In Practice
"Slowing Down to Step Up"
Before my studies in compassionate living, I had a habit of getting into yelling matches with my son. When we had a disagreement, we would yell back and forth. This would usually build to a crescendo and we would end up full of anger and pain.
After several months of study with my mentor, Marshall Rosenberg, I was hoping to create a change in this dynamic with my son. Try as I did, I just couldn't seem to come up with the right words to move us to a better connection. If I tried to be empathic, it just came out as mechanical and certainly not sincere. It wasn't sincere because I was usually still angry and awash with should/shouldn't thoughts.
It occurred to me that I needed more time to process.
At that time I had also been reading about anger in a book titled "Emotional Intelligence" by Daniel Goleman. In the book, he explains that certain chemical compounds are released into our bodies when we get angry. The longer we are angry, the more chemicals. Even a moment of anger will release a twenty-minute supply. These chemicals, as it turns out, actually reduce our ability to think, while they increase our ability to act - not a great combination when trying to use a new language in a heated moment.
So I made myself a promise. Whenever I felt angry, I would give myself space and time to recover from my internal dose of intellectual diminishment. I did this by creating at least twenty minutes of quiet time after an "anger attack". The next time my son and I disagreed, it went like this:
"Collin, I really don't want to talk like this anymore. I need time to regroup... so I'm open to trying this again in twenty minutes."
"That's ridiculous," he replied and stormed out of the room. During the time he was gone I gave myself empathy and wondered what Collin must be feeling and needing too. Slowly, carefully, I was able to undertake my exploration.
Twenty minutes later he returned. We started to talk. After about thirty seconds, we were yelling again. I stopped. "Collin, I really don't want to talk like this. I need another twenty minutes."
With a look somewhere between disbelief and frustration, he left again. I gave myself more empathy... more connection and a vision of what I wanted my life to be like in moments like these. I continued to center myself and envision my needs for harmony, understanding and connection.
Collin returned for our next attempt and for the third time we began to yell. I requested another twenty-minute break. This time Collin exclaimed, "I'm never coming back!" He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
I sat there, wondering if this was ever going to work... doubting myself and the entire prospect of having a new kind of relationship with my son. I struggled like a drowning man clinging to a rock, struggling to do nothing, except my process of self-empathy and empathy.
To my surprise, twenty minutes later he returned. This time we "held it together" and got through the conversation in a way that was absent of outbursts. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy, although it worked. We were able to stop the yelling and fighting.
It was a pivotal moment in our relationship. And yes, we have had our share of upsets after that, although in general, we have held our course and transformed the way we are with each other even today, 19 years later.
In retrospect, it's clear to me, it was the process of "SLOWING DOWN" that made the difference. Like climbing a set of stairs, it was the step to get to the next place.c The place where we could be self-expressed and allow the compassion that was always there inside us, to be a part of our lives.
