“I’m not sure how to describe it, but something shifted.” That statement is the most consistent description used by people in counseling to describe a positive change. Something shifted signifies movement, not resolution—as in fixing or settling an issue. When something shifts internally, perspective changes and whatever shifted is no longer stuck. When we are stuck, some of our troubling behavior and/or feelings operate on automatic pilot. We repeat self-defeating behavior patterns that drive us nuts. But until something shifts, we continue to operate in a way that contributes to our unhappiness with ourselves, although often that unhappiness is projected onto outside sources.

So, what is it that shifts? We refer to it as something. The something that shifts is more related to feeling than to thought. Words help us describe this but cannot really do it justice, even though we have some level of cognition.

The shift is more than intellectual awareness. An intellectual awareness helps us understand something but does not directly change us. It is part of the process that results in the shift. As we struggle with ourselves, we try hard to figure out what is going on. We think hard about it and try to make connections, believing that if we truly understand, we can change for the better. Yet, understanding alone does not seem to result in the lasting change we hope for.

When the shift occurs, however, we are never the same. We feel more connected internally and externally. Both aspects of connection are hard to put into words but the experience is undeniable.

The process resulting in the shift is elusive—it is personal and therefore unique. It relates to our internal and external resources, age, level of development, life history, current circumstances, and more. Does it relate to hard work? Sometimes, but not necessarily. At times it just seems to happen or is related to a powerful life experience. At other times it is related to a process of determined discovery, peeling back layers of experience with the intention of change.

When the shift occurs, the relationship to our problem behavior is changed.  The problem doesn’t disappear, nor do our original feelings of unhappiness.  But the current atmosphere around the problem changes—how we carry it with us—the relationship we have to it. Somehow we develop more grace, respect, humility, confidence, and peace.

If we bore into our feelings about the original unhappiness, we can still feel the bad feelings but usually without blaming ourselves and without losing our self-worth. We have a deeper and more compassionate understanding. We don’t worry about getting emotionally high jacked in the way that we used to. In other words, our sense of self doesn’t get fragmented by bad memories. We remain intact (connected) and feel whole.

Frequently when we experience such a shift, we expect transformation, a natural and dangerous expectation. Although the relationship to our problem changes, the second phase, which I refer to as integration, unfolds. We still must watch ourselves struggle with the old feelings and behaviors but with greater opportunity to handle them differently. Our choices have increased as a result of the shift and our growing awareness. It isn’t smooth sailing, however. Prior to the shift we did not see any other behavioral possibilities. With the shift our options increase and we have more freedom to grow. That’s all we can hope for . . . and that’s a lot.

“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.

In my consulting work with parents of young children, I encourage parents to notice what the child notices and then to make a comment. To some degree this is natural. When, for example, there is a loud airplane overhead and the child looks up, it is common for the parent to say, “Oh, there goes an airplane.”

It’s more complex when the parent notices the child’s inner, emotional reaction to an event. Let’s say a stranger in the supermarket reaches down and ruffles the hair of the child and says, “What a cute head of fluffy curls.”  The child looks very sober and ignores the passing stranger.

The parent could say nothing or comment. I think commenting is better, but what should the parent say? The parent could tell the child that the stranger really liked her hair or that the stranger was just trying to be friendly. Neither really validates the child’s experience, however, which is often the most important part of noticing. If the parent says, “I don’t think you liked that lady ruffling your curls,” then the child knows that the parent understands the child’s experience. From there, a discussion might proceed.  Either way, the child is seen by the parent and the emotional experience is validated.

It’s not so different in the workplace with supervisors and supervisees, though I’m not implying that supervisors treat supervisees like children.  With that stipulation, active noticing by team managers is critical to the well-being and productivity of all team members. Active noticing is more than praise for a job well done. It’s about noticing the details: Does the employee have the knowledge they need? How much effort are employees expending; are they overworked? Do they need help from others? Noticing these details and discussing them with the employee strengthens the working relationship.

For example, when an employee works especially hard to meet a deadline and you say, “Joe, I know there’s a lot of pressure to get this done on time and that you’re feeling it. Let’s meet at 2:00 to see if there’s a way to ease the pressure.” Even if it’s obvious to everyone that Joe is working hard, stating the obvious and showing willingness to help makes a difference, even if you and Joe decide that there really isn’t anything else that can lighten his load.

When employees experience your active noticing, their sense of well being and loyalty increase. It makes for happier, more engaged and, therefore, productive employees. A win-win situation and formula for success.

