Nonviolent Communication - A Language of Life, Second Edition @Team LiB (6 page)

Our repertoire of words for calling people names is often larger-than our vocabulary of words that allow us to clearly describe our emotional states. I went through twenty-one years of American schools and can’t recall anyone in all that time ever asking me how I felt. Feelings were simply not considered important. What was valued was “the right way to think”—as defined by those who held positions of rank and authority. We are trained to be “other directed” rather than to be in contact with ourselves. We learn to be “up in our head” wondering, “What is it that others think is right for me to say and do?”

An interaction I had with a teacher when I was about nine years old demonstrates how alienation from our feelings can begin. Once I hid myself after school in a classroom because some boys were waiting outside to beat me up. A teacher spotted me and asked me to leave the school. When I explained I was afraid to go, she declared, “Big boys don’t get frightened.” A few years later I received further reinforcement through my participation in athletics. It was typical for coaches to value athletes willing to “give their all” and continue playing no matter how much physical pain they were in. I learned the lesson so well I once continued playing baseball for a month with an untreated broken wrist.

At an NVC workshop, a college student spoke about a roommate who played the stereo so loudly it kept him awake. When asked to express what he felt when this happened, the student replied, “I feel that it isn’t right to play music so loud at night.” I pointed out that when he followed the word feel with the word that, he was expressing an opinion but not revealing his feelings. Asked to try again to express his feelings, he responded, “I feel, when people do something like that, it’s a personality disturbance.” I explained that this was still an opinion rather than a feeling. He paused thoughtfully, and then announced with vehemence, “I have no feelings about it whatsoever!”

This student obviously had strong feelings. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to become aware of his feelings, let alone express them. This difficulty in identifying and expressing feelings is common, and in my experience, especially so among lawyers, engineers, police officers, corporate managers, and career military personnel—people whose professional codes discourage them from manifesting emotions. For families, the toll is severe when members are unable to communicate emotions. Country and western singer Reba McIntire wrote a song after her father’s death, and titled it “The Greatest Man I Never Knew.” In so doing, she undoubtedly expressed the sentiments of many people who were never able to establish the emotional connection they would have liked with their fathers.

I regularly hear statements like, “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea—I’m married to a wonderful man—but I never know what he is feeling.” One such dissatisfied woman brought her spouse to a workshop, during which she told him, “I feel like I’m married to a wall.” The husband then did an excellent imitation of a wall: he sat mute and immobile. Exasperated, she turned to me and exclaimed, “See! This is what happens all the time. He sits and says nothing. It’s just like living with a wall.”

“It sounds to me like you are feeling lonely and wanting more emotional contact with your husband,” I responded. When she agreed, I tried to show how statements such as “I feel like I’m living with a wall” are unlikely to bring her feelings and desires to her husband’s attention. In fact, they are more likely to be heard as criticism than an invitation to connect with our feelings. Furthermore, such statements often lead to self-fulfilling prophecies. A husband, for example, hears himself criticized for behaving like a wall; he is hurt and discouraged and doesn’t respond, thereby confirming his wife’s image of him as a wall.

The benefits of strengthening our feelings vocabulary are evident not only in intimate relationships, but also in the professional world. I was once hired to consult with the members of a technological department of a large Swiss corporation troubled by the discovery that workers in other departments were avoiding them. When asked why, employees from other departments responded, “We hate going there to consult with those people. It’s like talking to a bunch of machines!” The problem abated when I spent time with the members of the technological department, encouraging them to express more of their humanness in their communications with co-workers.

In another instance, I was working with the administrators of a hospital who were anxious about a forthcoming meeting with the hospital’s physicians. They wanted support for a project that the physicians had only recently turned down by a vote of 17 to 1. The administrators were eager to have me demonstrate how they might use NVC when approaching the physicians.

Assuming the voice of an administrator in a role-playing session, I opened with, “I’m feeling frightened to be bringing up this issue.” I chose to start this way because I sensed how frightened the administrators were as they prepared to confront the physicians on this topic again. Before I could continue, one of the administrators stopped me to protest, “You’re being unrealistic! We could never tell the physicians that we were frightened.”

When I asked why an admission of fear seemed so impossible, he replied without hesitation, “If we admitted we’re frightened, then they would just pick us to pieces!” His answer didn’t surprise me; I have often heard people say how they cannot imagine ever expressing feelings at their workplace. I was pleased to learn, however, that one of the administrators did decide to risk expressing his vulnerability at the dreaded meeting. Instead of his customary manner of appearing strictly logical, rational and unemotional, he chose to state his feelings together with reasons for wanting the physicians to change their position. He noticed how differently the physicians responded to him. In the end he was amazed and relieved when, instead of being “picked to pieces” by the physicians, they reversed their previous position, voting 17 to 1 to support the project instead. This dramatic turnaround helped the administrators realize and appreciate the potential impact of expressing one’s vulnerability—even in the workplace.

Expressing our vulnerability can help resolve conflicts.

Finally, let me share a personal incident that taught me the effects of hiding our feelings. I was teaching a course in NVC to a group of inner city students. When I walked into the room the first day, the students, who had been enjoying a lively conversation with each other, became quiet. “Good morning!” I greeted. Silence. I felt very uncomfortable, but was afraid to express it. Instead, I proceeded in my most professional manner, “For this class, we will be studying a process of communication that I hope you will find helpful in your relationships at home and with your friends.”

I continued to present information about NVC, but no one seemed to be listening. One girl, rummaging through her bag, fished out a file and began vigorously filing her nails. Students near the windows glued their faces to the pane as if fascinated by what was going on in the street below. I felt increasingly more uncomfortable, yet continued to say nothing. Finally, a student who had certainly more courage than I was demonstrating, piped up, “You just hate being with black people, don’t you?” I was stunned, yet immediately realized how I had contributed to this student’s perception by trying to hide my discomfort.

“I
am
feeling nervous,” I admitted, “but not because you are black. My feelings have to do with my not knowing anyone here and wanting to be accepted when I came in the room.” This expression of my vulnerability had a pronounced effect on the students. They started to ask questions about me, to tell me things about themselves, and to express curiosity about NVC.