The Power of Observation

“Before I respond, I have a choice to make. Do I want correction or do I want connection?” Hearing these words, something deep within me snapped to attention. While conflict is a natural consequence of being in authentic relationship with others, it’s typically viewed as a problem. Yet the speaker, Kathy Marchant, was reframing conflict as an opportunity to strengthen connection.

Yes, please! I know that when I experience conflict in my relationships, despite whatever I might feel in the moment or how much I think I’m “right,” I ultimately want to regain closeness with the other person. But when my emotions are at the wheel, the words that tumble out often have the opposite effect. My message is received as critical, the other person distances or defends himself, and connection is disrupted.

Kathy leads nonviolent communication (NVC) trainings, and it was inspiring to hear how her relationships evolved through practicing these skills. I wanted to learn how to communicate more consciously as a way to nurture my relationships. So with high hopes and a little trepidation–because personal development always comes with growing pains–I enrolled in a three-month introductory course.

While NVC teaches practical communication tools, it’s really a philosophical approach to relating to others. There is so much I want to share about NVC, but in this post I’ll try to stick to one of the skills: distinguishing observations from evaluations. Observations are neutral, concrete descriptions of what happened. According to Dr. Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of NVC, observations are statements “specific to time and context.” Evaluations, on the other hand, include your own perception, judgment, or analysis of what happened. Evaluations frequently include exaggerations (“you always” or “you never”) or words that carry a connotation (whether positive or negative). After talking through examples in class and completing an eye-opening homework assignment, the difference seemed clear to me–sort of like separating opinion from the facts.

Evaluation: John is a reckless driver.

Observation: John got a speeding ticket for driving 20 mph over the speed limit in a school zone.

Evaluation: Sarah missed the deadline because she always procrastinates.

Observation: Sarah didn’t turn in the report by the 5 pm deadline.

Sounds simple, right? So why is this important?

Once you can reliably recognize the difference between the two, you begin to see how infrequently we communicate neutral observations when we have a conflict with someone. We’re constantly mixing in our judgments, and this is where communication starts to break down. When we express our evaluations of others, we are often met with defensiveness or resistance, effectively blocking connection at a moment when we want to be heard and understood.

A better option? Express your observations.

Let’s look at an example. I observe my partner playfully interacting with an attractive coworker. I immediately feel anxiety and fear in my body, because his behavior brings up an inappropriate work relationship he had in the past. Later, when I tackle the subject with him I start by saying, “I didn’t like how you were flirting with Lisa tonight.” The chances are quite high that he will respond that he wasn’t flirting at all, and maybe he’ll even add that I’m being sensitive or insecure. Now I think I’m being criticized and my concern hasn’t been acknowledged. Guess where things go from here…

In the moment when I approach my partner, I believe that I’m simply stating the obvious about what happened; my “observation” was that he was flirting. But this isn’t actually an observation; I made an evaluation of his behavior. There is judgment about how he acted in my statement, and it makes sense that he might react defensively or turn around and blame me.

What if I used my NVC skills to make a true observation instead?

Evaluation: You were being too flirty with Lisa tonight.

Observation: You were talking and laughing with Lisa for several minutes, and when you walked away I saw you put your hand on her back.

Now that I’ve gotten clear about what I actually observed, I might begin the conversation by saying, “When I saw you laughing and putting your hand on Lisa’s back, I felt scared and anxious.” Now I’ve described his behavior using specific, neutral statements. This might seem like a subtle difference, but I’m no longer interpreting his behavior. I’ve also expressed an observation of how I felt when I witnessed the behavior, which is risking vulnerability.

Leading with observations increases the likelihood that my partner will be able to listen to what I’m saying without feeling blamed or criticized and sets the stage for a more collaborative response. In this second scenario, I can imagine a compassionate partner responding with empathy, reassurance, or even curiosity. “I’m sorry to hear that you felt scared. Can you tell me more about why you felt that way?” Wow! My feelings were acknowledged and I was invited to share more about myself–both of which make me feel closer to my partner.

