There's no script that can fix it
Nothing you can say will make me believe you.
I am a regular reader of an advice column I don’t like very much.
Why? Well, I like advice columns in general. I like how they wake up the problem-solving part of my brain and the empathic part at the same time.
The problem is that I’m not a big fan of the advice given by the writer.
Often, the question goes something like this: “When my mother-in-law comes over, she feeds my children sweets for lunch and rearranges the contents of my closets and drawers so that they’re more to her preferences. She stops by unannounced. She opens our mail. I’ve told her that I don’t like it, but the behavior continues. How can I get her to stop?”
The columnist will often answer with an expertly crafted script that the letter writer can say directly to her mother-in-law. A script that will achieve nothing.
It’s true that there are some situations in which saying just the right thing in just the right way can defuse an uncomfortable situation, clear up a misunderstanding, or bring two people into greater alignment.
But if the perfect script is going to work, the other person has to be willing, ready, and able to receive it. And there aren’t words that can make that part happen. Whether I’m trying to connect with a difficult relative, a student, a colleague, or a wayward toddler, their response isn’t up to me. I can’t control what happens next.
When you’ve told someone that you don’t like what they’re doing and they keep doing it, more or different words aren’t going to fix it. Something else has to change — like in the case of the aggressive mother-in-law, the locks.
I had a lot of opportunities to practice this concept (or at least, acceptance of it) in my role as director of my music school. In the early days, I would be tempted to compose long and painstaking emails defending policy decisions, attempting to resolve conflicts, and gently refusing requests.
In time, I learned two things:
One, sometimes it’s better to pick up the phone instead.
Two: I can’t manage someone else’s reaction to what I say. I must always be kind, but it’s not my responsibility to tell them what they want to hear or create a particular outcome.
It got easier to deal with difficult situations when I didn’t need the recipient to react in a particular way. It was okay if they decided that they didn’t want to do business with me anymore. It was okay if they got mad at me. It was okay if they had hurt feelings.
Ironically, when I was less afraid, I communicated in a way that was kinder, clearer and more compassionate. I was able to propose more interesting solutions to problems and more easily take responsibility for things that had gone wrong.
Because I wasn’t trying to take ownership of someone else’s behavior and choices, I took better ownership of myself and my business.
Increasingly, people responded with respect and appreciation, even when I had said no to them. Sometimes not — but I knew that I didn’t have to make their problem my problem. As long as I had been kind and taken responsibility for my own stuff, I slept well at night.
Sometimes, decisive action has to be taken in order to protect someone vulnerable or respond to injustice. This can be scary, because upsetting someone is likely inevitable. It’s so much easier when we let go of the need to “make it right” and offer the perfect words for the situation. Maybe there aren’t any perfect words, and that’s okay.