Vignettes

Dementia, My Dear Friend (Observing/Storytelling

My uncle Thomas has dementia. Its primary presentation is aphasia: the inability to remember words. Imagine that “it’s on the tip of my tongue…” feeling, but all the time. Every sentence stretches minutes long, with long pauses to recall even the simplest words. 

I crave to connect with Thomas in the time he has left. But all our usual intellectual, poetic connection has had to change.

On a recent visit, we sat in the kitchen attempting to talk. We had exhausted personal Storytelling updates on my life. Topical Storytelling was out of the picture, since forming the words for new ideas was beyond his capacity. There was nothing I wanted to Direct him towards; I was feeling too tired and sad to offer a new choice. 

After a while of struggle, it seemed like Thomas wanted to tell me something. Between the stilted words, he was trying to tell me about his past, about the regrets he had in our connection and that with the rest of the family. Any Questioning I did seemed to confuse his storyline, since he had to spend time finding the words to respond.

So I went into myself and asked, What do I want here? 

Our goals define our conversation and our choice of Relating Language. I didn’t know what mine were.

First, I thought, I just want to get away. It hurts too much to see him like this. 

Then I realized, I want to hear him out. This time is precious - I don’t know how much I have left. He is opening up to me, and I just want to understand what he has to say.

I opened myself to the language that is best able to receive information without altering it. I moved out of the Withdrawing Observing state I’d been in, with my attention focused on myself and my goals, and into a balanced Partaking Observing. I put attention on both my motivation to understand, and his motivation of being understood.

As I took him in, my responses slowed down. We now both created silence in the conversation. He would speak, haltingly; I would absorb his responses and then sometimes reflect. It seems like this part of your history is important to you, I’d say. It sounds like you feel sad about what happened. I didn’t add to his story. I just received it. Received him.

Thomas’ affect started to change. With my full attention, he seemed less comfortable, more aware of being observed. He would stop and say, Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this…

I’d reassure him that this was important to me, that I wanted to hear. Each time I did, he would open up more. Although being fully witnessed seemed intense, it also allowed him to drop deeper and deeper into what he wanted to communicate.

When I look back on it, this was one of my most precious conversations with Thomas. I got out of my head and into the space between us. I stopped trying to Question and Storytell and Direct; I got past my pain and just Observed.

-----

Later that night, I came up to the kitchen and found my fiancée talking with Thomas. They were alive and animated, switching from topic to topic: motorcycles, medication, past careers. It was perhaps a less “deep” conversation than he and I had had earlier - less relational and more informational. But Geof was learning facts about Thomas that even I didn’t know. 

Geof was using Storytelling to create this interaction. He talked about experiences in his own life. Thomas took the cue to tell his own, related stories, or to Question Geof more about those experiences. The conversation was wide-ranging and, despite Geof talking more than Thomas, both seemed to enjoy themselves. 

I realized that as Thomas’ dementia increased, it would be up to me to carry conversations. I needed to practice my own Storytelling skills! 

-----

Far too often, Directing is used with demented family and friends. It’s easier to say, Why don’t you go to bed now? or You don’t need to try and talk, let’s watch a movie, or Just take your pills than to take the time to try and understand an increasingly confused individual. 

There is a point of decline where Directing is the only option, as memory declines and what was said a moment ago passes out of mind. When adult becomes child, boundaries and commands can be the only option.

But, up until then, I plan to use all my Relating Languages to understand Thomas as well as possible. There is only so much time.

 

The Bad Date (Questioning)

My friend Meg loves getting to know other people. She’ll ask questions all day long, interjecting light comments and observations that invite you to open up even more. She’s a coach and a community leader who is great at making friends.

Like many Questioners, however, Meg does not love becoming a captive audience. What’s the use of being curious if the other person never gives you space to ask - or, never asks you any questions of their own? 

A couple of months ago, Meg went on a date. She’s been looking for her perfect partner: someone equally curious about themselves and the world, playful and self-aware. This guy was...not a fit.

Her date spent most of their meal talking about himself. He gave long-winded stories and information, taking any question and spinning it out into five minutes, ten, fifteen. Meg was frustrated. Was he never going to ask her ANY questions about herself? 

Then, she had a lightbulb moment. She knew about the Relating Languages. If this guy was a Storyteller - an Expressive type - he was never going to turn the attention back to her, not for more than a minute anyways. She would need to break into this monologue and volunteer information.

So, Meg did just that. She started interrupting. She volunteered stories of her own, gave personal information without being asked, and acted in a way that she generally considered rude. It would have been more polite to let the guy finish his stories. But, with no conversational break in sight, they would leave without either of them having gotten to know the other.

