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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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Gary injured his back working in the yard, which resulted in a long and difficult bout of sciatica, bad enough that he used a cane when walking.  Sitting, standing, and lying down were all difficult to different degrees for reasons he could not figure out. He was also under a lot of personal stress.  His elderly father was in and out of the hospital; each time Gary wondered if his father would live. And it was a busy time of year at the accounting firm where he worked.

Talking about his troubles wasn’t difficult for Gary: At this point he’d talk to anyone who’d listen. He felt scared and isolated in the pain he was experiencing. In counseling he wondered if what was happening was some kind of wake-up call. Were the forces in his life converging to give him a message about something deeper and important about how he was living his life?

As we explored current and past struggles, Gary was articulate and had given a great deal of thought to his history, strengths and challenges, important relationships, and concluded that he tried a little too hard to please others—he was a little too selfless, to his own detriment. Although his dad needed him, Gary was burning himself out and not sharing enough of the responsibility with his sisters. He didn’t want them to be burdened, knowing how much they were grieving about their father, and was usually too quick to say, “Oh, I can do that.”

Recognizing that Gary is strong interpersonally and kinesthetically, I asked him if there was a feeling or image that captured what he was experiencing in his pain and struggle. He closed his eyes and described what he called “a World War II guy who got shot up pretty badly.” The figure (him) was in a wheelchair and wrapped in white bandages from head to toe with only his right eye showing to the world. The image was less important to him than the feeling it conveyed about his experience being in the situation he was in.

As we continued to explore Gary’s struggles, we did it in the context of the bandaged figure. It guided his exploration and let him know when he was on the right track. For example, when he was talking about not burdening his sisters, the bandages stayed in place and were unchanged. When he focused on setting more appropriate boundaries for himself, however, there were fewer bandages and they were looser; he felt more present and connected in his life.

By connecting to this representation of himself, Gary was guided by something deeper and more trustworthy than just his words. He could fool himself, that is, talk himself into believing he was doing the right thing; but he couldn’t fool his inner kinesthetic experience.

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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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As often happens when teaching the Communication Styles Framework, someone will spontaneously say, “Oh, I just realized something I’d never thought of before.” This happened recently during a workshop with a management group.

The discussion centered on how differently we organize our workspaces, which was actually a side discussion that began when one member expressed frustration from having a messy desk. A coworker remarked that she has a messy desk, too, but “I know where everything is and can easily put my hands on whatever I’m looking for.” Someone else chimed in that she can usually picture right where she puts things.

I commented that my visual memory is poor, so I have shelves or a counter to spread out on, eliminating piles. If something is in a pile, I won’t remember it’s there. With shelves or a counter, I need to scan each item to remember I have it.

The most interesting comment, however, came from Lucien (not his real name, of course). “I remember where I put something by feeling where I put it.” As he said this he mimed with his arms moving in different directions, placing papers in different locations in space. “It’s kind of a muscle memory,” he continued. “I can’t see where I put it, but I know where it is because I remember the actual movement of putting it there.” There was a quiet pause as we all absorbed this new information.

In my usual articulate manner when something like this occurs, I said, “Wow, that’s so cool” . . . Seriously, I probably did say something like that because I’d never heard that from anyone and I hear many unusual comments in similar group meetings around the framework. Paying attention to these seemingly quirky observations is important. They are clues to our processing modalities and, therefore, our communication styles.

Lucien is strongly kinesthetic and a doer. He learns by gaining knowledge through direct experience and can seem impulsive, thoughtless, or foolish.  Now that his coworkers better understand his processing style, they are less likely to judge him and more likely to find constructive ways to interact with him when he does dive right into something.

Our discussion that day led directly into recounting a past experience (with good humor) when Lucien did something that seemed impulsive and ended up being embarrassing but was really part of his need to gain knowledge from direct experience. As the group revisited the incident and put it in a different (more accurate) context, they automatically began talking about how they all could have handled it differently. Recognizing Lucien’s need for direct experience also led to discussing how creative he is and how well he thinks on his feet. His taking direct action and adapting as needed afterward certainly suits him well—and usually benefits the whole management team.

By identifying Lucien’s strengths and how those strengths can also get him into trouble, this team engaged in a discussion that brought them greater understanding about themselves and each other. Without making judgments, they put past observations in a new context, which allows them to better support one another, problem-solve more creatively, and collaborate more productively.

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I had a conversation with a friend recently about watching professional baseball games. My friend, Lou, said “I can’t stand all the spitting. That’s all I see is constant spitting. Doesn’t that bother you?” My answer was simple, “No.”

When I watch a baseball game, I’m focused on the stance of the batter and how that reflects his concentration and level of anxiety as he anticipates the type of pitch he’ll get from the pitcher. At the same time, I’m intrigued by the thought process and body mechanics of the pitcher as he works with the catcher to establish which pitch he’s going to throw and where he’s going to throw it. Finally, I’m watching how the umpire positions himself to make an accurate call. And all of that tunes me into the emotions of each person, as best as I can connect (interpersonally) to them. I am absorbed by all these factors that communicate a richness I enjoy. The spitting gets very little of my attention.

