The Two Words You Should Never Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

We often utter these two words under the guise of empathy and compassion.

We say them almost automatically when something said triggers a memory in ourselves.

But when we say these words, we are not being empathetic. Or compassionate.

We are being egotistical and worst and narrow-minded at best.

Assuming that we know more and that others’ experiences parallel our own.

“I understand.”

Those two words are dismissive and minimizing.

Rather than provide comfort, they lend an air of superiority that leaves the “understood” one feeling invisible rather than appreciated as it reduces an entire lifetime of experiences and reactions to a mere sketch comprised of conjecture.

“I understand” is built upon a foundation of assumptions.

It assumes that everyone perceives as you do.

Feels as you do.

Responds as you do.

But they don’t.

You can relate. You can identify.

And you can certainly empathize.

But you will never understand.

It’s worse than simply putting words into someone’s mouth.

It’s also putting thoughts into their heads.

And feelings into their hearts.

We feel understood when somebody listens to us, not when they talk at us.

We feel understood when somebody accepts our perceptions rather than when they try to convince us of their own.

We feel understood when somebody honors and respects our differences instead of trying to reduce us to a common denominator.

And paradoxically, we often feel the most understood when somebody admits that they do not understand. And instead of offering words, they give the gifts of presence and kindness.

Because we don’t ever understand what somebody else is experiencing. But we all know what it’s like to be scared or hurting or confused. And we all know how important it is to feel understood and accepted.

So rather than saying you understand their situation, demonstrate that you understand that you cannot fully comprehend their pain yet you can support them just the same.

Be receptive rather than prescriptive.

Ask instead of tell.

And listen more than you speak.

For more on the idea of assuming understanding, read this post on The Good Men Project.

Are You a Reliable Witness?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I was in 5th grade, I was in a gifted pull-out program. Two days a week, I got to miss my afternoon classes in order to tackle challenges and puzzles that were outside the state-mandated curriculum.

One afternoon, we were all working hard at our tables on a set of brain teasers we had been given. We barely glanced up as a woman entered the classroom, spoke with our teacher for a few moments and then left.

It just didn’t seem important. After all, our task was to complete the puzzles.

Except it wasn’t.

Twenty minutes later, our teacher revealed the true purpose of the day’s lesson. She admitted the brain teasers had merely been a diversion as she handed out a sheet of paper with, what seemed at first glance, deceptively easy questions.

We worked independently to complete the page, answering questions about the woman who entered our room less than an hour prior: What was she wearing? What did her hair look like? What was she carrying?

As I glanced around the room, I noticed that all the students (myself included) seemed confident in their answers. After all, how hard is it to describe someone you just saw?

Pretty hard, as it turns out.

We came together to share our answers. It got rather heated.

“She had brown, curly hair.”

“No, it was blond.”

“It was brown, but it was straight.”

“Her hands were empty.”

“She was carrying books.”

As we continued to debate, some started to doubt their memories and allowed their minds to shift.

“I thought her shirt was red but, now that you mention it, I think it was yellow.”

The more we analyzed our memories, the more they changed.

The closer we looked, the more blurred the focus.

The woman had gone from inconsequential to significant as we all clambered to be right.

Finally, our teacher turned to the classroom door, opened it and welcomed the woman back in.

None of us had described her correctly.

We went on to discuss the use of witnesses in criminal trials and debated the ethics of sentences being handed down based upon the recollection of a bystander.

And I went on to always remember that lesson. To understand that we really aren’t as aware as we think we are and that when we’re called to remember, we fill in the gaps unconsciously.

And many years later, I found comfort in that lesson. I realized that my painful memories were malleable. That I could consciously fill in the gaps between remembrances to find meaning and purpose.

That at some point, memories fail to be an accurate representation of the past because they are always filtered through the knowledge of the present.

That it’s important to keep your mind open to the perceptions of others.

And that none of us are reliable witnesses to the past.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s more important to be mindful and here in your now.

So that you are a reliable witness to your present.

When Are You Safe In Marriage?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Imagine stepping onto a baseball field and up to bat. You connect with the ball and begin your run around the bases.

So when would you be safe? When could you relax a little, knowing that the umpire couldn’t declare you out? When could you be assured that the run would be completed and you would make it all the way home?