Recently I’ve been talking about curiosity as a communication skill—and, perhaps one of the most important communication skills. Why?

Imagine that every time you engage in an important conversation you remain curious. What impact will this have on the other person and the outcome of the discussion? . . . Think about it. . . . Remaining curious requires an open mind, an open heart, and a genuine interest in the other person. If you have that, those you’re conversing with will feel this and most will respond positively, likely resulting in greater openness.

Being curious is more than just being interested in gathering information. It anchors the listener in a posture that communicates good will, which makes being open much easier. The more openness, the deeper a conversation can go, and achieving understanding—the goal of interpersonal communication—is more likely.

In a previous post I referred to research about older couples who had been married (happily) fifty years or more. The aim of the research was to discover the ingredients that contributed to their happiness. These couples all reported remaining curious, realizing that as much as you know about your loved one, you don’t know everything—and you never will. This open-mindedness—curiosity—created a respectful environment where both partners continued learning about each other.

In the “Basic and Necessary Communication Skills” section of my book, Do You Know What I Mean?—Discovering Your Personal Communication Style, I suggest asking “I’d like to understand what’s really important to you. Can you tell me?” when you’re having a difficult conversation. This, when asked with sincerity, creates an opportunity for real listening.

Of course the most important advice for creating harmony in relationships is to listen. Listening well is an important skill. Curiosity is a special part of listening, perhaps a sub-skill. How we classify curiosity is unimportant, though, as long as we practice it and communicate it to others when we are trying to achieve understanding.

Derek had a ten-year dance career, and now at age thirty-two it was time for him make a change. Clearly he was in transition and wanted to find a way to include dance in his life in some form. So we explored his interests, ideas and strengths.

When we talked about choreography, I asked him how he creates a dance. I was curious partly because I can’t image doing something like this, considering my difficulty with visual memory and sequence. As Derek described the process, he became a little dreamy-eyed and began moving his head rhythmically from side to side.

First, Derek gets an image of the dance in his mind’s eye, but not a vivid image of specific movements—an image that communicates the mood and tempo of the dance. It’s a little dreamy but forms the foundation of his creative process. With the basic idea in place, he then begins to feel the movements unfold in his body but moves very little. It’s more of a step here or there, some shifting of weight and arm movements. “Nothing that looks like much to an outsider,” Derek explained.

Next he needs to be in the studio with a mirrored wall, so he can actually move and watch himself. This is a tedious process because he experiments a lot, changing and refining specific positions and movements “until it feels and looks right.”

When he completes a sequence he likes, Derek makes notes and sketches notes for future recall. Often he doesn’t need the notes, but it’s what he’s always done and it’s just part of his process. His basic memory kicks in as soon as he begins moving is body. The ability to process kinesthetically is second nature for Derek. As we talked, he also realized how important it is for him to get up and move around when he’s trying to “think something through.” He joked about how he “moves something through.”

For those who are strongly kinesthetic, I often advise them to experiment with different kinds of movement to discover how they can best use it for managing stress, thinking, communicating, and creating. And for those not so kinesthetically inclined, it’s also good to experiment with movement. Brain research shows that much of the body (yes, including the brain) needs/requires movement for efficient and healthy functioning.

Mentoring comes up in my thoughts and conversation frequently these days. Of course at my age and stage of career that’s part of what happens: I have over thirty-five years of accumulated experience and knowledge and enjoy passing along what I’ve distilled. My past writing on this subject was about how hard it is to develop mentoring relationships in the workplace because of the rapid turnover of personnel, the culture gap between generations, and how older folks need to work longer and are protective of their jobs and know how (now called “intellectual capital”).

Recently, I’ve observed another obstacle to developing mentoring relationships: our easy access to information. An increasing percentage of the workforce has grown up in the information age and automatically uses technology to find instant answers to questions and resources on topics of interest. In so many ways this is marvelous. Do a topic search for “organizational skills for teachers,” for example, and see what happens. No, you don’t need to because you know you will get page after page of references that will eventually lead you to solid and helpful information.

How is this different from walking down the hall to Master Teacher Beth and discussing your organizational challenges with her? “But why would I do that,” you might ask, “when I can get the benefit of dozens of Beths by going to the internet?” It’s a good question and my answer is why not do both, although to do the latter might make you appear vulnerable (you think), admitting that you are uncertain just when you’re trying to prove yourself and demonstrate competence and mastery.

