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Jacob has a neurological disorder that makes sustained attention difficult for him. He often leaves a conversation that is obviously not finished, which can be disconcerting and confusing to others. His roommate, Bill, has tried to give Jacob verbal clues and direction to keep him better focused, but this didn’t always work. Although Bill understands what’s going on, it’s frustrating for him. At times, he feels like Jacob’s parent, or worse it seems to him that Jacob is self-centered and uncaring, which Bill knows is not the case.

Words are important and we rely on them to achieve meaning and structure to our experience. Words, however, are only one form of structure to help give us direction. When Bill, Jacob, and I talked about the problems they were experiencing in their communication patterns, we decided to take a different approach to structure.

Rather than Bill only giving Jacob verbal cues, we decided to add practical visual, kinesthetic, and logical cues. For example, when they need to talk about something important, they sit at the kitchen table in designated chairs.  Prior to sitting, they put a blue table cloth (only used for this purpose) on the table, construct an agenda attached to a clip board, and make tea. They use the same routine each time they have these talks.

By literally setting the table with the same items (visual and kinesthetic reminders) and creating an agenda (logical) where they can check off items, they create patterns and structures to give Jacob multiple clues to help anchor his attention. Oh, and it is Jacob’s job to cross off items on the clip board as the conversation progresses, so he knows where they are in the process of discussion. This also gives him something tangible to do.

This type of structure has helped Jacob and Bill have extended conversations that are more satisfying to both of them. It does not fully compensate for Jacob’s attention difficulties, but it does give them both more structure and opportunity to collaborate on the process and content of their conversations, which helps them feel more connected.

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The Communication Styles Framework illuminates how you process information and, therefore, interact with others. The seven processing dimensions (or components, as they are called) combine differently for each individual to form a unique communication style. All seven are active ingredients in each individual, but two or three are most easily identified (Core Processing Strengths).

Other communication styles paradigms are based on personality, roles, and/or gender. These approaches look more broadly at factors that influence specific behaviors, for example, being passive, assertive, steadfast, or compliant. Introversion and extroversion are, perhaps, the most common traits.

While it is useful to be aware of these roles and personality factors, they are general and so don’t offer specific information about the underlying drivers of our communication. The CS Framework, however, does identify those underlying drivers and offers specific tools to help insure successful communication.

Here’s a personal example: I am of an introvert, yet my core processing strength is the Interpersonal Component, which combines with my auditory and kinesthetic processing strengths. This means that I seek engagement with others (thinking out loud) and rely strongly on how the message sounds and feels. Others hearing this description may have a hard time making sense of it. It’s my unique understanding of how I go about processing information, expressing myself, and listening to others. Because there are as many communication styles as there are individuals, stereotyping or pigeonholing is futile.

Although the CS Framework is based on individual strengths, it also helps us understand how our strengths can get us into trouble.  Overemphasizing a strength without recognizing that others may not have the same strength has the potential for derailing communication.  For me that might take the form of expecting too much engagement from others because I have such a strong interpersonal component to my communication style.

Finally, it’s also a good idea to challenge yourself by focusing on a less developed component (for me that would be either the logical or visual-spatial) to see what you notice.  This will broaden your self understanding and encourage you to be more aware of how others experience communication, both expressively and receptively.

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“It drives me crazy when you tell me nothing is going on, when I can tell from your voice that something is going on!” Jeri exclaimed.

“Why won’t you believe me?” Brad pleaded, “I told you, nothing’s going on!”

And so it goes. We’ve probably all been involved in a conversation of this sort at one time or another. Brad said something to Jeri and the way it sounded was incongruent with the words he used. She thinks he’s upset because she heard “upset” in his voice, which in a sense was there.

As we teased apart the emotions and details of the conversation, what we discovered was interesting and helpful. Although Brad was not upset about the issue they were discussing, he was frustrated by how the process of the discussion was evolving. This happens frequently in conversations with couples. Brad is linguistically sensitive and logical in how his thoughts progress. For him there is a distinct difference between upset and frustration, and he was adamant in telling Jeri that it was the process that was troublesome to him, not the issue.

Jeri is very auditory sensitive. She hears the subtleties in voice quality and the emotion carried by those qualities. She listens very carefully and tunes into others by how the communication sounds. So for Brad to say he’s not upset when she clearly hears him being upset drives her crazy.

This is a good example of how differences in communication style strengths can cause friction and conflict in relationships. Brad processes a conversation with linguistic and logical strengths dominant. Jeri processes primarily in the auditory and interpersonal realms. They rely on their strengths to guide them in understanding, as we all do. Yet they focus through different elements (communication components), which creates a disconnect.

