen.” I stopped spreading peanut butter and looked at him. He had just been scratched by the cat. No surprise. He was sitting on her.

“You knew what would happen and you did it anyway?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like mommy knowing not to put the duckie in the tub,” I say.

“Yeah.” And then he’s off, chasing the cat with his blue steam engine and she rears up to scratch him again.

Sometimes, we’re listening. Sometimes, we get the chance to learn again. And again.