Coming Together

The mantra below comes from living in a household with four children and two (rather stubborn) adults:

Everyone’s a little bit right and a little bit wrong.

This statement holds true whenever people are in community by living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common. It’s true for couples, families, neighborhoods, business communities, towns, cities, states, countries. Basically, whenever people are in groups.

And it’s never more apparent than when people cannot agree.

There is a lot of disagreement in our country these days. A lot of hurt and resentment. From every angle, there are assumptions about what others think—judgements about the moral and ethical fibers (or lack thereof) of our brothers and sisters. These assumptions breed indignance, frustration, and pain. They flare the emotional response in our brains, triggering stress and the reaction to fight. This response temporarily enables our rational mind. It defensively locks us into our positions, lessening the opportunity to step back and see the broader picture. This defensive reaction creates the illusion in our minds of who is good or bad, right or wrong, with us or against us.

The state of affairs reminds me of marital gridlock. I should know.

My husband and I have been in marital counseling since he returned home from his nearly year-long Guillain-Barre Syndrome hospitalization at the end of 2019. People warned us that the coming together might be difficult after our trauma. In fact, therapists and physicians made several references to people “just trying to stay together" upon the return home.

We proactively sought help. And good thing we did.

The trauma of sudden, full-body paralysis and the loss of normal were painful, but the pain didn’t stop after the prolonged threat. We were both affected by the disease, but my husband’s perspective as the patient and my perspective as the caregiver were vastly different. We both had formed different coping mechanisms to live with the pain and uncertainty. These coping mechanisms were healthy amidst the difficult circumstances but clunky in everyday life. In some ways, our differences after the trauma made us feel more alone than ever, even though we were finally back together.

Counseling taught us the power of the speaker-listener exercise. In this exercise, each person gets fifteen minutes to talk, uninterrupted. During this time, the other person listens intently, jotting notes as they hear what their partner says. They don’t get to correct or clarify during that time. They just listen. At the end, the listener reiterates to the speaker what they heard. The speaker clarifies, if necessary, and the listener once again reiterates what they heard while taking into account these modifications. Then the speaker and listener roles are reversed, and the exercise is repeated.

The speaker-listener doesn’t solve all problems, but it helps both parties feel understood. It fills the divide, layer by layer, rather than deepens it.

I don’t know how to address the country’s division, but I know I want peace. I want everyone to have a voice and to be heard without being immediately shut down. I want everyone to practice the art of listening. I want all to have opportunity and fulfillment. I want everyone to experience value and worth—in their own minds and in the minds of their fellows.

Because I don’t know what to do to affect change on the national level, I focus on what I can do locally. I focus on my family.

When there is a sibling argument at our house, I have gotten in the habit of asking the children to step back and explain what they see. I am not asking them to explain their grievances. Not yet. First, I want them to describe what they can see—literally—in that moment.

One boy will begrudgingly explain that he can see his brother Samuel, his mom, and the fridge behind them. “Is that the same thing your brother can see?” I ask. Headshakes no. The other explains that he can see his brother Ben, mom, and sister playing with a toy on the floor. My turn. “That’s not what I see. From my angle, I see two boys looking in my direction.”

Then I explain the concept of perspective.

“We all see things differently. That’s called perspective. Perspective is the way you understand something because of the angle from which you see it. From where you stand, your perspective is valid—it’s what you know because it’s what you see. But since you can’t see the same thing as your brother, unless you actually move to the spot he is standing, you have to think about what he is seeing from his perspective and listen to the description of his viewpoint.”

Perspective is important in community. It aids in making good decisions. It helps us talk to and treat others as we would like to be talked to and treated.

An individual viewpoint contains truth, but that truth is limited no matter where you stand. Everyone’s a little bit right and a little bit wrong. The big picture (Truth) comprises a multitude of viewpoints. It provides a broader, unobstructed scope.

I have come to believe that gaining perspective is the greatest of all educations. It expands understanding. Neutralizes judgement. And recognizes the wholeness that is there whether seen or unseen. It blends black and white into shades of gray. It transforms hearts.

Here’s to speaking our truth, listening with a deep and non-defensive presence, and allowing space for growth.

Together, we can fill the divide, so let’s choose to come together.