With this more deliberate back-and-forth, the date started picking up. Strangely enough, when Meg spoke, her date did seem to listen. He just expected her to volunteer information, instead of waiting to be asked. He often interrupted to share his own experience. But, he was willing to cede the floor when she responded with a story of her own.

He wasn’t second-date material. However, Meg had just turned the promise of a boring meal into a very interesting night.

 

Cocktail Hell (Observing)

My partner has recently moved into a new house, and the other weekend, he invited me to a cocktail party with his new neighbors. 

I’m not crazy about cocktail parties. It seems like all anyone does at them is waft away in clouds of small talk, discussing mundane topics such as the weather and the water bill. But, I wanted to support my partner in his move, so I showed up.

Things were indeed as I had feared. The party started off well, with an interesting opening where my partner and his housemates engaged in witty repartee with the gay couple down the lane. But I soon got sucked into a conversation with two neighbors discussing how their pipes had fared in the Great Texas Freeze. 

This type of back-and-forth Storytelling, while interesting to some, sends my brain scrambling for anything relevant to say. What similar experiences do I have that I could share? Do I want to, if that will continue a conversation I’m not enjoying? Could I switch into Questioner mode and find a part of these people’s lives that interests me, or make a Challenger poke at the neighbor’s choice of pipes?

None of those options sounded good. I didn’t want to be rude and leave the conversation. So, I turned to my last option: Observe.

In a way, I had been observing all along. I certainly hadn’t been talking much. But it was the self-conscious type of observing: mind running like a rat in a wheel, waiting for someone to notice how awkward I was being and ostracize me forever. Now I was conscious of the choice. 

I let myself drift, watching the conversation. As I depressurized, I started noticing more interesting things. How the woman’s dress fit her. How the man gestured when he spoke. How they looked at each other: oh, there’s a relationship there. The discussion about pipes faded to the background for me. When a word or phrase caught my attention, I interjected a comment or a question. But mostly, I watched.

Later in the party, after I had politely disengaged and gone off to other observation-conversations, my partner caught up with me. “How are you?” he asked, knowing that I find social situations awkward.

I smiled at him. “I’m just fine.”

 

The Chronicler’s Dilemma (Storytelling)

We were leading a training in a practice called Circling. It was the first of its kind in Austin, I was teaching with my best friend Jordan, and I really wanted it to go well.

The problem was, people kept talking.

Admittedly, they were supposed to. Circling is all about communication, and a lot of communication is verbal. But, Circling is also about being with what is true in the moment, and too many words can get in the way of that. I wanted just the right amount of words. But, not yet having the Relating Languages terminology, I didn’t know how to ask for that.

One man in particular was a problem for me. R seemed to find his truth by going around and around it, peering in its windows and stomping the mud off his metaphorical boots, before finally letting us into what he really felt. When he talked, other people stopped listening. 

This happened again and again, until I noticed people starting to subtly ostracize the man. I felt frustrated. Circling is a practice of finding love through understanding; if we couldn’t understand him, how could we love him? How could I guide my students to that place? Every question we asked led to another garden path of confused sentences searching for their point.

We were perhaps two weekends into the six-weekend course when our co-facilitator, Blas, took things into his own hands.

Someone had asked R a question, and he was meandering his way through the thickets of explaining his perspective, sensations, and experience. A few seconds into that, Blas leaned forward. With genuine care and curiosity - with all the love in the world - he addressed R:

“Can you get to the point, and just say that?”

The whole room paused, shocked. Then, beginning with R, we all roared with laughter. It was such a perfect lampooning of what I now know as the Chronicler type.

After we had wiped the tears from our eyes, R thought for a moment. Then, simply and clearly, he got to the point. 

Thereafter, whenever he meandered, we had a catchphrase we could use to cut through it.

“R. Can you get to the point, and just say that?”

 

The Skeptical Friend (Questioning)

By Lisa Lowe

My friend is primarily a Questioner, and falls into both Interrogating and the Serving roles in various communication contexts.

She is very curious and ultimately willing to try things, but generally approaches new ideas/frameworks/activities with skepticism and resistance. She immediately balks before thoroughly learning about them, and questions how they would be of value to her and why she should participate (due to some anxiety and discomfort with change and the unknown).

I tend to approach these new concepts or activities with the assumption that OF COURSE they have value, and I give the benefit of the doubt as I go and assume my questions/concerns will be resolved, and come up with reasons why I should engage and find ways to make it useful to me. 