I’ve presented a simple example but it’s a glimpse of how powerful this tool can be. We have the opportunity to shift the entire dialogue when we start from a neutral foundation. Instead of falling into old patterns of blaming and defending, we can attempt to make skillful observations of the event and our feelings. This alone doesn’t guarantee that every conflict will build connection, but my experience has been that intentionally communicating observations is valuable–especially when I’m reacting emotionally to something that has happened. I’m slowly practicing how to choose connection in these difficult moments, and my relationships are stronger than ever because of it.

P.S. There is so much more to NVC! If you are interested I recommend finding a local course or reading Dr. Marshall Rosenberg’s book, Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life.  

Love Is a Verb

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Maybe it’s because I think this country needs it now more than ever. Maybe it stems from listening to John Mayer albums on repeat. Or perhaps my subconscious is just trying to remind me that I’m spending another Valentine’s Day alone. Regardless of the root of my obsession, I decided that the best approach to this enormous topic was to share the simple but impactful lessons my experiences have taught me about love.

When I got married at age twenty-five, I still had a hard time considering myself an adult but hearing my husband introduce me as his wife made my heart sing. I adored this man and loved him more than I had ever thought possible. I couldn’t believe that he wanted to spend his life with me, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. While I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling this way, the problem was that my young self didn’t seem to have confidence in the opposite version of that statement–that my husband was so lucky that I had picked him.

Over time this imbalance in my thinking led to unhealthy relationship patterns. I started to think that being a good wife meant making my husband my number one priority and pushing my own needs aside. I thought that loving him meant that I had to give up some of the things that made me “me” in order to fit inside the “we” that we were creating. I thought I was being a generous wife by always considering my husband and what would make him happy, but I was actually becoming a very needy wife. With my focus on making him feel loved and appreciated, I lost touch with myself. I constantly sought his attention and approval, because I needed reassurance that I mattered. Meanwhile, I started to resent that my own needs weren’t being met.

There is more to the story, but fast forward nine years to when I found myself devastated and on my own. I started going to therapy regularly and reading books on mindfulness, relationships, and codependency in order to process what had happened. I forced myself to take a long, hard look at how I had contributed to the break down of my marriage.

In the midst of this messy and uncomfortable work, I discovered that I didn’t fully love and accept myself. This was a surprise to me, because if anyone had ever randomly stopped me on the street and asked me if I liked myself, I would have said yes. But as it turns out, I thought I had to prove myself because I didn’t believe in my own worth. I accepted people’s disrespect because I didn’t respect myself. My needs weren’t being met because I couldn’t identify them or ask for what I wanted.

I have often heard people say that before you can fully love others, you must learn to love yourself. As I started to understand my past and find healing, I recognized truth in this common adage. The key is that loving yourself is not a flippant “of course I love myself” kind of love but is a “creeping down the stairs to the darkest corner of the basement and making friends with what you bump into” kind of love. While easier said than done, making friends with myself and learning to love all my parts has changed how I relate to others.

When I accept myself without judgment–as is–I believe that I am wonderful exactly as I am. I feel less pressure to meet the expectations of others. I am able to be myself more authentically, which fosters deeper and more meaningful relationships.

When I respect myself, I prioritize relationships that are built on mutual respect and put less energy into those that aren’t. I make decisions based on what I want, not what someone else wants for me. I am better able to establish boundaries.

When I understand that I am responsible for meeting my needs, I feel comfortable spending time alone, pursuing my own passions, or practicing self-care without feeling guilty. By taking care of myself, I have the energy and enthusiasm to support others.

When I love myself unconditionally, I’m not constantly looking to others to meet this fundamental need. I no longer have to wildly chase or cling to someone else in order to feel loved. Yes, I want to connect with others and develop intimate relationships, but now I can approach these relationships from a place of wholeness and not from a place of lacking.  Instead of feeling resentful, I can truly give to the relationship with generosity.

This kind of love is work. It is hard work, my friends. I think it's supposed to be. As John Mayer so beautifully suggests, “Love ain’t a thing, love is a verb.”

We All Fall Down

This week I had the wonderful fortune to escape to the woods with my yoga school classmates for a three-day intensive. Our gracious teachers led us through 10-hour days of study and practice, keeping our minds and bodies in constant motion. We covered a lot of ground in the arenas of asana, teaching methodology, and philosophy but where I saw the most progress was in the opening of our hearts to one another. We arrived at the retreat as nineteen yoga buddies and left as one family. 

