Difficult Conversations: How to Discuss What Matters Most

by Douglas Stone

  Take a Break

  Sometimes you’ll find that you are just too close to the problem and too overwhelmed by your internal identity quake to engage effectively in the conversation. You’re not at a place where you can take in more information or untangle your thoughts. Maintaining the charade of participation in the conversation at times like this is unlikely to be helpful to anyone.

  Ask for some time to think about what you’ve heard: “I’m surprised by your reaction to this and would like some time to think about what you’ve said.” Even ten minutes can help. Take a walk. Get some air. Check for distortions. Spend some quiet time weighing their attack on your judgment or arrogance against other information you have about yourself. Check for denial. In what ways is what they are saying true? Check for exaggerations. What is the worst that could happen here? And what might you do right now to turn the conversation around?

  Some people find asking for a break embarrassing. But postponing the conversation until you’ve regained your balance may save you from worse things than embarrassment down the road.

  Their Identity Is Also Implicated

  When we’re wrapped up in our own Identity Conversation it can be difficult to remember that the other person may be grappling with identity issues of their own. Certainly as Walker tries to talk with Annie Mae about her illness, she’ll be absorbed in her own Identity Conversation. Simply being in the clinic because something is “wrong” with her may in her mind confirm her greatest fear — that she will never be good enough or achieve enough to please her father.

  One important way Walker can help his daughter is to lead her away from all-or-nothing thinking. He can help provide balance to her self-image by letting her know that everyone needs help sometimes. And he can remind her of the positive things that are true about her and important to him: “I’m proud of you for getting help,” he might say to Annie Mae. And he can remind her that he loves her not because she gets all A’s in school, but because she’s his daughter. And that won’t change no matter what.

  Raising Identity Issues Explicitly

  Sometimes your identity issues will be important to you, but not terribly relevant to the person you are talking to, or to the relationship generally. You don’t need to tell your new colleague that he reminds you of a former boyfriend with whom you had a bad sexual experience. It’s useful for you to be aware of it, but talking about it explicitly probably won’t move your conversations forward. You can identify the issue in your own mind and recognize that it’s something for you to work out on your own.

  Other times, making the Identity Conversation explicit can help you get directly to the heart of what is going on: “What I’m sensing this is all about is whether I’m a good spouse or not. Is that how you’re feeling too?” “I’ve always regretted not saying something at Dad’s funeral. That’s why it’s so important for me to speak at Mom’s.” “I’m sensitive to criticism of my writing style. I know I need the feedback, but it’s something for both of us to be aware of as we work through these memos.”

  You’ll be astounded how often difficult conversations are wrapped up in both people reacting to what the conversation seems to be saying about them.

  Find the Courage to Ask for Help

  Sometimes life deals us a blow that we can’t cope with on our own. What constitutes such a blow is different for each of us. It may be something as undermining as rape or as horrifying as war. It may be a physical or mental illness, an addiction, or a profound loss. Or it may be something that would not disturb most other people but does disturb you.

  We sometimes ascribe valor to those who suffer in silence. But when suffering is prolonged or interferes with accomplishing what we want with our lives, then such suffering may be more reckless than brave. Whatever it is, if you’ve worked to get over it and can’t, we encourage you to ask for help. From friends, from colleagues, from family, from professionals. From anyone who might be able to offer a hand.

  For many of us, that’s not easy. Our Identity Conversation tells us loud and clear that asking for help is not okay — that it is shameful or weak and creates burdens on others. These thoughts are powerful, but ask yourself this: If someone you loved — an uncle or daughter, a favorite colleague — were in the situation you find yourself in, would you think it was okay for them to ask for help? Why should you be held to a different standard?

  If part of your identity is believing that you don’t need help, then asking for it is never going to be easy. And when you do ask, not everyone will come through for you, and that will be painful. But many people will. And by trusting them enough to ask, you offer them an extraordinary opportunity to do something important for someone they care about. Then one day, you may have the opportunity to return the favor.

  Create a Learning Conversation

  • • • • •

  7

  What’s Your Purpose? When to Raise It and When to Let Go

  You can’t have every difficult conversation you come across. Life is too short, the list too long. So how do you decide when to have a conversation, for the first time or the fifteenth? And how do you let go of the issues you decide not to raise?

  These are the questions that torment us as we lie awake listening to that barking dog next door. We’ve spent the first half of this book talking about what you might raise. We’ll spend the next half outlining how. But before we get to that, is there anything we can say about when?

  To Raise or Not to Raise: How to Decide?

  It would be easy if there were some hard-and-fast rules about when to raise issues and when to leave well enough alone. “Never talk politics at the dinner table,” “Whatever you do, don’t raise anything before 8 a.m.,” and “Never disagree with your boss” have the advantage of being clear rules. They’re also nonsense, and so not particularly helpful.