In the past we've fallen into a draining communication dynamic where she asks questions and makes resistant statements, and I resort to the Storytelling role where I explain away her issues, and counter her doubts and reasons with the advantages she isn't seeing or perspectives she hasn't considered. 

I am trying to sit back more and let her come up with her own answers and reasons, but she doesn't understand why I won't just give my opinion or advice. 

It's been hard for me to express my feelings and thoughts about it, but your system gave me a playful, clear, and compassionate way to illustrate our different approaches to her!

 

The Message Board Battles (Directing)

At my house, a battle has begun. 

I and my housemate Curt both love using the Directing language for mutual amusement. It’s fun to tell each other what to do, and then find ways around doing it. We have found a perfect forum to play out these mini conflicts: the house message board.

The board is a green plastic thing with slats where you can insert detachable letters. Imagine the signs outside churches and you’ll have the idea. It’s too small for the number of characters in a tweet, but just big enough to begin a war of bon mots.

Everything started when our housemate Sophie, a Questioning Spaceholder, left for a several-month-long trip. Before going, she put a lovely Direction on the message board - “Trust Your Intuition and Be Guided By Love.”

It wasn’t long before one of us decided that this quote did not represent our house in its current configuration. The board soon read, “Trust Your Tuition and Be Guided By Voles.”

After a few days, that gimmick got old. I decided to try something new.

Curt used to bake a lot of cookies. Sophie was his favorite housemate, since her Spaceholder sweetness helped the softer sides of Curt emerge. When she left, Curt stopped baking. 

I’m sure I could have made the cookies come back by trying Sophie’s move, and gently asking for the return of these delicious treats. Instead, I put a passive suggestion up on the board - “It Has Been -61- Days Since Curt Made Cookies For Sara”.

Curt might have taken this as a chance to retort, and waited months to make cookies again, in case that might be interpreted as giving in. But my housemate is exceedingly sweet in his own way, and has the Observer tendency towards making deep bonds with those he chooses as friends. So cookies appeared the next day, and the sign came down.

Of course, this wasn’t the end. Over time, the board changed again. “Sic Semper Tyrannis”, it read one day: Thus Always to Tyrants. The Latin phrase is attributed to Marcus Brutus, who assassinated Julius Caesar in 44 BC. I assume this was a poke at my strategy for soliciting cookies. Or perhaps a commentary towards the house teenager’s usual string of Commands. 

Several days later, the sign said: “No Loitering”. Our resident house dad, Kim, a sweet 60-year-old Observer who is the furthest from a Director that you can get, said at dinner that he felt guilty every time he hung out near it.

Yesterday I walked into the kitchen and saw, “Send Snude” picked out in white letters. Unscrambling the words in my head, I sighed, and took a (fully clothed) picture next to the sign for posterity. 

That night, at dinner, we finally named our house. Sophie had lobbied for the gentle name “The Shire” - apt for our little 6-acre farm full of families. But, the Directors agreed, that didn’t quite fit us.

Somewhere in the laugh-filled back-and-forth of discussion, one of us hit on it.

Our house is proudly called the spiciest and most confusing of names, perfect for the types contained within.

“Welcome to the Worcester Shire”, the board reads now.

I wonder what Sophie will think?

 

Coaching

Why Won’t My Husband Talk to Me? (Questioning/Observing)

“I’ve noticed with my partner, as a scientist and them being the more quiet and subdued type, I have felt like they don’t want to share or don’t want me to know about them. I often wonder how to ask in ways that open them up.” - RL Student

One of my students is a lovely Indian-American woman, insatiably curious, married to a very quiet man.

Sylvia took my Authentic Life Course, a communication masterclass which requires students to develop a “Shift List” of relationships they want to change. Her husband was on the list. In class, she told me about the problem:

“I love him, and there is so much I want to know. How did he feel about his day? What does he enjoy most about the activities he loves? What does he want out of life? But, every time I ask, he just goes quiet and contemplative, says “I’ve never thought about that…” and doesn’t give me an answer.”

“Sounds frustrating,” I agreed. “Do you think he knows the answer and doesn’t feel comfortable giving it, or he genuinely doesn’t know?”

She thought about it. “The second one. I don’t think he’s uncomfortable, he just hasn’t considered these things.”

“And, he doesn’t seem to enjoy considering them?”

Sylvia sighed. “I guess not. So I think he feels pressured to come up with an answer when I ask.”

I nodded in agreement. “My partner is the same way. I have to message him my questions a day in advance when I want to have a difficult discussion!”

Sylvia laughed with the rest of the class. When everyone was quiet, I offered: “Do you want an idea to try?”

“Yes!” she said eagerly. 

