Nonviolent communication
Alt title: How I learned to feel and embraced conflict as an opportunity for growth
What’s your earliest memory of being frustrated or angry but not being able or knowing how to express yourself?
Mine is probably after I said something to my sister, or did something to her things (that part is blurry, but I remember as a child I had a phase when I revelled in smashing/throwing/tearing up the things that meant something to her, like an Archie’s greeting card (remember those? Is that still a thing?) or gift given to her by a friend), immediately recognising at the sight of her tears that I’d done something “wrong”, finding a place to hide (sometimes literally in a closet 🤪), and feeling a wave of intense emotions I didn’t have words for at the time, trembling with the intensity of what I now recognise to be regret and embarrassment for the harm I’d caused, and shame and anger at my own behaviour.
But then, growing up in a South Asian working single-parent-ish household, there was never a conversation about what I’d done, why I’d done it, or how I felt about it later. Only condemnation and judgement that I’d been “bad” and “cruel”. It became the norm to simply dismiss how I felt and pretend like the incident had never happened, even if I was a bit sheepish and unwilling to make eye contact when I eventually emerged from the closet and saw my sister at dinnertime. And, over time, an internalisation of some of the judgements. Perhaps I was a bad person, child-me concluded.
Toxic masculinity, queer edition
Cut to being a young adult, and its distinct swirl of confusion and anxieties over one’s role in the world, gender identity, masculinity and sexuality. There is a strain of masculinity out there, certainly widely prevalent in India, that identifies itself with being emotionless. As in, completely devoid of emotions. All emotions are the realm of women. Men, real men (by which I mean straight, of course), feel no emotion and are driven purely by reason.
When you’re overwhelmed and unable to cope with the immensity of the weight of the world and the questions it’s throwing at you, a supposed pathway of escaping emotions altogether can be very tempting. Emotions are for other, lesser, people, not me, I decided. People who cry at airports as they say goodbye to a loved one? Weak.
If you’re inclined towards intellectualising your choices, you might even reach for the self-description “stoic”, in a terribly misguided (but somewhat common?) interpretation of stoicism.
The cost of avoiding your feelings
Given that it’s something we do every day, you’d think we’d be taught how to communicate with each other, but sadly no, that’s not the kind of schooling most of us go through. And so it is that you learn to keep your discomfort to yourself, instead indulging in heaping judgements upon the “perpetrator”, the person “responsible” for your frustrations.
If you’re conditioned to be “nice”, you might keep the judgements to yourself, just swilling them about in your mind. But if you’ve fully internalised the judgement that you’re a “bad” person as I had, you might choose to air them out (which dovetails neatly with the “masculine” trait of being “direct” regardless of the consequences), or worse, stockpile them and weaponise them during fights.
No surprise then that my interpersonal relationships suffered greatly in my twenties, people taken aback by the harshness of my judgements while receiving no feedback whatsoever how/whether I valued their presence in my life, words that perhaps might have offset the judgements.
But I reserved the harshest judgements for a special recipient - me. Try as I did to convince myself that I felt no emotions, that I was an automaton, my bipolar depressive episodes came and went, and a nasty inner voice unleashed a vortex of judgements upon myself. On the days when I was a crying mess, unable to get out of bed, I’d tell myself that I was being “lazy”, “ungrateful” for all the choices, comforts and things I had that others did not (third-world survivor’s guilt much?)
Enter NVC
A few years ago, I joined a group that met up weekly to practise nonviolent communication (NVC), the communication framework developed by Marshall Rosenberg.
NVC prescribes a Rumi-esque judgement-free approach to communication that goes beyond right or wrong, asking its practitioners to instead focus on
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Observations - Given a situation, who said/did what?
If the incident were on video, what would it show, making sure to avoid interpretations/evaluations of the incident (“He arrived 30 minutes after the agreed-upon meeting time” vs “He disrespected me”). -
Feelings - What do you feel?
Without resisting or judging your feelings as positive, negative, productive or unhelpful, acknowledge the feelings you’re experiencing, whether that’s happiness, anger, jealousy, excitement, regret, or disappointment. NVC calls out false feelings such as “disrespected” as interpretations. See feelings inventory if you need a little prompting. -
Needs - Taking stock of your feelings, what needs of yours were met or not met?
NVC posits that underneath each feeling lies a set of needs that is met or not met. In case of a person showing up 30 minutes after the agreed-upon meeting time, you might feel angry because your needs for consideration and communication were not met. And/or disappointed because your needs for (self-)organisation and structure were not met. See needs list -
Requests/actions - Based on the awareness of your unmet neds, are there any requests you’d like to make of the other person to have your needs met?
Knowing your unmet needs, are there requests you’d like to make of the other person so that your needs can be met?
(I’ve described these steps from the perspective of one’s own feelings and needs, but the process involves listening to everyone involved with empathy, devoid of preconceptions and judgements, and acknowledging their feelings and needs).
At first, I felt awkward (and often struggled) to talk about my feelings in the group, let alone talk about my feelings and needs with others who were unaware of NVC (Try being the only one on Slack typing out sentences in the format “When you did X, I felt Y because my need for Z was [not] met” 😅). But over months and years, the awkwardness has faded away and in its place is a deep sense of gratitude for this communication framework. A friend once joked that I sounded like I’d joined a cult because of the number of times I mentioned NVC in one conversation 😅
Conflict as opportunity
Now that I am no longer running away from my feelings, I look at conflict as an opportunity to deepen interpersonal relationships and work together to meet our needs, whether with friends, family or at work.
To use a recent example, I’m currently volunteering at a farm. I arrived here after establishing with the owner that I have a theoretical understanding of permaculture and its concepts from watching videos and reading books, and want to gain practical experience.
When we were working on a swale (a permaculture technique of digging a trench on a slope to capture rainwater and prevent soil erosion), I said to the owner, “Hey, my understanding from watching Geoff Lawton’s videos on swales is that trees are essential to swales and yet we don’t seem to have any here. Why are we doing things differently?”
She replied, “Open your mind! The design of swales varies depending on the terrain and the elements involved”.
The words “Open your mind” rang in my ears, and I wasn’t sure how I felt in the moment. But I stayed silent, continued to work on the swale according to her instructions, checked in with myself and recognised that I felt….irritated. Why? Because her words “Open your mind” carried the implication that I wasn’t open to swale designs other than the ones I was familiar with. I thought about it and realised that I was irritated because my need for clarity (over her swale design) was unmet.
Some fifteen minutes after the incident, I decided to address it. I followed the four steps of NVC and said, “When you said ‘open your mind’ in response to my question about why we aren’t planting any trees, I felt irritated because my need for clarity was not met. I still don’t know why we didn’t plant trees. Are you willing to explain that?”. To her credit, she acknowledged that she’s open to questions, that saying “open your mind” didn’t add to the discussion, and proceeded to explain her thinking behind the swale design! I felt relieved that the conversation had met my need for clarity, and happy and reassured that she was willing to explain her thinking in detail. This factored into my decision to stay on at the farm longer than I’d initially planned.
Bonus: No more self-flagellation
Another profound change since I started incorporating NVC into how I talk with others is that I (mostly) no longer have a nasty inner voice. Even when I’m the midst of a depressive episode and not quite myself, I can acknowledge what I’m feeling, enumerate my needs and give myself grace to rest, or entertain myself with mindless TV. Gone are the days of wielding the whip of judgements!