A lesson about perspective

“My friend Melissa* is a flake,” I thought angrily. I frowned, crossed my arms, and huffed. I had just gotten a text message telling me that she was feeling pretty tired and would not, in fact, be up for our dinner date tonight. We’d been trying to schedule this for weeks, and this was the third time that she had cancelled on me the day of.

“Or maybe she’s not a flake,” I thought. “Maybe she’s angry at me.” I tried to think back to our last get-together, putting every interaction under a microscope and trying to decide whether I might have said or done something to upset her. I came up dry. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like me? What if our two years of friendship have just been a sham, and she’s decided to move onto greener pastures?”

That was too sad, so in a self-protective maneuver, I found my way back to anger. “Or maybe she’s just a jerk who doesn’t value my time.” I nodded, satisfied. “Because that’s what being a flake means, right? Not thinking about other people’s needs, feelings, schedules, and just dismissively cancelling plans that were established over a week ago. And man, shame on me for letting her reschedule twice.” I picked up the phone. “I’m going to call Melissa and tell her what an inconsiderate jerk she is.”

I paused. I put my phone down and thought through the likeliest outcome. Melissa’s a pretty easygoing person, but confronted with a call that starts “you’re an inconsiderate jerk and I’m not rescheduling with you again,” even the most gregarious person would probably go on the defensive. Was I really sure that I wanted to end a friendship over this? Yes, it was rude and I felt affronted, but I wasn’t ready to throw out the baby with the bathwater.

Instead, I took a deep breath. I picked up the phone, dialed, and after exchanging greetings, I said, “hey, I just want to let you know… I’m a little disappointed that you’re not going to make it out tonight.”

“I know, I know.  I’m just so tired. I just can’t.”

“I hear you. You work hard and you’re pooped. But here’s the thing… When I was in college, my best friend stopped talking to me out of nowhere and it was really painful. So when you cancel on me – and this is the third time in a row – it presses that button. It’s not your stuff, it’s my stuff, and you had no way of knowing about it. But I would really consider it a great favor if moving forward, you could be sensitive to that need of mine and try not to commit to things that you’re not going to be able to follow through on.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Melissa said. “I had no idea I was pushing a button for you!” She paused, hesitated. “Okay, I guess I should give you an explanation. My brother… I didn’t tell you this before, but he has cancer, and I’ve been waking up early to take him for treatments before work. I haven’t really told anyone about this because I don’t want their pity and I thought I could juggle it all, but obviously I can’t. So that’s why I’ve been so tired. That’s why I’ve been cancelling.”

“Oh, wow… thank you for letting me know that!  I’m so sorry to hear about that, Melis, really. Listen, take care of your brother, definitely, and when you’re up for it, we’ll reschedule.”

I got off the phone feeling mostly better, but also a little bit guilty. Melissa’s always been such a nice person – why did I jump to the assumption that she was being a callous jerk? I had no way of knowing, of course, that she was taking care of a sick family member, but I could have given her a bigger benefit of the doubt.

And from this, I learned that you never know what’s going on in another person’s life – what another person’s struggles are. That’s an important lesson.

 

A lesson about authenticity

But there was another lesson – one that took me awhile to decipher. That lesson is about the feeling of inauthenticity I felt in invoking a story that, by all accounts, had very little to do with what I was feeling in the moment. Why did I feel compelled to use the story of my past friendship falling apart in order to make my point? Why couldn’t I just hold her accountable – in a boundary-setting way, not a rude or accusatory one – for the fact that she had made plans and cancelled them on three separate occasions?

The answer, in short, is that I didn’t know how to word it. I didn’t know how to kindly explain to her that I was upset that she had cancelled – not because of some quirky personal idiosyncrasy, but rather because it’s objectively rude to make plans and then cancel them at the last minute three times in a row. I didn’t know how to say that without words of judgment, such as “inconsiderate” and “imposition”. I didn’t know how to be simultaneously kind and firm. The question I wanted to ask was “why are you incapable of honoring your commitments?” but even that is an attack.

 

A Phrase to Improve Your Relationships

I wish I knew then what I know now. I recently finished Rising Strong, the latest book by the amazing Brene Brown. In the book, she addresses situations of mismatched perspective. She talks about having an awareness that someone may not be able to decide between kindness (“I bet there’s something else going on here.”) and self-protection (“What a rude jerk!”). She describes the experience of feeling hurt and vacillating between the two lines of thinking. “Be kind. No, self-protect! Be kind. No, get him!”

For me, this encounter with Melissa was one of those moments. I was angry and I wanted to let her know… I was also aware that she had a track record of being a kind person, not a rude one. Here’s the phrase I wish I had known:

The story I’m telling myself is…

For example, instead of invoking a ghost of friendship traumas past, I might have said to Melissa, “The story I’m telling myself is that you keep cancelling because you don’t want to be my friend anymore, either because I did something to upset you, or because you decided after two years that you actually don’t like me very much.” Then I would have paused and waited for her response.

This is powerful for a number of reasons.

First, it’s honest without being accusatory. Using this language lets us own our story. It acknowledges that there is frequently a divide between our perceptions and the reality of a situation, but doesn’t dismiss the feelings that arise from the stories we tell ourselves.

Second, it’s not phrased as a question, which means it asks nothing of the other person. If I had said, “Do you not want to be my friend anymore?” it probably would have come off as aggressive, and my friend would have felt the need to defend herself. If it had escalated, it might have even been a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Third, it breeds empathy. Melissa can absolutely understand why, if her cancellations led me to believe she was no longer interested in my friendship, I might feel hurt by that.

It’s worth noting that it’s important to avoid ending with an accusation, like “The story I’m telling myself is that you’re a big jerk and I should never have let you into my life.” If that is your story, dig a little bit deeper. What is the story you’re telling yourself that makes you believe you were wrong to be that person’s friend in the first place? Ask yourself: “What is my fear?”

 

Put it into action

Try this phrase in your own relationships. When you find that you’re having a line of thoughts that may or may not be true and you want to confront this in an unaggressive way, do the following:

  1. Take a deep breath and find 10 seconds of kindness.
  2. Say “The story I’m telling myself…” and finish with a worry or a fear.
  3. Then, say nothing. Wait for the person to respond. And have a (hopefully productive) dialogue.

 

*name and identifying details changed