“I think your husband is an Observer type, and you’re a serious Questioner. You want to know everything, and you find it confusing when other people don’t want to talk about themselves, because to you, the curiosity feels loving.” She was nodding. “But, your husband can’t come up with quick responses, and maybe he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t speak the same language as you. To him, maybe curiosity looks like pressure, or work, or confusion.

“So here’s my prescription for a Questioner-Observer mix. Go for a walk with your husband.

“Walk in silence for a while first. Look around. What do you notice in the world around you? 

“Then, start asking questions - about objective things. 

“There’s a building; how is he seeing it? What does he notice when he looks? I was amazed to find out that my own partner notices the architecture of buildings in a way I totally don’t. I learned a lot from asking him what he sees.

“There’s a new neighbor. Has he seen them around before? What has he noticed about them? Does he want to get to know them? Why or why not?”

“You can use the objective questions as a way in to the subjective over time. First, tie your questions to his awareness of the world. Observation is a superpower. But oftentimes, Observers move at a slower pace than others. You have to go at your husband’s pace. Then, I think you’ll find that he very much does want to connect with you - in his own way.”

“Perfect. I’ll try it,” Sylvia said with a smile.

Family Feud (Storytelling/Challenging)

J-Money (pseudeonym chosen by the individual represented) and R-Dollaz (pseudonym chosen for linguistic continuinty) are a son and mother. They are, currently, not getting along.

When I became a mediator for their family, the two were barely talking with each other, despite the fact that they lived on the same property and often in the same house. J-Money was building a tiny home and workshop on R-Dollaz’ farm. R-Dollaz was paying for the build of the tiny home, partly to help J-Money out and partly because it would be a useful addition to the property. 

R-Dollaz were having the usual issues of two people living together - miscommunications, different desires for shared vs separate space. However, despite both trying many times to resolve the issues, they just couldn’t have a useful conversation.

I asked the two to sit down with me in their home. “What’s going on?”

J-Money started first. “I’m planning on moving out.”

R-Dollaz looked aghast. “Wait a minute. You can’t do that. When you moved in, we had an arrangement. You were going to build the tiny house in the backyard and live there - “

Before she could complete, J-Money broke in. “I told you I was going to travel. You can’t expect me to stay around there all the time.”

R-Dollaz: “Listen. When you came here, the arrangement was that you were going to help me out with little tasks around the house, so I would feel safer.” (For context, R-Dollaz is less than 100 lb - a tiny woman.) We agreed that you would be around part of the year. I don’t just want to have a workshop and your half-built tiny house on the property - “

J-Money: “My half built tiny house? This keeps coming up! The tiny house is a gift to you.”

R-Dollaz: “I’m paying for it -”

J-Money: “And I’m building it for free! You -

At this point, I broke in. “Let’s pause for a minute. J-Money, I want you to take a breath before interrupting R-Dollaz.

“R-Dollaz it seems important to you that J-Money understand your view on what you agreed on in the past, Is that true?”

R-Dollaz: “Yes. When J-Money moved in, we agreed that he was going to live here part of the year. I agreed to pay for the tiny home. But, I didn’t realize how big of a commitment I was making. When the workshop started going up too - well, now that’s going to be there year-round, and J-Money - “

J-Money broke in again. “You keep changing your mind! You’re so flaky about decisions you make. You - “

“Okay,” I said loudly, stopping the conversation again. “This is getting heated, and I want to slow things down.”

J-Money shook his head. “I need a break.”

I went with J-Money to grab coffee. He drove the car, hands tight on the steering wheel. After a while, I offered, “Can I make an observation?”

“Sure,” he said glumly.

“You know the Relating Languages thing I’ve been working on. Well, I think that what’s happening between you and R-Dollaz actually has a lot to do with your different types.

“R-Dollaz keeps trying to explain herself, and you keep breaking in. I know that she had a tough relationship with your dad, and she didn’t feel very safe when he was angry. I imagine something of the same is going on here. Every time she started speaking, you interrupted.”

J-Money shook his head. “Yeah. It’s an issue I have. I start seeing red.”

“I get it,” I agreed. “That’s a hard thing to hold back. You get into Debater mode. It’s a form of the Challenger. You want to be right, and you want the back-and-forth to happen quickly. But, R-Dollaz is falling into a stress response. She’s trying to slow things down by using the Chronicler, the self-focused Storytelling type. She wants to get the details of the story right.

 

“One of the first things we learn in mediation is that two people may never agree on the same story. So, the Chronicler may not be the best type for her here. But I think she’s using it because she’s afraid of being overwhelmed and unheard.”