  Whether or not you should raise an issue with your husband or your agent or your mechanic is ultimately something only you can decide. Because the specifics of each situation are different, there is no simple rule we can offer to guide you in making a wise decision. What we can offer are a few questions and suggestions to help you sort through whether and how you might initiate a conversation.

  How Do I Know I’ve Made the Right Choice?

  When we’re trying to decide whether or not to raise something, we often think, “I wish I were better at making up my mind. If only I were smarter, this wouldn’t be so hard for me.” The truth is, there is no “right choice.” There is no way to know in advance how things will really turn out. So don’t spend your time looking for the one right answer about what to do. It’s not only a useless standard, it’s crippling.

  Instead, hold as your goal to think clearly as you take on the task of making a considered choice. That is as good as any of us can do.

  Work Through the Three Conversations

  In every case, work through the Three Conversations as best you can. Get a better handle on your feelings, key identity issues, and possible distortions or gaps in your perceptions. Think clearly about what you do know (your own feelings, your own experiences and story, your identity issues), and what you don’t know (their intentions, their perspective, or feelings).

  This approach will help you become more aware of the process of communication and gain insight into what’s making your conversations difficult. Sometimes the insights you find will present a clear answer: “Raising this is important, and now I have some ideas about how to do it differently” or “Now I’m starting to see why having a conversation probably won’t help.”

  Three Kinds of Conversations That Don’t Make Sense

  As you consider whether to engage, you’ll find that while it often makes sense to initiate a conversation, sometimes it doesn’t. In making that choice wisely, three key questions stand out.

  Is the Real Conflict Inside You?

  Sometimes what’s difficult about the situation has a whole lot more to do with what’s going on inside you than what’s going on between you
and the other person. In that case, a conversation focused on the interaction isn’t going to be very illuminating or productive, at least until you’ve had a longer conversation with yourself.

  Insight into her Identity Conversation helped Carmen resolve a running dispute with her husband over responsibility for managing a variety of kid-related activities, such as carpool schedules, doctor’s appointments, and piano lessons:

  Despite the fact that I was working full-time to support the family while Tom stayed home with the kids, I was still doing much of the scheduling and running around. I felt like Tom wasn’t responsible enough. As I saw it, he kept dropping the ball; I had to pick it up to make sure things ran smoothly.

  But when I began sorting through my Identity Conversation, I started seeing the ways in which I was keeping control of this part of the kids’ lives — perhaps because of my ambivalence about working full-time. I love my job. I’m good at it, and I make decent money. But I’m still nagged by guilt, and there are times when I’m jealous that my daughter often goes to Tom with problems before she comes to me.

  Once Carmen realized that taking responsibility for the scheduling was her way of assuring herself that she was still a good mother — still involved and essential to her children’s well-being — she was able to let go of the resentment she felt when things got hectic: “I both turned some things over to Tom and shifted the way I thought about these responsibilities. They are things I’ve chosen to take on to stay involved, rather than things he’s let slide.”

  Is There a Better Way to Address the Issue Than Talking About It?

  As you sort out your feelings or identify your contribution to a situation it may become clear that what’s called for is not a conversation about the interaction, but a change in your behavior. Sometimes actions are better than words.

  Walter had endured a series of difficult conversations with his mother over the family farm, located in northern Missouri. He tells the following story:

  Since dad died, my brothers have been helping my mother run the place. Whenever I talk with her she asks when I’m going to come home and join the family business — or at least take old Doc Denny’s job as the town doctor.

  I enjoy living in St. Louis, where I have a terrific pediatric practice, so the conversation I thought I needed to have more successfully was telling my mother to leave the issue alone, to accept that I’m not coming back — at least not anytime soon.

  But as I sorted through the Three Conversations, I discovered some things. I realized that in addition to feeling frustrated and resentful when my mother raises this issue, I also felt appreciative that she misses me, and grateful that I have roots and the option to return. And I felt sad that my kids weren’t developing the close relationship with their grandmother that my nieces have, and were missing out on the chance to grow up on a farm, which was a wonderful experience for me.

  One of the most important insights came from imagining my mother’s perceptions and feelings. Suddenly it occurred to me that what my mom was really saying was that she missed knowing what was going on with me — being a part of our lives. She wanted me to bring my family back so that she could be more connected and involved with us. But when she would express this by asking when I’d be coming home, I usually reacted by cutting the conversation short. Then I wouldn’t call her for weeks on end, simply because I dreaded having to discuss the issue again. So I ended up contributing to her feeling even more disconnected — which in turn would prompt her to express how much she missed us, and we’d go around again.

