I Want to be a Giraffe

Almost a year ago, I attended a wonderful workshop on compassionate caregiving, during which we were introduced to the theories and techniques of Nonviolent Communication, or NVC. Yesterday, I followed up on that original workshop with one devoted entirely to NVC--what better way to spend a holiday devoted to love than in learning how to communicate with a more open heart?

As it was just an introduction, I can't fully explain the history, theories, or strategies of NVC here. Clinical psychologist Marshall Rosenberg, having grown up in a violent Detroit neighborhood, later identified and developed strategies for communication that created and supported less violent, more compassionate relationships. At the basis of this is an awareness and understanding of needs, or basic human requirements ranging from physical well-being to freedom and the pursuit of happiness; feelings, which are the result of needs being met or unmet; and strategies, or the things we do to meet needs. Compassionate communication strives to create a quality of connection between people that supports needs getting met (resulting in positive feelings, as opposed to needs remaining unmet through conflict which results in negative feelings).

So how do you do that? Well, that's the tricky part. Self-awareness through "needs consciousness" and "emotional literacy" allows us to understand our own motivations and behaviors. A formula such as "I am feeling _______ because I need ______" allows us to connect our emotions with the needs that are met or, more usually, unmet--this then provides a way to address the needs and negative emotions. For example, let's say it makes me crazy when the kiddos drag their feet, literally and figuratively, about getting out of the house. I could say something like "I am feeling frustrated" but not because "the kids don't leave the house in an orderly or timely fashion"--I am responsible for my own feelings; blame and causality have no place in NVC--but because "I need to be helped and supported (by them) in my efforts." I can then ask them "would you be willing to help me get out of the house so that we don't have fights first thing in the morning?" (actually, that's jumping ahead to an "action request"; often you start with "connection requests" like "would you be willing to tell me what you think you heard me say?' so that you can be certain you were heard and understood). Of course, that all sounds very awkward and formal (and silly when talking to 3 1/2 year olds), but as I see it, the first efforts in any new language or way of speaking are artificial--just look at your beginning Latin text. Who ever needed to say "puella bella est?" Even in English we don't usually say things like "the girl is pretty." But that's the kind of grammar and syntax I learned for weeks in beginning Latin (and Greek, and German, and French, and ASL. And we don't even know verbs in Chinese yet!).

I'm gliding over all sorts of things, mainly because it's complicated to shrink several handouts (themselves shrunk from a larger text) and several hours of lecture and practice into one post (and if I've misunderstood or made a mistake, it is mine and not NVC's or the workshop leader's--check out the links for clarification). And because I don't grasp all of it yet. Besides, I'm not qualified to teach NVC. But I wanted to give some sense of why I'm fascinated by it. Mama and I are pretty good about communicating and expressing our feelings, I tend to think; we'd even come up with ways to talk about needs and feelings, though without really getting to the heart of NVC. When we lived in Chicago, we had a lengthy discussion about the "orange juice glass." If Mama left a dirty orange juice glass on the table and I freaked out, it wasn't because I really couldn't bear dirty dishes, but because I felt taken for granted, disrespected, whatever. And then of course, Mama would feel like I was overreacting--or maybe she left the orange juice glass out because I never said I appreciated what she did do. While there was no actual orange juice glass beyond our hypothesizing about how we (mis)communicated, the orange juice glass left on the table became our metaphor for those little things that can eventually lead to conflict, disaster, and the end of relationships when overlooked or ignored, at a time when many of our friends were dissolving their unions. Updating that to NVC, the orange juice glass was not just an orange juice glass but a symbol for unmet needs and negative feelings. And in the intervening years, it has been our shorthand for "something else is going on here entirely and we need to pay attention." It's always important to do the dishes, you know.

Even our solid communication skills have been tested by exhaustion, overwork, and especially our lack of a language for understanding and interpreting the challenges and experiences and emotions of parenthood. I think NVC might give us those tools. Because, really, yesterday when I identified my unmet needs which resulted in frustration at not getting out of the house easily, it was a need to feel capable and competent at my work, not just a need for help and support from the kids. I get so upset in the mornings because I think I've done everything I need to do to get out of the house smoothly--packed bags the night before, given plenty of time, given plenty of warnings and reminders, issued clear instructions about coats and shoes--and still we're just not progressing. And then I feel incompetent. I hadn't realized that until yesterday. At the same time, I realized what the kids' needs must be: they need to play and they feel sad, angry, and frustrated that I'm cutting their playtime short to put on shoes to go to school (really, it's any transtition, not just school). I have a feeling that the next time we head out the door for school, it'll be different than before, if only because I am more aware of what's happening. Of course, going to school isn't a choice (or a "request"), it's a "demand," something that is non-negotiable. But the way that we actually get out the door to get there can be approached in many different ways. And NVC allows me to attempt a less confrontational, less "violent," more compassionate way. In NVC lingo, to be a giraffe--the land animal with the largest heart whose head rises so high that it can see the "big picture" and who only uses force in self-defense.