J-Money nodded, slowly.

I continued, “It might be helpful for you two to try something, in future conversations. Set a timer for 30 seconds. Neither of you can speak more than that at one time. And, neither of you are allowed to interrupt. That will help both of you work around your types. R-Dollaz will have to think about what she really wants to say before she speaks, and she won’t be scared of not being heard, because you won’t cut her off.”

“That sounds helpful,” J-Money agreed. “We’ll try it!”

When we got back to the house, R-Dollaz and J-Money met up in the sunroom to finish their conversation. They agreed that J-Money would finish the tiny house on R-Dollaz’ property, and that J-Money would not avoid the farm when R-Dollaz was there, even if he wasn’t going to be around all the time.*

In the end, the two seemed to feel a lot better. R-Dollaz felt like she had gotten her point of view across. J-Money felt like there was a way to move forwards. They also had a strategy for navigating conflicts in future with awareness of their different Relating Languages.

Although things would still be tough for a while, the two were on their way to a better relationship.

 

*An interesting final fact about this situation...the other conflict R-Dollaz and J-Money were running into was that R-Dollaz felt she and J-Money “never talked”, while J-Money thought they talked “all the time”. When we defined Never and All The Time, we found that the two had different definitions of what talking meant. 

R-Dollaz, whose stress type is Chronicler but whose default is the Questioning Scientist, saw talking as an exchange of questions and personal information. J-Money saw it as whatever they did with their words, which, since they lived together, was usually a lot of logistics.

As part of their resolution, the two agreed to have a dinner or call once a week, where R-Dollaz could get her Questioning needs met. These two solutions - time together for the Questioner, and space for the Debater - put them both much more at ease.

 

Facilitation Fear Lab: The Challenger

Every week, I lead an event called Facilitation Fear Lab, where leaders of all kinds get to play out their greatest fears.

In my experience, when we’re scared of something, we start to avoid it. I’ve often constructed my events to make sure that certain situations cannot occur. I’ll schedule activities tightly, so that there is no space for me not knowing what to do. I’ll frame agreements such that love and support are welcome, but not conflict. I’ll choose to lead only groups I identify with and know well, to make sure I will not make a faux pas.

The problem is, the tighter I wind myself into these boxes, the less flexibility and skill I have as a leader. But, as a leader, the scariest thing is to end up in control of a situation I don’t know how to manage.

This was the impetus for Facilitation Fear Lab. It gives leaders and facilitators a space to play out the situations they don’t know how to manage, or have been avoiding, in a place where they can pause or get feedback or see others lead.

Lately, I’ve been having a lot of fun applying the Relating Languages model to coaching leaders in the labs.

Take one situation. Rob, the leader who brought the situation described it thusly: “I’m having trouble with a participant in one of my events who seems to just want to get a reaction out of people. After someone speaks, they will offer a projection like, “I’m seeing you as a weak person who wants to be powerful” or “I have a story that you’re just like my mom, secretly dismissive of everyone around you.” If I ask them to reframe this and speak more from their own experience, they’ll get defensive and say that they ARE speaking about their experience, and will then derail the whole event by defending their point of view and attacking me for having questioned it.”

Internally, I noted: “This seems like the Challenging language, and more towards the Internal Debater on the spectrum of internal to external focus. The person probably wants high engagement, to feel met, and to have people push back against them. There’s a mode of this language that dislikes authority and protectionism, so it makes sense that they don’t want the facilitator to try and control the situation. 

“Okay, let’s set it up,” I said.

Rob wanted to watch someone else facilitate his scenario before he tried it on. He took on the role of the Coyote, the difficult participant. Diana, a pleasant middle-aged leader of relational events, chose to facilitate, using the context of an emotional sharing circle.

The scenario played out. A group member shared something vulnerable about their personal life, and Rob came in with “I feel angry when you speak, because I have a story that you’re judging the other people in this group and not being honest about it.” The accused member froze and didn’t know how to respond. 

After a moment, Diana stepped in: “Rob, what are you feeling right now?” 

Rob said, “I feel angry.”

“Why did you share that comment?”

“I was just being authentic about my experience. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do here?”

Diana looked nonplussed, and turned her attention to the group member who had been the focus of Rob’s challenges. “Steven, how are you doing?”

“I feel confused and kinda angry. Rob’s story wasn’t true for me.”

Diana continued pinging back and forth between these two participants, focusing on one then the other. 

…..[I coach Diana to create a unified story using Storytelling instead of just 1:1 Questioning. Then Tom steps in to try, and uses only Observing, to which I coach him to put more of his attention outward into the Interactive realm.]