  Once Walter sorted out this contribution system and the complexity of his feelings, he realized that he didn’t need to have a conversation with his mother about how often she asked if he was coming home. He first needed to change his contribution to the problem.

  I began phoning mom more often, sending her short notes about the kids’ activities, and inviting her to visit in St. Louis just for fun, rather than for a holiday or family event. When she raised the question of when I might come home, instead of cutting the conversation short, I shared how satisfying my practice was. I also described my feelings of regret and confusion about not getting to spend more time with the family, and wishing the kids could spend more time with her. This prompted an invitation for my daughters to spend the summer with their cousins on the farm. Slowly, the questions about my return decreased.

  And, not surprisingly, Walter grew closer to his mother.

  Sometimes a conversation is simply not worth the time, or not even possible. But you still want to do something. Fran, who is a successful workers’ rights lobbyist, had an upsetting exchange with a toll collector on her daily commute. Fran prefers to keep only quarters in her change drawer to pay the fifty-cent toll, so she doesn’t have to search in the dark and take her eyes off the road to find the right change. Accordingly, on those occasions when she pays with a dollar bill, she prefers to receive quarters as change. When a toll collector offers nickels and dimes as change, Fran gives it back and asks for quarters.

  Generally the collectors are fine about this, but yesterday the man collecting snapped, “Where do rich people like you get off feeling so high-and-mighty entitled? Doesn’t it even occur to you that I might be giving you dimes for a reason?” Flustered, Fran responded, “Well, yes, but it just seems to me that you’re in a better position to have change than I am.” To which the collector replied as he slapped two quarters in her hand, “You don’t have the first idea what my job is like. And you don’t care either! Go on.” Speechless and furious, Fran drove on.

  Reflecting on this exchange at home, Fran realized that her anger stemmed largely from denial of several unpleasant truths: she definitely was feeling entitled, even a little righteously so, when she demanded her quarters; it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder what constraints the collector was operating under; and from the collector’s point of view she does appear wealthy. All of which conflicts with important aspects of how she likes to see herself. She still didn’t like how the collector had behaved, but she could imagine being in his shoes at the end of a long day with an endless line of cars stretched out before him.

  The upshot for Fran was that she no longer felt angry, and stopped fantasizing about defending herself to this man when she next met him at the toll booth. She also saw her experience as part of a more complex picture. She still wanted to do something about the situation, but a different approach seemed in order. So she wrote the Turnpike Authority a letter explaining her interests in being able to receive quarters as change without putting the toll collectors in a difficult situation, and asking what could be done to ensure that. To her pleasant surprise, she got a reply explaining that the toll collectors were allowed to bring only a certain amount of change to the booth and were prohibited from leaving the booth except at designated times. The Toll Authority thanked her for raising the issue, and explained how they had found a creative solution to meet her request and ease the dilemma for their collectors.

  Do You Have Purposes That Make Sense?

  Imagine asking the head of NASA about the purpose of a particular space mission, and getting the answer: “Um, I don’t know. We thought we’d launch someone into space and figure things out from there.”

  Not likely. Yet we often launch into our conversations in much the same way. We find ourselves in the middle of the conversation, and neither person is quite sure what the point is or what a good outcome would look like.

  Other times we try having conversations when our purposes are simply off-base. When that happens, whatever you say or do is not going to help (and might even make things worse), because you’ve chosen a destination that is impossible to reach.

  Remember, You Can’t Change Other People. In many situations, our purpose in initiating a conversation is to get the other person to change. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for change. The urge to change others is universal. We want them to be more loving, to show more appreciation for our hard work, to give us more personal space, or to be
more social at parties. To accept our career choice or our sexual orientation. To believe in our God or our views on important issues of the day.

  The problem is, we can’t make these things happen. We can’t change someone else’s mind or force them to change their behavior. If we could, many difficult conversations would simply vanish. We’d say, “Here are the reasons you should love me more,” and they’d say, “Now that I know those reasons, I do.”

  But we know things don’t work that way. Changes in attitudes and behavior rarely come about because of arguments, facts, and attempts to persuade. How often do you change your values and beliefs — or whom you love or what you want in life — based on something someone tells you? And how likely are you to do so when the person who is trying to change you doesn’t seem fully aware of the reasons you see things differently in the first place?

  We can have an influence, but here we need to be especially careful. The paradox is that trying to change someone rarely results in change. On the other hand, engaging someone in a conversation where mutual learning is the goal often results in change. Why? Because when we set out to try to change someone, we are more likely to argue with and attack their story and less likely to listen. This approach increases the likelihood that they will feel defensive rather than open to learning something new. They are more likely to change if they think we understand them and if they feel heard and respected. They are more likely to change if they feel free not to.