There's more to it--empathy for others and empathy for self, being beyond "right" and "wrong," taking responsibility for our own feelings and actions, the belief that we are all doing our best at any given time--and that's just the introduction. I purchased Rosenberg's intro to the subject, Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life, and a parenting book highly recommended by several parenting resources, Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids, which contains feelings and needs cards which seem to be a hallmark of NVC training. It's funny, because it was by sorting through the cards trying to figure out my feelings and needs surrounding disorderly departures from home that I came across the "capable" needs card and had an "a-ha!" moment. I've also signed up for another workshop, which goes beyond introducing these ideas to actually implementing them. So if you hear me talking a lot about observations, feelings, needs, and requests, about giraffes and jackals ("the judge"), about empathy and connection, about causality and blame and power and violence, being hooked and being curious, about the spiritual practice of compassion, you'll know where it came from and what I'm doing, even if it sounds like I'm speaking some weird new language. I am--it's giraffe.

Compassionate Presence

This post is dedicated to two women at church who are in crisis: Miss D, who is battling complications from lymphoma, and S, a young woman who had surgery today on a tumor. Peace to them and their families.

"Working Definition of Good Spiritual Care: The ability to be compassionate in the face of pain, with the courage and willingness to stand in the presence of suffering, offering a radical hospitality toward those who are in despair." --interfaith handout at workshop

I am a coordinator of pastoral care at church, a new role into which I have only just recently stepped. As a pastoral caregiver, I support the minister in her outreach to congregants by organizing meals, rides, visits, errands, and sending cards. The group (there are two of us) is new and we're working out exactly what we should and can do, as there has not been much of a system in place. I'm interested in this work for several reasons, one of which was the great care and love I received from friends at church when I was pregnant, had the twins, and later had surgery. So, for the last three weeks, I have attended an interfaith caregiving workshop to learn how to offer compassionate presence to people in crisis. This mainly involved an in-depth discussion of listening, the act, or the gift even, of being a present, engaged listener.

I thought I was a good listener. My mom is a great listener, though when she told us as teenagers about "active listening"--with its "I" messages and reflective or rephrasing talk ("I hear you saying that . . .")--we thought she was, um, annoying and teased her about it. But it worked. And works. She's the person you call if you need to talk--no judgment, no interruptions, lots of sympathy and empathy. And I've always wanted to be just like that.

But I have some bad listening habits, as I learned, mainly in my head when I listen--the rushing to figure out what I'm going to say next, trying to solve the problem while the person talks, identifying to such an extent that I don't hear their details. But at least, I don't usually say these things. Which is a good step in the right direction, as I also learned.

Short of repeating the whole class in writing here, I would just say that I learned so much. We learned how to implement listening techniques: with our hearts (being present, being attentive); with our bodies (by making eye contact, mirroring body position and voice tone, using touch); and with our own words (by repeating or mirroring what we heard or allowing silence). We discussed the importance of leaving ourselves out of the conversation, except as a way to connect with the recipient--this is the core of being present for them, for their sake. We learned ways to draw out people's feelings, encourage their own exploration of difficult topics, how to utilize and appreciate silence. We shared our own experiences with being heard, and not heard, and the needs and feelings involved. We considered how we could be "wounded healers," when our own experiences echoed that with which we were faced. Many of the concepts presented in the training drew from two different paradigms: radical hospitality, or the usually spiritual notion of generously and unselfishly giving of oneself in an inclusive and welcoming way; and nonviolent communication, and its understanding of needs and the resulting feelings when they are met and not met.

And the last session, because this was an interfaith training, focused on the "holy." Mind you, this word was used because the majority of participants were UUs (and how odd is that?); if it had just been Christians, no doubt, they would have used "God." But we learned what a minefield religion can be in a caregiving situation and how to include it without infringing on others' beliefs--this intrigued me. We talked about food, meditation, art/music, readings, touch, gifts like my prayer shawls. We even talked about how to pray with someone. Though I'm not sure I see myself doing this, it was fascinating to learn about constructing a prayer. And so here it goes, my prayer for our new caregiving ministry:

"We came together in these weeks to learn how to serve others in our community. We talked, we shared, we learned, we listened, we were inspired. We hope that we can take these lessons through our congregation and bring the gifts of presence, the gift of this radical love, to our friends and fellow churchgoers in need and in crisis. Thank you for giving us this space, this time, to learn. Blessed be."