Simply being aware that these differences exist, knowing how you and your partner process information and recognizing and accepting the differences while separating the process from the content in a conversation  will help minimize conflict and support an opportunity for better understanding.

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Geraldine gets annoyed with Joseph because he narrates what he’s doing or about to do. For example, if he says, “I’m going to the kitchen and get some crackers,” Geraldine might respond, “Why do you need to tell me that? Are you looking for permission or do you think it’s of interest to me?” “Oh, I don’t know,” he says. . . . They’ve had this conversation many times and Joseph feels like he’s doing something wrong, but he’s always done this. So why does he announce what’s he’s doing?

Joseph and I explored this question, and he wondered if there was some deeper psychological issue: Did one of his parents do this when he was growing up? Did he need permission because he is so lacking in confidence?  Is he so self-centered that he believes people are interested in his every move? You can probably see where this is going. None of these hypotheses had any merit.

Finally Joseph said, “I do it for myself. I’m not really talking to anyone else.  There’s something about hearing that organizes me.” “What do you mean by ‘organizes’?” I asked. Joseph then went on to describe how hearing the story is grounding and keeps him focused. He is a musician and song writer. He hears and feels the rhythm and melody in words. His experiences become organized by telling and hearing the story, something that can be hard for others to understand.

When Joseph shared his insight with Geraldine she understood better, and because she knows Joseph so well it made sense to her. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t annoyed when he announces what he’s doing. The difference now is that she doesn’t load it with inaccurate meaning as she once had. And now Joseph is more aware of it, so he can sometimes curtail it and often uses humor by rapping his actions or singing á la opera.

Using the communications styles lens to better understand our behavior and that of others doesn’t mean all troubled feelings disappear into happiness. This understanding, however, does help to unload the inaccurate, psychological meaning we’ve given behaviors, putting them in a context that allows us to interact with others more flexibly and with greater compassion.

There’s a tag to Joseph’s story. . . . While coming to understand the reasons for his narratives, he realized Geraldine’s routine of inefficiently wending her way through a parking lot to find a parking space, a behavior that drives him nuts, was routed in her not-so-strong visual-spatial skill. Joseph can size up the visual field in an instant, easily knowing how to navigate it but  Geraldine cannot. The visual field is hard for her to immediately make sense of. Understanding this has helped Joseph relax and realize that it’s not important that it takes Geraldine longer to find a parking place. Whatever meaning he had given this behavior in the past evaporated and we had a good chuckle over it.

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Gerard and Lucy were arguing about what happened in an argument they had the previous day. Lucy recalled the sequence of events and the words Gerard used to express his anger. Gerard became indignant and accused her of not telling the truth. “I was sitting in the chair the whole time and you just said that I was huffing and puffing all around the room. That’s just not true.”  “Are you calling me a liar?” Lucy retorted.

The conversation—or rather argument—continued with Gerard insisting that he sat in the chair the whole time and Lucy saying that part of the time he angrily moved about the room. How could their memories be so different?  Was one of them really not telling the truth but afraid to admit it out of embarrassment?

I’ve been party to many conversations in counseling and consulting work that deal with high conflict. Very rarely does someone not tell the truth to save face. Most all the time both people tell the truth…or what they experienced as best they can express it at the time.

I realize that may sound like legalese or politically or socially correct rhetoric, but it is the most accurate way I can explain the reality of the situation. Here’s why: As information comes into our brain, it is deconstructed. Fragments of the experience record in different areas. When memory is recalled, the fragments reconstruct and may not “come back” in the way the experience actually happened, and therefore might be different for each individual. This makes for very sober going as we try to establish “what really happened”—especially when two people, both hurt and confused, try to figure out what happened and maintain their sanity.

In high conflict situations, our stress hormones are elevated, which alters our thinking and feeling so we experience the situation in a somewhat altered state. Does that mean we are out of touch with reality? Not at all. What it does mean is that each of us will experience the same situation differently, and sometimes very differently. The conflict Lucy and Gerard experienced recorded in different ways in each brain. Over time as memory consolidates (which can take some years) those memories, as they recall them, can and will change.

So, what can they do? Lucy and Gerard must accept that they experienced what happened differently and not get hung up on who is right. Acknowledging how hard it was on both of them can set the stage for emotional healing and potentially some problem-solving. Talking and listening under these circumstances is difficult. If they can both clarify what they would like the other to understand, the repair process can begin. Achieving understanding does not require agreement, but it does require mutual respect.

