The Mystery and the Magic: Engaging in Difficult Conversations Part I
On a languid Saturday morning in early August, I found myself unexpectedly invested in a nonsensical, mountain-out-of-a-molehill conflict between two reality TV stars. It wasn’t enough that the argument was about something petty, but attempts at reconciling were so disastrous that they only continued to fuel the conflict. I tried to think of examples of healthy conflict resolution in modern American reality TV. Nothing came to mind.
My time in quarantine, which seems to stretch on as far as the eye can see, has prompted me to revisit past ruptures in my relationships. Rather than hope that they might simply flatten and disappear with the ever-changing landscape as I sped past them, I’ve felt convicted to address them.
Unfortunately, as couples therapist Esther Perel asserts, in any healthy relationship, conflict is the rule rather than the exception. When conflict happens, it can feel dangerous to attempt a conversation, much less express the hurt caused. Instead, we tend to gravitate toward two extreme reactions. We either suppress our own wants and give in to the other person’s preferences and demands, or cut them off in an effort to distance and protect ourselves. Neither is desirable. The alternative to either extreme is to negotiate a path through the thorny, prickly needs of ourselves and the other person—a task that can feel impossibly chaotic at times. Take heart, however, that these efforts are not wasted. Studies show that regardless of the number of conflicts between people, if repair work is done and closeness is effectively re-established, relationships can continue to thrive. The question is how do we even begin to have difficult conversations that give us hope of a resolution?
(I do want to note that I am referring to general interpersonal conflict, and not relationships with a pattern of unhealthy behaviour or conflict due to larger, systemic issues.)
Google “relational conflict” and you’ll run into the name Brené Brown – renowned researcher, author and TED Talk therapist of this generation. Her book Rising Strong advocates for applying the most generous interpretation of another person’s intentions in any given situation. This suggests that before we can work to repair any ruptures, we must interpret and see the situation rightly, realizing that there is always more to the story than we know. Likewise, Michael Emlet, a Christian counsellor, offers three categories for conceptualizing human motives and actions. Rather than a binary - good or bad - view of the other, it is perhaps much more realistic to see the other as a saint, a sufferer and a sinner; all three simultaneously existing within one person.
We are all saints made in the image of our great creator to delight in him and bring him glory. We are sufferers because persecution and suffering - due to the actions of others, the brokenness of the world or our own wrongdoing - are guaranteed in this life. And, finally, we are sinners. Most notably when we are hurt, afraid or feel alone, we sin to protect ourselves. To see things rightly, we must consider all three aspects of the other and ourselves.
When we are in conflict, it is easy to simply see the other person as a sinner. How many times have we heard the words “narcissist” or “sociopath” being casually thrown around in the media today to pathologize a person’s actions? Much of the time, a person’s actions and reactions are as much a function of being a saint (who seeks love and acceptance) and a sufferer (who may have developed certain coping mechanisms) as they are a function of being a sinner. At some level, all behaviour makes sense, even if it might appear malicious or foolish in the moment.
Set aside the conflict for a second, and begin by having curiosity about the other person. Relational conflict is not primarily about who is right or wrong. It is the revelation of yet another layer of that person and ourselves. To truly understand a person is like attempting to faithfully paint a life-sized portrait of that person's whole self - saint, sufferer and sinner - in full colour. It is a slow process and each new piece of information is an additional brushstroke that renders the painting more life-like. There are no shortcuts, and assumptions or stereotypes are not helpful when aiming for truth.
Think about the family that the person comes from and his environment growing up. Does it seem like he generally trusts people, or does he operate from a place of caution? Was he raised to be dependent or to be wildly autonomous? Did she have to fight to be heard amongst her siblings or did she take on the role of an appeaser to a dominating parent? Has he always needed to present himself as competent? Was she often humiliated? Step back and look at the painting. It now contains details that illuminate the fact that this person comes from, and plays a role in, the deeply entrenched system that is their family. You have also added details to show the person’s gifts. Suddenly, we see with greater clarity the way God has made this person, and the skills she needed to survive, and even thrive, under challenging circumstances.
And what about ourselves? We easily claim our identities as saints and sufferers, while ignoring the fact that we are sinners too. When we turn those same questions on ourselves, do we find that we played particular roles in our families that we grew accustomed to, and ways of doing things that we have deemed as “normal” for everyone? Do our own fears, worst case scenarios, and insecurities distort the way we view others? It can be scary to look at ourselves honestly. We risk discovering that change is necessary and that we must take responsibility for our part in this conflict, and perhaps in past conflicts as well.
As we think through these questions and patiently paint the picture, the saint, sufferer and sinner emerge out of the other and ourselves. We come with a blueprint that was established early in life, confirmed through experience, and replicated in relationship with others. As when Adam and Eve covered their nakedness in the early chapters of Genesis, we, too, have learned to maneuver and distort ourselves in order to hide our fundamental shame. Yet, when we see ourselves more clearly, we are able to appreciate more deeply how another person moves through life, and we feel toward him the knowing warmth of compassion. Rather than winning the argument or grasping for power in the midst of a conflict, we would do well to heed Henri Nouwen’s warning that power and control merely offer an easy substitute for the hard task of love.
I am often struck by how a newfound understanding of another person changes my entire posture towards them. When I see them holistically and more honestly, I am always humbled by the fact that their sadness and their joy are no less than mine. Both of us, mere children, standing before our great Father.
Text: Aiwen Xu