So what is it that you can get from Beth that you can’t get from the internet?  You may get more information from the internet than you will from Beth, but you won’t get the relationship. And part of what’s important is the relationship. Someone who might care about you, look out for you, take you aside and challenge you when you need it, offer a piece of advice at the right time, and share the process with you. . . .

What process? you ask. That’s a difficult question to answer because there is no one process, but some process does exist when one applies information. The specific process for each of us varies, at least some, and we each need to discover how to mesh our own internal process with the external structure in our work. In other words, we need to accommodate the body of knowledge inherent in the discipline of the work with our individual/personal way of working. Good mentors understand this and can offer guidance at the right time because they recognize the complexity of process and that timing is everything—and that’s where the relationship comes in. Receiving information from an impersonal stranger—and as good as the information gotten via the internet may be, it’s still impersonal—may not be helpful. A mentor, however, understands the specific concept of the workplace process, and as he or she gets to know the mentee can offer guidance, personal experience, wisdom, and other resources. The mentor has been there and can put into context all the pieces—the required information, the level of development of the mentee, and the desired goal—while accounting for the mentee’s own discovery process.

Mentoring is both art and science. It combines the tools of the trade with experience, while developing a meaningful and useful relationship. Mentors, of course, must guard against the desire to create a clone (immortality?), thereby not recognizing the uniqueness of the mentee. Mentoring must always be about the mentee and what’s needed in his or her development.  The value of thoughtfully offering guidance, which results in the growth of another person and contributing to the greater good are reward enough.

Seven-year-old Willie was having trouble on the playground with Dylan. Every time they played together, they fought, and it had reached the point that just approaching each other resulted in bad feelings and conflict of one sort or another. Their parents tried to encourage them to simply avoid each other. Although this seemed like a straightforward solution because each boy acknowledged not liking the other, it just didn’t work. Their teacher, Ms. Comstyle, tried talking with the boys individually and together without success. The principal even intervened, which did have an effect . . . short term. Needless to say, everyone was frustrated.

Then Ms. Comstyle focused her communication styles lens and realized that Willie has very strong visual-spatial skills, so she devised a new plan taking this into account. She asked Willie to picture a big red stop sign, which he could easily do. Next she had him picture Dylan walking toward him on the playground. Finally, she asked Willie to picture the stop sign between him and Dylan. Each step was easy for Willie: he was very good at picturing and enjoyed the details.

Willie worked with Ms. Comstyle every day for a week, picturing the scene with the stop sign between him and Dylan. The following week without being told to do so, Willie reported excitedly to his teacher (and then later to his parents) that he kept himself away from Dylan on the playground because he could picture a big, red stop sign that reminded him to stop and go in the other direction.

I’ve coached many teachers to think about a child’s communication style strengths when figuring out ways to solve a problem academically or socially. Focusing on strengths, when a lot of attention has already been paid to weaknesses, shifts attention and allows for more creative problem-solving. In this case, it gave Willie a new tool to work with as he grows and develops.

Justin worked hard to stay connected to his team. He interacted daily with each of the six members whether he needed to or not. It was just his way—make pleasant conversation to keep things friendly, ask personal questions about member’s kids or vacations, and keep up to the minute on project details. No one doubted Justin’s motives. They knew his heart was in the right place, that he wanted everyone to get along and cared about doing everything well. But . . . they all found him annoying, and it was beginning to erode the overall positive working environment.

The owner of the small marketing agency where Justin works began to notice the tension and tried to find out what was going on. The team’s quality of work was good; that wasn’t the issue. She discovered, however, that there were no weak links in the team and everyone basically liked their roles and what they did, so she concluded that it was a personality conflict between Justin and his team and recommended communication training to help them learn how to discuss these personality conflicts.

When we illuminated the communication styles differences of team members, some things were immediately clear. Justin’s way of continuously interacting reflected his strong interpersonal nature, naturally causing friction with the four members who were more intrapersonally oriented. Just identifying that difference cut down on some of the conflict.

More interestingly though, Justin also discovered that his strong visual-spatial orientation manifested in a way he had not recognized before. “My mind pictures spirals,” he said. “There are spirals  connecting to spirals, and I pick up data from other people and attach it to one or more spirals that I naturally visualize. It’s how I think and organize my mind—and of course no one else realizes what I’m doing because it’s invisible.”