This may sound dramatic, but I heartily profess that the change was dramatic both for individuals and the group. I was part of a twenty-four student cohort for four semesters in college and have worked in small offices throughout my career, yet I have never experienced anything like this. What occurred was deeper than social bonding over a mutual love of a topic or activity. It was an amazing discovery of the common threads of our human experience and a sharing of our true selves. 

It is very difficult for me to translate this experience into words. Yoga school is intense but not just because of the time commitment and the volume of knowledge there is to digest. The most challenging part is how studying the path of yoga has forced me to take a sincere look at who I am inside and the actions that I take. Why am I reacting this way? Is there a pattern in my behavior? Can I accept the things about me I don't like? Can I share the things I don't like about myself with others? Can I let go? What is my purpose? What calls to me? Can I be right here in this moment? Can I sit with this feeling? Every day I find new questions to ask myself, and when I listen honestly the answers aren't always pretty. 

On my own, I might have given up on this journey of self-discovery because I'm finding a lot of skeletons in my darkness. It has not been easy to accept that traits I have long criticized in other people are at home within me, too. It has been humbling to realize that I have just as much in common with my enemies as I do my friends. It has been extremely painful to be tender and open with those who are not yet able to offer me kindness. 

Luckily I am not on my own. Over the course of the intensive, my classmates and I were able to accelerate past the pleasantries and begin to speak wholeheartedly to each other. We listened, we cried, and we ate an embarrassing amount of chocolate. We engaged in honest conversations about ourselves, our struggles, and our fears–and we uncovered the similarities that run through our veins. We are all asking ourselves the hard questions, and while our answers might be different we are all arriving at them with authenticity and humility. 

We all face challenges. We all fall down. And as one of my classmates reminded me, we all have the ability to get back up. We have the ability to be true to ourselves. It's an effort that we make every day, and I'm finding it isn't quite as hard when I have the support of such a loving community.

Being Authentic

In psychology class this week we discussed how a yoga teacher should present herself to the class. Was it better to be transparent or a pillar of positive energy? When did sharing cross the line and become oversharing? Is it okay to paste on a happy face before class if you just aren't feeling it? 

A yoga teacher is in a position of leadership and trust. It would be easy to take advantage of a captive audience of students in order to vent about a personal issue or receive sympathy. Most people would agree that this is inappropriate but what if you consider the opposite end of the spectrum? What if the teacher constantly appears positive and looks like she has it together, even when she's in the middle of a personal crisis? Does that send the false message to students that if you dedicate yourself to yoga your life will be free of hardship? This might seem like the lesser of two evils, but it is not in line with the value yoga places on honesty.

The group discussion was incredibly interesting, and there was one thought that stuck with me for the next few days. There is a gray area between being authentic and wearing a mask. As teachers, we should strive to share our authentic selves with students, but this doesn't mean that we have to divulge everything. Generally commenting on approaches to a personal situation in a teacher's life might give students a way to connect with their own story. They may be able to find reassurance or inspiration in these moments. This is very different than putting on the expectations that students may have of us and presenting that as who we truly are, like being the perennial perky yoga teacher. 

I think the reason this resonated with me so strongly is because I realized it is something we deal with in our personal lives, too. After my husband left I was sad much of the time, but instead of letting myself be sad in front of people I tried to act like my normal happy self. I didn't want to unload my burden of sadness onto others, and I was terrified of feeling vulnerable in front of everyone I knew. I was wearing a mask, and it prevented me from connecting with others in a meaningful way.

I didn't realize that there was an option somewhere in between sobbing in front of strangers and pretending that my life was great. This middle ground is what I consider being authentic with care. I can be true to myself and what I am feeling, but this doesn't mean that I have to be completely vulnerable in every interaction that I have with others. I can be sad without going into the details of what specific events brought me pain that morning; I can be honest when people ask me how I'm doing without feeling like I then have to spill my guts in order to justify those feelings. I can show as much of my true self as I am comfortable with in the conversation without projecting fake emotions. When I am honest with others without worry of meeting their expectations, I discover powerful moments of connection and support.