Although our interests, history, and age influence what we like or don’t like to watch on television, our processing mechanisms and sensitivities also play a role. I’m naturally attuned to the interpersonal and kinesthetic elements, which is reflected in the above description of how I watch a baseball game.

As individauls, our focus is based more on how we process information and the type of natural awareness we possess—how we are wired—and it really is different for each of us.

Lou is very strong kinesthetically but in a much more sensory way. And he is highly intrapersonally attuned. None of this has any bearing on whether or not he enjoys baseball, but it does influence how he experiences the game on TV. He can’t stand the spitting. It physically grosses him out. I see it, but it just doesn’t effect me.

Lou also doesn’t like watching hospital dramas on television. He directly experiences the anxiety of the characters, which is upsetting and emotionally exhausting. I am thoroughly absorbed by the relationships between the characters, trying to anticipate how the relationships will unfold and how they will resolve the conflict they are experiencing.

I could tell Lou that it’s all make-believe and that he shouldn’t get so upset, but that isn’t really very understanding and it wouldn’t work anyway. He knows it’s “only a show.” He could tell me that I’m insensitive and criticize me for watching something so harsh, but that’s not a fair understanding either.

Understanding that we all process information (communication) differently encourages genuine curiosity, where we ask thoughtful, respectful questions and take care not to make assumptions about other peoples experience.

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My brother is a math whiz, has a strong logical mind, and once said, “I use the language of logic and math to communicate what I see in the visual-spatial realm.” Of course I was intrigued and had an intuitive sense of what he was describing but it’s so far from my personal experience that I was also baffled.

Working with management teams in businesses and organizations, I’ve often encountered people in finance who remind me of my brother, and recently I heard a description of processing in the logical and visual-spatial realms that was especially illuminating and intriguing. While talking about his role and confusion about communicating effectively with others in the organization, the CFO said, “I think in spread sheets, only they’re three dimensional. I can picture the numbers but more importantly see how they connect to the different areas of the organization, how they all relate to each other.” This was a bit of a show stopper for the team members.

What was he really saying? He understands the bigger picture around the finances of the organization because he can visualize how everything relates through money. He sees these numerical relationships in three dimensions.

Because no one else in the room does that, the CFO needs to find a way to communicate his ideas about finances in a way the others can understand. How to do that became a collaborative, trial and error process, and this in itself—discussing what everyone needed to achieve understanding—became a team-building activity.

Collaboration around the Communication Styles Framework is by its nature non-threatening. The conversation that evolved for this team was as important as the solutions they discovered because the discovery process taught them about each other within a problem-solving paradigm that they can replicate in other situations. This type of problem-solving most often results in durable and transferable solutions, so when another complex situation arises that requires good communication, they can draw on this experience to guide them to success.

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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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Robin has a small landscape design firm with three employees. Barry, the oldest of the three has ten years experience, is very talented, and wants to buy the business from Robin, who is getting close to retirement. The other two employees are younger and in the novice phase of their careers.

Robin respects Barry, seeing him as hard working, sincere, and ambitious without being driven. Although Robin also genuinely likes Barry, he’s never been able to establish the kind of rapport he’d like. He wishes the two of them could have very open, heart to heart type discussions, but his attempts at getting closer leave him feeling awkward and out of synch.

Through the communication styles lens, Robin is an external, spontaneous processor (thinking out loud). He is genuinely friendly and enjoys talking with others. He uses his hands a lot for self-expression and often refers to images and feelings in a poetic style.

Contrasting that, Barry is more of an internal processor, needing to think through his feelings and ideas (intrapersonal) to formulate thoughts and positions before meaningful engagement with others. He makes lists throughout the day, quantifies times and tasks naturally, and has a very reasoned (logical) approach to his life and communication.

Observing their processing/communication patterns, it became apparent that Robin was trying to engage spontaneously with Barry, popping into his office and quickly running something by him for an opinion or just to share information or find out how Barry was doing. Barry’s reserved responses frustrated Robin, and at times he felt rebuffed and hurt.

Robin tried to confront this pattern head on by asking Barry if something was wrong between them. Barry seemed confused and rattled by Robin’s question, which caused more awkwardness . . . and of course, Robin then began drawing varied conclusions: Barry is having problems at home with his “controlling” wife, Barry doesn’t trust or respect Robin, Barry is withdrawn and depressed, etc.

It’s hard not to draw psychological conclusions based on the above observations, yet there is another way of approaching the communication patterns Robin observed. My first suggestion was based on the assumption that Barry is stronger intrapersonally and Robin stronger interpersonally.  Therefore if Robin pops into Barry’s office, he should request a mutually satisfactory time for them to talk and let Barry know what the agenda is, so Barry can have an opportunity to think about it ahead of time. My second suggestion was for Robin to organize his visual-spatial pictures in a logical format (list, task flow, etc.) so Barry, with his logical approach, could quickly understand them.

These two adjustments had immediate positive results. Although Robin likes the idea of being spontaneous and free wheeling in his conversation, it doesn’t work for Barry. Giving Barry time to prepare and creating some order around the discussion allows both of them to be more open and communicative. The structure frees them to connect better emotionally and have some spontaneous conversation, as well.

Thinking about and accounting for style differences first, offers a straightforward opportunity for problem-solving before delving into the potential psychological and emotional roadblocks. The sequence matters.

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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.