Ever since my parents relegated me to the second floor while they fought with my adolescent brother, I've obsessively studied communication and conflict. Why do people avoid sharing information to avoid a fight? Why is there so much shame around having differing views? Why do people fight? And why can't we all just come to an understanding?
I grew up in a household when there were few rules for communication, implied or otherwise. We hid our feelings until they exploded, and when they did, I--the baby of the family--was often tucked away, as if I would be damaged by the presence of anger, frustration, or sadness.
What they didn't know is I always listened at the foot of the stairs, behind a closed door. I never missed a thing. I observed the emotional turmoil of my home from a silent distance and made it my mission to never live like that.
My mission became addressing conflict, embracing emotions at all costs, in every situation. I started out with few tools; just a knack for what a friend referred to in high school as "dropping bombs" in the middle of conversations. In my 20s, I developed a pattern: I'd feel out a room...and then...I'd say what I thought was REALLY on everyone's mind that they were afraid to say. I'd wait for the reaction. And most of the time-much to my disappointment-the group would turn on me. They'd ignore, walk away from, or even verbally attack me.

In hindsight, I don't blame them. Back then, I was more interested in justice than in reconciliation; more in Truth than in Charity. I figured, if people couldn't handle these "truth bombs"--objective and subjective--they didn't deserve to be in the room.
Throughout my 30s, thankfully, I realized I'd been sacrificing relationships for this shock-and-awe effect of Truth. I started realizing the importance of Care. While still valuing the need for people to share perspectives, I realized they needed a safe context in which to do so. I fell in love with the writings of M. Scott Peck, in which he stressed the need for a group to be genuine in order to form a community--but only in the midst of safety. He argued that at least one person needed to demonstrate vulnerability, to risk one's own comfort, so that others might follow suit.

Gradually, my "bombs" became "pillows." My pattern in groups changed: I'd feel out a room...and then...I'd share my own deepest feelings. I'd wait for the reaction. Sometimes, this would usher in a new sense of community; however, more often, the group would still turn on me or turn away from me by ignoring what I said to continue their small talk.
Throughout all this, I'd ponder again and again...Where did I go wrong? Why can't I get people to be real with one another?
Somewhere around age 35, I noticed another shift. I started hearing more about the "power of questions...Jesus the questioner"..."appreciative inquiry." Around this time I experienced ToP at a community organizing institute. The idea that people could share data together; recognize their hopes and fears; analyze a task, and get things done so efficiently was life-changing for me. I wanted more.
At TFM training, I discovered the Focused Conversation method, and I started using it everywhere: family discussions, party planning, committee meetings, community gatherings...even on dates. It didn't take long before I was thinking in ORID, and I realized that I was building relationships and community more organically. Instead of dropping "truth bombs," or throwing "vulnerability pillows," I was asking the right questions--what I came to regard as "mutual fidgets." I came to understand that engaging with conflict and encouraging understanding could only happen in a safe space in which everyone shares the same data.

Together, my friends, colleagues, and neighbors were asking questions of one another that helped us play with data, examine our feelings, throw around our thoughts. It was no longer me-against-the-world. It was me alongside others, helping one another decipher a puzzle.
I've long sensed that groups had the wisdom to solve problems together, whether relational or analytical. But it was in ToP methods I found the proof and the tools to empower me to engage with sensitivity. I've now shared this power with friends, family, organizations, and businesses. I'm honored to be considered for certification and am exploring becoming a registrar and trainer so I can spread the word on a larger scale.
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