Notice how in both these situations people were able to make significant deposits into Emotional Bank Accounts. Because they sought to understand, they were able to speak their loved one’s language of love.
People Are Very Tender, Very Vulnerable Inside
Some years ago someone shared a beautiful expression with me anonymously through the mail. Reading this out loud slowly has moved audiences in incredible ways. It captures the essence of why Habit 5 is so powerful. I suggest you read it slowly and carefully, and attempt to visualize a safe setting where another person you care a lot about is really opening up.
Don’t be fooled by me. Don’t be fooled by the mask I wear. For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks—masks that I’m afraid to take off—and none of them is me. Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but don’t be fooled.
I give the impression that I’m secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without; that confidence is my name, and coolness is my game; that the waters are calm, and I’m in command and I need no one. But don’t believe it. Please don’t.
My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask—my ever-varying and ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no coolness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me—in confusion, in fear, in loneliness. But I hide this; I don’t want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness being exposed. That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated facade to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation—my only salvation. And I know it. It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers I so painstakingly erect. But I don’t tell you this. I don’t dare. I’m afraid to.
I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by love and acceptance. I’m afraid that you’ll think less of me, that you’ll laugh, and that your laugh will kill me. I’m afraid that deep down inside I’m nothing, that I’m just no good, and that you’ll see and reject me. So I play my games—my desperate pretending games—with the facade of assurance on the outside and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks, the glittering but empty parade of masks. And my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter with you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that’s really nothing—nothing of what’s crying within me. So when I’m going through my routine, don’t be fooled by what I’m saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m NOT saying . . . what I would like to be able to say . . . what for survival I need to say, but I can’t say. I dislike the hiding. Honestly I do. I dislike the superficial phony games I’m playing. I’d really like to be genuine.
I’d really like to be genuine, spontaneous, and me; but you have to help me. You have to help me by holding out your hand, even when that’s the last thing I seem to want or need. Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings—very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings. With your sensitivity and sympathy, and your power of understanding, I can make it. You can breathe life into me. It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. But love is stronger than strong walls, and therein lies my hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive, and I AM a child.
Who am I? you may wonder. I am someone you know very well. For I am every man, every woman, every child . . . every human you meet.
All people are very, very tender and sensitive. Some have learned to protect themselves from this level of vulnerability—to cover up, to pose and posture, to wear a safe “mask.” But unconditional love, kindness, and courtesy often penetrate these exteriors. They find a home in others’ hearts, and others begin to respond.
This is why it is so important to create a loving, nurturing environment in the home—an environment where it is safe to be vulnerable, to be open. In fact, the consensus of almost all experts in the field of marriage and family relations and child development is that creating such a warm, caring, supportive, encouraging environment is probably the most important thing you can do for your family.
And this does not mean just for little children. It also means for your spouse, your grandchildren, your aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins—everyone. The creation of such a culture—such an unconditionally loving and nurturing feeling—is more important than almost everything else put together. In a very real sense, to create such a nurturing culture is tantamount to having everything else put together.
Dealing with Negative Baggage
Creating such a culture is sometimes very difficult to do—especially if you’re dealing with negative baggage from the past and negative emotions in the present.
One man shared this experience:
When I met my future wife, Jane, she had a six-month-old boy named Jared. Jane had married Tom when they were both quite young, and neither of them had been ready for marriage by any stretch of the imagination. The realities and stresses of married life hit them hard. There was some physical violence involved, and he left her when she was about five months pregnant.
When I met Jane, Tom had filed for divorce and joint custody of the child he had never seen. It was a difficult, complicated situation. There were many bitter feelings. There was no communication between Jane and Tom whatever. The judge swayed heavily in favor of Jane.
After Jane and I married, I took a job that required us to move to another state. Every other month Tom would come and visit with Jared, and in alternating months we would make Jared available in California.
Things began to settle down in a way that seemed superficially okay. But I ended up doing most of the communicating between Jane and Tom. About one out of every three times that Tom would phone, Jane would hang up on him. Often Jane would leave before Tom got there for visitations, and I would be the one to see Jared off. Tom would frequently call me and say, “Should I talk to you about this, or should I talk to Jane?” It was very uncomfortable for me.
This spring, Tom called me and said, “Hey, Jared turns five in August, and then he will be legally able to fly by himself. Rather than my coming to visit out there where I sit in a hotel room with no car or friends, why don’t I pay for Jared to fly here?” I told him I would bring it up with Jane.
“No way!” she said emphatically. “Absolutely not! He’s just a little boy. He can’t even go to the bathroom on a plane by himself.” She wouldn’t even discuss it with me—and especially not with Tom. At one point she said, “Just leave it to me. I’ll handle it.” But as the months passed, nothing happened. Finally, Tom phoned me and said, “What’s happening? Is Jared going to fly down? What’s the deal?”
I was convinced that there was a lot of good potential in both Jane and Tom. I knew that if they could just be focused on doing the best thing for Jared, they could communicate and understand each other and work something out. But there were so many personal animosities and bitter feelings that they couldn’t see beyond them.
I tried to encourage them to have a discussion. I told them there would have to be strict guidelines to prevent verbal attacks and things of that nature. They both trusted me and agreed to do it. But I became increasingly nervous that I would not be able to facilitate that discussion because I was too close to it. I felt that one or both of them would end up hating me for one reason or another. In the past when Jane and I were having a discussion and I tried to look at an issue objectively, she would accuse me of taking “his” side. On the other hand, Tom felt that Jane and I had an agenda. I didn’t know what to do.
I finally decided to call Adam, a friend and coworker who facilitates the 7 Habits, and he agreed to talk with both of them. Adam taught them the principle of empathic listening. He taught them how to set aside their own autobiography and really listen to the words and feelings that were being expressed. After Jane shared some of her feelings, Adam said to Tom, “Now Tom, what did Jane just tell you?” He said, “She’s afraid of me. She’s afraid one day if I lose my temper I might slap Jared.” Jane was wide-eyed. She realized that Tom had been able to hear more than just her words. She said, “That’s exactly how I feel deep down in my heart. I’m worried that one day this man could easily lose it and hurt Jared.”