To resolve conflicts using NVC, we need to train ourselves to hear people expressing needs regardless of how they do the expressing. If we really want to be of assistance to others, the first thing to learn is to translate any message into an expression of a need. The message might take the form of silence, denial, a judgmental remark, a gesture—or, hopefully, a request. We hone our skills to hear the need within every message, even if at first we have to rely on guesses.
For example, in the middle of a conversation, if I ask the other person something about what they’ve just said, and I am met with “That’s a stupid question,” I hear them expressing a need in the form of a judgment of me. I proceed to guess what that need might be—maybe the question I asked did not fulfill their need to be understood. Or if I ask my partner to talk about the stress in our relationship and they answer, “I don’t want to talk about it,” I may sense that their need is for protection from what they imagine could happen if we were to communicate about our relationship. So this is our work: learning to recognize the need in statements that don’t overtly express any need. It takes practice, and it always involves some guessing. Once we sense what the other person needs, we can check in with them, and then help them put their need into words. If we are able to truly hear their need, a new level of connection is forged—a critical piece that moves the conflict toward successful resolution.
In workshops for married couples, I often look for the couple with the longest unresolved conflict to demonstrate my prediction that, once each side can state the other side’s needs, it would take no more than twenty minutes for the conflict to come to a resolution. Once there was a couple whose marriage suffered thirty-nine years of conflict about money. Six months into the marriage, the wife had twice overdrawn their checking account whereupon the husband took control of the finances and would no longer let her write checks. The two of them had never stopped arguing about it since.
The wife challenged my prediction, saying that even though they had a good marriage and can communicate well, it wouldn’t be possible for their historically entrenched conflict to resolve so quickly.
I invited her to begin by telling me if she knew what her husband’s needs were in this conflict.
She replied, “He obviously doesn’t want me to spend any money.”
To which her husband exclaimed: “That’s ridiculous!”
In stating that her husband didn’t want her to spend any money, the wife was identifying what I call a strategy. Even if she had been accurate in guessing her husband’s strategy, she had nowhere identified his need. Here again is the key distinction. By my definition, a need doesn’t refer to a specific action, such as spending or not spending money. I told the wife that all people share the same needs, and if she could only understand her husband’s needs, the issue would be resolved. When encouraged again to state her husband’s needs, she replied, “He is just like his father,” describing how his father had been reluctant to spend money. At this point, she was making an analysis.
I stopped her to ask again, “What was his need?”
It became clear that, even after thirty-nine years of “communicating well,” she still had no idea what his needs were.
I then turned to the husband. “Since your wife isn’t in touch with what your needs are, why don’t you tell her? What needs are you meeting by keeping the checkbook from her?”
To which he responded, “Marshall, she’s a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother. But when it comes to money, she’s totally irresponsible.” His use of diagnosis (“She is irresponsible.”) is reflective of language that gets in the way of peaceful resolution of conflicts. When either side hears itself criticized, diagnosed, or interpreted, the energy of the situation will likely turn toward self-defense and counter-accusations rather than toward resolution.
I tried to hear the feeling and need behind him stating that his wife was irresponsible: “Are you feeling scared because you have a need to protect your family economically?” He agreed that this was indeed the case. Admittedly, I had merely guessed correctly, but I didn’t have to get it right the first time because even if I had guessed wrong, I would still have been focusing on his needs—and that’s the heart of the matter. In fact, when we reflect back incorrect guesses to others, it may help them get in touch with their true needs. It takes them out of analysis toward greater connection to life.