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Britta was frustrated with Craig because he worries about a lot of things most of the time, according to Britta. According to Craig he doesn’t worry a lot of the time, a statement that flabbergasted Britta. “Just ask anyone who knows you,” she exclaimed, “ten-to-one they’ll say you are a worrier!” “Sure, I worry sometimes,” Craig replied, “but not ‘a lot of the time.’” Britta looked at me for help.

I suggested we stick to specifics as a first order of business and see if there was a recent incident that would help us better understand what each of them really meant. Britta brought up their youngest son as a topic for discussion.  We all agreed that a certain type of parental worry about our children is natural. Aaron, their son, is a very sensitive kid and has frequent emotional meltdowns. Britta went on to say that she felt frustrated because when Craig was talking about Aaron the day before, he was worrying, afraid of how Aaron will turn out as an adult. “There’s nothing we can do to fix this,” Britta said. “I wasn’t saying that either of us could or should fix this,” Craig replied. “And besides,” he continued, “I wasn’t worrying about Aaron.”

This brought an exclamation of incredulity from Britta. “You weren’t worrying?” she said in a somewhat sarcastic tone. “No, I wasn’t,” Craig said, calmly and matter-of-factly. We all paused at that, and because I know that Craig is word sensitive (linguistic) I asked him to define the difference between worry and concern. Being the wordsmith that he is, Craig easily did.

Worry, he said, is about feeling anxious about something unpleasant, whereas concern has an element of worry, but also compassion. This difference mattered a lot to Craig because he is so linguistically oriented, using words carefully to guide his thoughts, feelings, and communication.  To Britta these two words are relatively interchangeable. She did know, however, that this difference in their processing styles has accounted for conflict before, so she became more relaxed.

When Craig is concerned, he doesn’t obsess or feel burdened, but when he worries he feels burdened and looks for relief. By clarifying the meanings of the words, Britta could see that Craig wasn’t looking for help so he could feel better. He was expressing concern, not worry, about Aaron. The distinction helped Britta relax and it resulted in a broader discussion about clarifying terms and focusing on what each person needs from a conversation. For example, Britta can ask if there is some way she can be of help when she hears worry or concern from Craig. It’s a relatively small adjustment to the pattern of their conversations but the positive impact can be large.

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Anna and Tom had a big fight―one of those fights that starts with something small and ends up going global with each person bringing up numerous, unrelated issues.

My first question to Anna when I next saw her was, “Are you still upset with each other or have you made peace?” Anna said they were fine with each other but wanted to make sure they never fight like that again. When I asked her how they made peace she seemed puzzled that I was more focused on the peace than on the issues and how the fight evolved into a global affair.  So, I explained where I was coming from.

It’s not that I was uninterested in the content of the original problem or the dynamics that got away from them, it’s just that peace-making is a productive process and one I believe we can learn more from in the long run.  They obviously did something right: What was it and how did they figure that one out?

With interpersonal conflict, I tend to focus on the re-visiting concept, which is outlined in my book, Do You Know What I Mean?—Discovering Your Personal Communication Style, in the “Basic and Necessary Communication Skills” section at the end of the book. Learning how to constructively revisit conflict automatically teaches us how to focus when emotions are running high, because face it, when emotions run high, it isn’t possible to have a constructive discussion. That’s a biological fact.

Here’s a summary of the revisiting format:

1. Take time out and calm yourself.
2. Find out if the other person is prepared to continue the discussion in a different frame of mind and emotion. It takes as long as it takes.
3. State your intent. Say, for example, That didn’t go very well. I’d like to find a way for us each to better understand what’s important.
4. Express regrets. For example, I wish I hadn’t said . . .
5. Tell your stories. For example, This is what I went through . . . and highlight your beliefs. Give the other person time and space without interruption. This is not a fact-based discussion. It is meant to let you know what the other experienced so you can improve the interaction as you get back to the content.
6. Return to the content with more patience and understanding in a give-and-take discussion.
7. Repeat as many times as it takes. It’s worth it.

This is basically what Anna and Tom did, and with practice they can learn to incorporate this approach earlier in the process of conflict. So often we want to figure out what went wrong, so we will never do it again. A better approach is to focus on what is needed for things to go right.

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Luanne and Trevor have both lived hard lives. Alcoholism, physical abuse and more pervaded their childhoods, forcing them both to be independent before they were ready. Sometimes, readiness is a luxury―you do what you have to do, and it isn’t until many years later, weary, that you can look back in awe at the way things were in your “ordinary” life. That was the case for these two.

Their relationship began with intensity and great passion in a way that neither had previously experienced, despite being married, divorced and having other partners over the years. Now in middle age they discovered each other and something felt different. They seemed to intuitively know the other in a way that was reassuring and emotionally scary.