Following up with the team, we made other important discoveries. Two team members have strong logical components to their processing/communication styles and organize information in sequence on a timeline. One of them said, “You mean everyone doesn’t do that?”—a serious and rhetorical question.

What happened next was actually great fun and energizing for the team. Justin placed a large sheet of paper in the middle of the table and sketched his internal spirals, attaching words and symbols signifying the data he had gathered from a recent project. Another team member drew a time line and organized his data along the line. Others participated by making various markings to connect information from the spirals and the timeline.

The spontaneous and creative solution that emerged for this once-struggling team was natural and exciting—and not at all a conflict of personalities.  Recognizing exactly how our strongest communication style components manifest often creates pathways to group problem-solving and team
building.

“You really should find a way to . . .” Kim never completed her sentence or expressed her enthusiasm about an idea Josh had because he bristled when he heard the word should.

Using should is often dangerous. Like using “I” statements and reflecting back what someone has said before responding (to insure understanding), caution around using should is part of a generally accepted set of communication skills. In fact, we often chide one another for using it. The idea, of course, is that one may be (or perceived to be) robbing the other of their agency—the assumption that you know what’s right for me.

Kim, however, was not making a presumption for Josh. She was simply excited about what he was saying and thought it would be great if he . . . Josh only heard the word should and not the complete thought and reacted: “Why are you trying to tell me what to do when I’m just sharing my idea with you?” Taken aback, Kim responded, “I’m not telling you what to do!  Why are you criticizing me, when . . .” to which Josh replied, “Your controlling use of language is inappropriate.”

Discussing their linguistic process of the conversation derailed Josh and Kim and they didn’t discuss the actual issue. This happens. In fact, it happens more frequently than we’d like in intimate  relationships. Josh is linguistically sensitive. He uses words precisely because they guide his thinking and are critical to establishing meaning and understanding. Hearing Kim say should meant obligation, duty, expectation. According to the dictionary, Josh was right, but not according to Kim. She had no expectation, nor did she see it as his duty or obligation to do anything. Then why did she use the word? Josh wondered.

I could make the case that the relationship would be better served if Kim took more care in her use of language and make the case that Josh could take more care to find out what Kim means when she uses words that he strongly reacts to, like should, before taking issue with her. Our communication strengths can get us into trouble, so it’s important to recognize patterns where this happens and develop tools to mitigate conflict and promote understanding. If Josh and Kim can discuss this pattern, understanding that it reflects communication style differences and carries no bad intentions, they can develop a way to quickly acknowledge what’s happening and have an opportunity to complete the “real” conversation.

“It’s as if I have a wall in front of me,” Joe reflected. This is not an uncommon description from many who enter counseling. The image of the wall has obvious implications but is always more complicated than it seems at first glance. Joe’s wall is a barrier between himself and others, protection from getting emotionally closer, and therefore, hurt.

Joe talked about the hurts in his life, growing up in a family where there was alcohol and physical abuse. Protecting himself both physically and emotionally was essential to his survival, and he became expert at hiding his needs, wishes, desires, hopes, and dreams. He developed a demeanor to look confident but relied on the wall to protect himself.

Being friendly and caring came naturally to Joe, but being open and sharing on a deeper level . . . well, that part of him remained hidden behind the wall.  He felt great sorrow and at times anger for what had happened in his lost childhood and had good insight into understanding the impact his early life experiences had had on him. Finding his way out of this pattern of hiding behind the wall was more elusive.

Because Joe expressed himself with metaphors and a lot of visual-spatial language (it looks like; I see; when I picture it; etc.) and often used gestures when talking about his feelings, we focused on these processing strengths rather than primarily relying on words (linguistic) or reason (logical). And we began by considering the image of the wall. Picturing the wall and studying what it looked like made it more real: He could feel it with his hands, smell it, and make alterations to it. As he explored the wall, he discovered a ladder leaning against it, which allowed him to stay protected while looking on the other side to see how he felt.

Staying connected to the wall but changing his relationship to it resulted in Joe learning to take more emotional risks in his life. Eventually, he reconstructed the wall to include a door so he could more easily move to the other side when he chose to. This was not a happily-ever-after experience, but it did create opportunity and hope.

Words, reason, and reflection are not unimportant in Joe’s struggle to reclaim his life. Using his core processing strengths, however, gave him a more direct pathway to healing. The Communication Styles Framework lets this happen, an invaluable tool for connecting experiences when dealing with complex emotional dynamics.