After first base? Second?

If marriage was a baseball field, first base would signal the completion of 10 years, second base would be 20, third, 30 and circling around to home plate again would represent a lifetime of wedded (hopefully) bliss.

When are you safe in your marriage? When can you breathe easy knowing that your spouse wouldn’t suddenly decide to throw you out? When could you be assured that the marriage will last a lifetime?

After ten years? Twenty?

A friend commented on a local radio personality’s somewhat public and ongoing divorce from his wife. They have been married for twenty years. My friend was shocked, having the assumption that a marriage that has lasted twenty years will last for the remaining decades.

But that’s not necessarily the case, is it?

In a marriage, you can celebrate making it to second base. But you can’t relax.

Some of the hardest years can certainly be the early ones, as negotiations are compromised and compromises are negotiated. You are still learning who your partner is in a variety of situations and learning how to be with them. It can be a time filled with complexity and flexibility as you find your stride.

And if nothing ever changes, perhaps you can relax at that point, resting easy knowing that you’ve worked through all of the kinks in the marital knot.

But something always changes.

Kids come and go. Promotions are gained and jobs are lost. Some selves are actualized and some are minimized. Someone may fall ill or someone may fall in love.

Something always changes.

And when change comes, the marriage must change with it if it is going to survive. (And especially if it is going to survive happily because what’s the point of a long marriage if you’re miserable the entire time!)

Even if it’s been twenty years.

Because in a marriage, there’s no such thing as safe at the plate.

And although that may seem a little scary, it also makes the game exciting. Because how can a marriage between two ever-changing people in a always-shifting environment ever become stagnant or boring?

You have to always keep your eye on the ball and your intention on the journey.

And if you get called out, don’t be afraid to get back in the game:)

One Marriage, Two Lives

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Brock and I watched American Sniper last weekend.

We both walked out in tears.

It’s a powerful movie.

And one that highlights many uncomfortable truths.

I’m not going to get into the story. Or the controversy.

But I do want to address one common issue the movie emphasizes.

That people who share one marriage often lead very different lives.

In one poignant scene, the sniper is riding in the back of an armored vehicle through the streets in Iraq. He’s on the phone with his new wife, who was walking out of the doctor’s office where she had just learned the sex of their new baby. On his side, shots are fired. The phone falls and is trampled as soldiers respond to the immediate threat. On her side, she wails as she hears the shots fired across the world. She screams for her husband while clutching her unborn child.

One marriage, two lives.

A military marriage with one spouse deployed is an extreme example of spouses living in different worlds. One occupies the domestic world where daily concerns are often limited to the mundane while the other is living on the edge of hell. The one left behind is desperate to connect, wanting to know about the experiences. Whereas the one who has returned has witnessed scenes that no one should ever see and works to shield his or her spouse from what they saw. It’s no wonder that military spouses often have trouble relating once they are reunited.

This phenomenon is not limited to military marriages.

Lives diverge when distance separates partners for protracted periods of time. Whenever one spouse has job that reveals the darker side of humanity, they may be more likely to erect a screen, safeguarding their partner from reality. When one partner assumes most or all of the parenting duties or when one is fully responsible for securing a living, they have to make a continued effort to maintain a connection between their worlds. And even a couple that shares much of daily life risks growing apart if they fail to check in with the other.

In every marriage, there are two distinct people with two distinct lives.

In every successful marriage, there are two people who actively work to build and maintain a bridge between those two existences.

So that rather than one marriage splitting into two lives, it’s two lives joining into one marriage.

In the Best Relationships

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In the best relationships, each partner acts as both student and teacher.

As a student, you approach each situation within your marriage with curiosity. You listen to learn rather than respond. You accept that there are areas where you are still learning and improving. You see yourself not only as you are, but as you can be. You understand that mistakes are part of learning and starting over means you’re applying the lessons. You strive to not be right, but to be better.

As a teacher, you want to challenge your partner because you see their potential and promise. You accept them as they are while encouraging them to be what they can. You share your strengths and help them develop their own. You celebrate their successes and find joy in their learning. You honor their wisdom while sharing your own.

And together you become better.

Not by completing each other.

But by supporting and challenging each other in equal measure.

Because when both partners are both student and teacher, there are no life lessons that cannot be mastered.