Here’s what you’re doing wrong and how to fix it
You know what, you’re absolutely right. You got me with that one. (Art by Arlington Gregg)
I know that it takes positive tension to change behavior, whether you’re teaching someone to read or encouraging them to buy new brake pads for their car.
Depending on the action you’re trying to get the person to take, a little fear or the promise of a reward might be just what they need in order to meet their own goals, and in the process, help you to meet yours.
Where is the line, though? Even if we want someone to do something for their own good, how do we know what “their own good” is? What makes us qualified to judge that, and how have we earned the trust to engage accordingly?
I don’t know. And what’s more, I’m not interested in providing those guidelines for anyone else — at least, not at this stage.
I only know that zeroing in on someone’s inadequacies to challenge them into action does not fit the story I’m trying to tell or the person I want to be.
Lately, I’ve been hearing some thoughtful perspectives on caring for those with dementia. Instead of challenging them and correcting them (“No, ma’am, your husband has been dead for five years,” or “I’m your daughter, don’t you recognize me?”), we can meet them where they are and join them in their world. It’s a compassionate approach that acknowledges the futility of trying to change someone’s beliefs in an instant.
People can make huge shifts when they are ready, and a lot of the work of parents, teachers, leaders, mentors, and marketers is to either help them to be ready or in the right place when they are. Rushing the process is counterproductive, whether we’re trying to get someone to pee in the potty, vote in the next election, or give a new skin care product a shot.
One could argue that aggressive tactics (“Here’s what you’re doing wrong and how to fix it”) are meant to reach people where they are — to self-select for the people who are in a position to respond to the message and even welcome it. That’s fine. I will still use this approach sparingly.
As a former classroom teacher and former student, I know all too well the impact a message that’s meant to reach a handful of people and yet goes out to everyone. Too often, the exact wrong people internalize the words that are the opposite of what they needed to hear, while the intended audience deflects valid criticism or instruction with superhero-like ease. Maybe this approach is beneficial in the long run, but I’d need to see the evidence to believe that.
People will change when they feel bad enough, but I’m not interested in helping with the process of getting them there. It’s so personal, anyway. What’s “bad enough” is specific to each person. Some like to optimize on an ongoing basis, and some need to hit rock bottom and hang out there for awhile. What would my role be? What am I, the Ghost of Christmas Future? It’s none of my business.
Discomfort is a part of learning and growth, but it’s enough for those feelings to come from the circumstances themselves. A mentor’s job isn’t to make us uncomfortable, but to guide us through the challenging experience and help us deal with the feelings that arise.
Not all educators agree with me, of course. When I was in my late twenties, I ended up in a lose-lose situation (I’ll tell you the whole story someday) in which a the director of a choir I was in said to me, “you selfish girl. You should be ashamed of yourself.” I followed his directions for a little while until I realized that I was under no obligation to do so. I hadn’t asked for his opinion.
So if someone tells me what I’m doing wrong, whether it’s in a TV ad, a book, a classroom, or a conversation, I’m going to consider whether I have a responsibility to hear their feedback. And if the answer is no, I’m going to ignore it and keep working on becoming the person I want to be. I encourage you to do the same.
