This post has been brewing for a while. It’s going to be a tough one to write, because I have a tendency to censor myself so as not to offend anyone.
But when you have difficult conversations, somebody’s bound to get offended… that doesn’t mean we should avoid difficult conversations. Just because there will be disagreements and discomfort doesn’t grant us permission to isolate ourselves in little enclaves of support and assume that the rest of the world is evil and malevolent.
I’ve read a few books that have helped me to hone my opinions on this subject… one was Difficult Conversations (Stone, Patton, and Heen), another was We; a Manifesto for Women Everywhere, by Anderson and Nadel, and the most recent was We Need to Talk, by Celeste Headlee.
Reading these books has helped me to shift my awareness of my own conversations, and there is nowhere that impacts me more than within my own marriage.
This political environment has shaken the foundation of my marriage. Does that sound extreme? Good. Because it feels extreme. For 13 years, my husband and I have driven to the polls together, stood in line, provided our shared address, entered our separate booths, and effectively cancelled out each other’s votes. Then we were able to walk out holding hands.
We consistently and respectfully argued and listened and sometimes shouted and often agreed to disagree. But when it came down to it, we agreed on the things that mattered most. We were always able to keep that in perspective.
I’m trying to figure out what changed that. Is it Trump? Is it Facebook? Is it click-bait and media sensationalism? Is it simply because the stakes feel so Goddamned high right now? Is it the environment that changed? Or is it us?
For a while, our fights got bad. Like ‘do we even have anything in common anymore?’ bad. Like ‘why did we even get married in the first place?’ bad. It felt like I didn’t know this guy all of a sudden, and it was terrifying.
But here’s the thing. He’s the same guy. He’s the same guy I married. He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever met. He’s the guy who ripped down the anti-trans joke posted in the bathroom at work and when his boss asked him about it, he’s the guy who staunchly defended our son to the man who signs his paycheck. He’s the guy who didn’t hesitate when I asked if we could take in a child he barely knew and love her like one of our own. He’s the guy who gives up his Saturday to create a guinea pig habitat in the basement with his kids. He’s the guy who lets a 120 lb dog climb up into his lap because he can’t resist her charms. He’s the guy who is not afraid to rip apart the bathroom because he knows he’ll figure out how to put it back together. He’s the man who freezes his butt off in a hockey rink cheering on his kid, and the one who freezes his butt off in the driveway, fixing that same kid’s truck. He’s the man who makes a mean chicken marsala and serves it up just because he knows it’s my favorite. He’s the man who does the laundry and patiently pairs all the socks because he knows it’s the job I hate the most. He’s the man who holds my hand in church as we pray for the healing of someone we love.
And all of this political angst in our world didn’t change who he is.
There’s all kinds of research about human behavior and communication that fascinates me. There are studies that prove we’re MORE likely to dig in our heels about our beliefs when we learn information that contradicts our original thoughts. We seek out information that confirms what we already believe, while we profess to be educated and open-minded. Overall, as a species, we’re terrible at listening because our brains are always planning what we’re going to say next. Our brains are also hardwired to make snap judgements about our environment, including the people in it. We quickly put people into categories, whether we know it or not. A few key words in a conversation or a post will automatically relegate someone into the category of ‘other’ without our conscious awareness.
Think about the impact of that. It’s insane.
If I only knew my husband peripherally; if I only saw his Facebook posts, for example, I would assume that this guy is an asshole. He’s going to read this… and I’m not writing something he doesn’t know. I worry about how he looks to my friends who don’t know him well. I don’t agree with a lot of what he shares or writes, and I probably have online ‘friends’ who wonder why we’re even together.
But the friends who know us in real life? They see it. They see how we make each other better. They see how we influence each other’s perspective. They see how we learn from each other and force each other to grow instead of shrinking into what we think we already know.
Guys, I’m going to start saying some uncomfortable things, but please stick with me here. My husband often starts his rants with a phrase like, “Freaking liberals…” and I lose my ever-loving mind. Every time I hear him say that, I know something awful is coming and that he has automatically lumped together a whole group of people as being idiots and that I IDENTIFY MYSELF as part of this group. And I get pissed.