As they sat facing one other in the counseling office their fear was palpable.  Trying hard to be reassuring of their good intentions, each was careful not to say anything that would be hurtful, yet they needed to talk about the hard stuff, for which they were seeking guidance.

It’s always interesting and instructive for me to observe the face of the listener when their partner is talking. Trevor’s face was riveted on Luanne as she acknowledged her fear of staying close to him. She had ended previous relationships before the other person could hurt her. When she tried to do that with Trevor, the loss was too painful, so she was forcing herself to stay close to him. This meant she had to withstand the fear of him abandoning her, and as she talked about these complicated dynamics in her life Trevor was absorbing the facts and the feelings. The more she talked, the more Trevor relaxed.

Then, I watched Luanne’s face soften, her eyes brighten, her body sink into the chair as tears streamed down her cheeks. She was not really crying, she was emotionally releasing and connecting with herself, and with Trevor.  Luanne was declaring herself, facing her self-defeating behaviors rooted in the past, not serving her well anymore. This vulnerability was bathed in the truth and had an inner strength that allowed Luanne’s walled exterior to crumble before our eyes. Trevor and I were watching it happen.

This was likely a once in a lifetime experience, hard won, awe inspiring and a bit surreal. Yet in witnessing it there was no mistaking its authenticity.  Moments of real truth and experience such as these create a profound internal shift, and all at once we feel different. But in the difference is a familiarity with self that is undeniable and peaceful. Part of this truth is recgnizing that we’ve been given a gift and we have a responsibility to see it through.

Transformative experiences are opportunities. They do not change us in the way we imagine, to something bright and wonderful. They allow us to see what is possible and illuminate a path we can take, where effort is needed and struggles remain, but we’re no longer quite so afraid.

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I’m very aware of time. What time it is, how long something will take, the number of days before an event. I look at my appointment book several times a day, making, changing, and remembering when I have appointments and mapping out the time-flow. I’m also the kind of person who gets ready and shows up very early for appointments and events. I began doing this as a child. Keeping accurate time playing a musical instrument, however, has always been challenging, and although I’ve done a lot of organized singing as an adult, my timing skills with music remain weak.

My time estimation skills are also weak. I frequently err in determining how long an activity will take. Left on my own, I will calculate three activities taking a total of two hours, when in reality they take five or six hours. Likewise, I can overestimate: planning several hours for something that takes barely one. So, I’ve learned to ask others for feedback as part of my planning efforts.

My interpersonal timing skills, however, are strong. I innately sense what to say when, which fosters clearer communication and greater understanding.  I’m not talking about the art of making good conversation. I mean the way of listening and feeling the rhythm of the conversation, knowing when to ask a question and when to be silent, naturally modulating my voice and creating an emotionally safe environment. The timing involved in each of these “activities” comes naturally, although having over 30,000 hours of office counseling “practice” helps.

Timing and time, related but different—a strength, a weakness. Our human capacities have different dimensions. In one way they can work smoothly, efficiently and effectively.  In another way they can be erratic, out of synch, and cause problems. As I continue to observe and study the details of how we interact with ourselves and others, I am amazed at the nuances of our capacities and how paradoxical they can appear.

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“I don’t care.”  I used to say this quite a lot but stopped once I realized the impact it has on many people. The truth is I really don’t care about a lot of things. For example, if you ask me if I prefer having one thing or another to eat, I am likely to be content with either. To someone with definite preferences about food, that may be hard to accept, let alone understand.

On a free day when there are no particular plans, if I’m asked what I’d like to do, once again I’m likely to say, “I don’t care.” I understand it’s hard to accept this, too. I’ve often had the response, “How could you not care?” or “Are you just saying that so you don’t disappoint me?” Often I’m happy to do whatever comes along or is of interest to the other person I’m spending time with. But saying, “I don’t care,” really sounds bad. It can seem apathetic or that I’m not really invested in the relationship with the other person. Another way of saying this is, “It doesn’t matter,” which is equally bad. Choice of words matter and explaining what you mean matters a lot.

So, I’ve learned to say (when I don’t care what I eat), “I could be happy with just about anything. Is there something that sounds particularly good to you?” When I say it like this, I’m defining what my “not caring” means . . . well, in fact, I am caring: I’m showing care for the other person by staying connected. And the decision is still a shared experience.

It’s the shared experience part that’s particularly important because it’s about the importance of the relationship. Using the shorthand, “I don’t care,” isolates the other person—or yourself. It’s not easy to assess the impact we have on others with our choice of words. When we get feedback that doesn’t match our intention, clarifying the meaning of what we said usually helps.