The Mystery and the Magic: Engaging in Difficult Conversations, Part III

(This is Part III of a series on difficult conversations. Please see Part I and II if you are interested.)

I have seen many a family mediation where two parties spend hours bringing up past hurts and berating the other person for not taking ownership of their mistakes. Like these warring parties, we sometimes believe that fashioning the perfect sentence and pinpointing another’s exact sin is like shooting a guided missile; an advance capable of leveling the other’s defenses and swiftly bringing them to their knees in contrition. Unfortunately (or fortunately), it doesn’t seem to work that way.

Often, when we are told point-blank what is wrong with us, we are not easily moved to change. I suspect that we deny and hide because we are scared. We assume admitting errors means that others would value and respect us less. We might be tempted to think that we are powerless to truly change, and that we are undeserving of the affection and forgiveness of others. 

Consider, however, the story of David and Nathan from the Old Testament. King David attempts to cover up his affair with Bathsheba by killing her husband. Rather than rebuking David directly, Nathan calmly weaves a story about a rich man with many flocks and herds, and a poor man with just one ewe lamb that he loved. Initially, David is appalled by the rich man. Nathan, seizing on David’s moment of anger, pulls back the story to reveal the truth: “You are the man!”. David’s anger vanishes when faced with his shame and remorse. And so it is with us. If we are to come to terms with our sin and shame, we cannot simply be told. We have to be taken by the hand and shown. 

In Part II of this series, we worked through deciding which issues to raise, and located our ultimate goal in each conflict: to see Christ formed in both ourselves and the other person. With this in mind, we can now endeavour to show the other our grievances, rather than simply accusing. Psychologist Marshall Rosenberg proposed the following framework for doing just that. In each blank, we would insert the particulars of our circumstance: 

When ____[observation], I feel ____[emotion] because I’m needing some ____[need]. Would you be able to ____[request]?

Although this looks formulaic and deceptively easy, it can be difficult to pull off in practice. 

The first thing to notice is that we are to present an observation rather than an evaluation. As humans, we are motive-assuming creatures. This is especially true when we perceive a threat. However, as we explored in Part I, we are never privy to the full story. We can hold our judgment and present factual observations without imputing motives. This makes room for a multitude of possible explanations. 

Next, we must risk vulnerability and plainly state our emotions such as, “I feel disappointed and hurt.” This is different from expressing a thought along the lines of “I feel that you purposely shirk your responsibilities.” Even imagining doing this makes us want to flee! However, there are several reasons to do it anyway. When we lay bare our emotions, expressing hurts rather than accusations, others will naturally move toward us. What’s more, when we state our emotions and feel acknowledged and understood, our brains immediately relax. It is a common myth that acknowledging feelings causes them to grow out of control. The exact opposite is often true. Once acknowledged, our emotions no longer need to fight for attention and deflate pretty quickly.

On our part, when others divulge their feelings, we are given the privilege of witnessing their suffering and legitimizing their sadness. We don’t always have to agree with the interpretation that led to their feelings, but we can acknowledge their identity as saint and sufferer in these instances (see Part I).

This third step of disclosing our needs is challenging and explains why many difficult conversations end before a path forward can be explored. Our needs can generally be categorized into three types: a need for love and attachment, a need for significance and worth, and a need for security. Too often, it is easier to put forth a strategy rather than state a need. For instance, we might assert, “I need you to debrief me after every meeting,” when in reality, the need is for transparency. Or we might say, “I need you to never criticize my cooking,” when, really, we simply need the other to accept us as good enough. Strategies can be useful, but they only make sense in light of an understanding of our root needs.

Finally, we arrive at the request. The beauty of a request is that it can be anything, but it must always be offered as a choice. This ensures that a request is never a demand. Frequently, when we contemplate making a request, the possibility of it being rejected – of us and our needs being rejected – is so frightening that we instinctively turn the request into a demand to exercise some level of control over the outcome. Rather than saying, “Could you check up on me from time to time”, we say “As a good friend, you should be reaching out to me.” This is unfortunate because really what we want most is the sincere desire of the other to fulfill our request and meet our need. And yet, when we make a demand, we effectively extinguish the possibility that the other is giving freely of themselves. This takes us back to the discussion in Part II. When we have a differentiated sense of self, we know what our needs are, and we are not crushed by the other’s possible refusal. We accept that others could decline our request for a number of reasons, none of which are an indictment of our worth. 

This framework is just the beginning of a fruitful conversation and certainly does not cover every possible scenario. At times, these conversations may start and stop abruptly because one party is not ready to engage. That’s alright. Remember this: the things we want to point out in others are likely things they have already contemplated. If given the right sympathetic circumstances, they might willingly initiate the conversation. In truth, we may all desire nothing more than to be able to do this in the presence of those who love us. To risk looking at our shame requires that we are loved, and to risk being loved requires that we are seen in all of our shame. What is most important, then, is the humility and grace that we display as we walk alongside others as fellow saints, sufferers and sinners.  

Text: Aiwen Xu