It’s a terrible way to start a conversation. I’m already defensive, he’s already irritated, and there’s no way anybody is listening to anybody else because we’ve already moved to our corners and gotten ready to battle.
But you know what, guys? He’s pointed out the other side of this. He’s shown me a million examples of ‘us liberals’ making broad, sweeping generalizations about him, too.
I know I’m entering into difficult territory here, and I know we all need to check our privilege. I know we all have inherent biases and we all have something to learn. But if I really pay attention, I am able to see all of the ways that conversation in our liberal, left-leaning state makes assumptions about my working class, white, male, conservative husband and his beliefs. And none of those assumptions is favorable.
We could argue about the fact that people of color have dealt with this same sort of bias for centuries. We could point out the fact that he’s got a lot of advantages. We could argue that he’s only experiencing what women and minorities have experienced forever.
But isn’t the goal to move to a place where we are all able to listen and respect each others’ views? Aren’t we trying to make a move toward inclusivity? I know this particular white man, and in the same breath, I am learning more and more about the impact of white privilege and toxic masculinity and institutional racism and sexism. But the way to reach him and share what I know and what I’m learning is to start from a place of mutual respect.
Remember, our human tendency is to dig in our heels, especially when confronted with information that contradicts what we think we already know. So if you want to share your viewpoint with an (uneducated) working-class, (unfeeling) conservative, (toxically) masculine, (racist) white, (oppressive) man, you have to take away the words in parenthesis. You have to check your liberal bias, too.
One of the things I find myself saying most in the heat of an argument is, “You’re not LISTENING.” This is the thing that frustrates me the most. When I feel I’m not being heard, I feel that I’m not being respected. But in the heat of an argument, I’m not listening either. I’m too busy strategizing and trying to recall facts and trying to prove how right I am.
How do we move away from that? In our relationships, in our churches, in our communities, and in our country? I can’t profess to know the answer, but I do know what helps us.
First, be clear about what you support. Don’t hone in on what you’re against. When my husband and I find ourselves arguing about some policy or article or statement, it’s too easy to be anti-whatever the other person is saying. Find what you passionately believe we need, and fight for THAT.
Second, LISTEN. Don’t formulate your argument or tally up all the reasons why the other person is wrong. Actually try to understand their point of view. Assume that people have legitimate reasons for their beliefs, whether you agree with them or not.
Third, ASK QUESTIONS. Stop pretending you know things you don’t. You don’t know another person’s experience. You don’t know what they’ve lived or read or been taught. If you sincerely want to connect with people, you have to accept that they know things that you don’t. And everybody knows something you don’t.
The fourth point is intimately connected to the third, and it’s become a bit of a mantra in my house. Just because you haven’t experienced something, doesn’t mean it’s not real. I’m going to write that twice. Just because you haven’t experienced something, doesn’t mean it’s not real.
My husband has never experienced crippling anxiety. He doesn’t understand why I can’t just let things go. He wants me to stop worrying. He wants me to feel better and he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that it’s not that easy for me. But he believes me. He has to accept that, while this feeling is something he’s never experienced, it exists in a very real way for me.
The same is true for me with his ADD. I don’t understand how he can get sucked into a word game for hours but can’t finish sorting the laundry without being distracted. I don’t understand why it’s hard to stay present in a conversation while the TV news plays in the background. I want him to just be able to focus and I don’t understand how it could possibly be that hard. But I believe him. I accept that his ADD is real for him, even though I don’t understand it.
We both had to come to terms with this when our son confided that he is a transgender boy. We didn’t understand it. We couldn’t imagine the feelings our child was experiencing, and it was hard for us to wrap our minds around his unique experience. But just because we hadn’t experienced it, didn’t mean it wasn’t real.
When the going gets tough, that’s what we fall back on. We’re a pretty strong crew. We’re going to fight for what we believe in. And sometimes we’re going to disagree. But I’m pretty sure nobody’s ever read a vitriolic Facebook comment that made them think, “Oh, my. It looks like I was wrong after all.” Ultimately, you’re only going to change hearts and minds by living a life that honors your own truth, and by trying to truly understand the people who touch your life.
So we keep listening and asking questions and making mistakes and disagreeing. And I pray that we never stop learning from each other.