Let's put it all together.

In which I consider a true relationship scuffle! And make it all better!

Let’s have a story. A true story.

This really happened to me.

Once upon a time, long ago, I was giving a talk to a group of pre-school teachers. We were talking about complexity in the classroom. About individual student behaviors, about teachers’ feelings, about the relationships among the members of each class — including the teacher — that created a beautiful, sensitive, meaningful network of learning and growing human beings.

It might be hard to believe, given this description, but the talk went well.

I was delighted when a few teachers came up afterwards to ask a few more questions and to thank me and to share some private connection with the topic. I always get very nervous before public talks, so these moments of generous contact really matter to me.

Then came Sylvie.

Sylvie waited until everybody else had cleared out. And she attacked.

Sylvie took issue with the theory I used to frame my talk. (That theory being complexity theory, or most accurately enactivism, which informs pretty much everything I do.) More specifically, she was offended that I hadn’t used a theory she preferred (I don’t know. Habermas. Or Gadamer. Something like that.). She wanted to know why I hadn’t used this term or that concept, why I hadn’t said this or that.

I can’t remember the specifics of her words. What I do remember is the way my body felt in her presence.

Electrified. Like the inside of my skin was jumping. Like I was in grave danger. Like I had done something wrong and had disappointed everyone. Like WHO DID I THINK I WAS?

Note the rabbit holes here. My negative self-beliefs that were so easily activated:

• I had done something wrong without even knowing it.

• Everyone else knew and was disappointed in me.

• I had no right to believe in myself.

I could easily have burrowed into any one of these rabbit holes. But

praise be!

I didn’t. I didn’t have the time. Sylvie was absolutely in my face.

I don’t know how this part happened, but eventually I was able to listen to her words. Enough to realize, anyway, that what she was berating me for was not entirely accurate. In fact, it occurred to me that she was saying basically the same stuff I had said only from a different perspective. There really wasn’t any conflict here.

“Why,” I eventually interrupted her to say, “didn’t you bring this up in the talk? I could have reinforced your thinking.”

Here’s where the miracle occurred.

She stopped in her tracks. “Oh,” she said. “I’m so bad at talking about theory. People never understand what I’m saying.”

And then, unbelievably: “And you’re so good at it! Your talk was really clear and the teachers seemed to understand you.”

And then: “You’re so good at taking criticism! I have such a hard time with it. And I’m a doctoral student, which means that’s all I get! You really need to meet my dissertation advisor.”

Can you picture my face at that moment? It probably looked something like this: big eyes, raised eyebrows, mouth dropped open. Hair standing on end.

What the hell happened here?

Let’s try to understand this (fortunately) fleeting, (unfortunately) painful relationship.

This was a long time ago, well before I came up with the four steps to understanding relationships.

But it turns out I took those steps, even if mostly unconsciously.

The first thing I did, of course, was to get into my garden, to make the turn. I paid very close attention to my body, to what was happening inside me. It was a mess, like a bomb had exploded. I actually described to myself in the moment what I was feeling, which is why I can remember it to this day.

OK so I knew I was feeling terribly unsafe, uncertain, like an imposter.

Next step? I wondered if that’s how Sylvie felt at that moment. In general, when your happy, neat (or deliciously messy) garden suddenly gets turned upside down by someone else’s behavior, the answer to the question “Could they be feeling this way?” is usually, immediately, YES.

Next step? I wondered why. Why might Sylvie be feeling so incredibly insecure?

Well, she clearly felt at odds with me. Like I was the enemy. Just as I felt threatened by her, it was quite likely that she felt threatened by me. Why might I be threatening? I’m the nicest gal in the world. What had happened that could make me threatening?

Oh. I had the podium and she didn’t.

I don’t remember thinking these thoughts. I was just feeling, paddling like crazy up this confusing stream, trying to survive from moment to moment. What I do remember is this gem of a spontaneous and involuntary analysis: “This person is making me responsible for something she should have done.”

Boundary issue. She’s in my garden digging around and yelling at me because she was unwilling to plant that bed in her own garden.

Not OK.

Hence my experiment: Point out her responsibility. In the form of a question. (Not an accusation!) Without rancor and with authentic curiosity. “Why didn’t you bring this up in the talk?” And then: Validate her fundamental need. To be seen and acknowledged. To have her perspective valued. By joining with her. “I could have reinforced your thinking.”

Final step? I watched what happened. And I was amazed at the totally unexpected, mind-boggling transformation. Sylvie changed in a split second from an angry, borderline abusive horror to a vulnerable, admiring, deeply grateful (if somewhat obsequious) human being.

We all know that stress and insecurity can bring out the worst in people. But do we all know that attuning with those people by taking deliberate steps toward understanding them can actually forge miracles?

It’s worth a try.