【摘录】

Chapter 1: Giving from the Heart      1

Chapter 2: Communication That Blocks Compassion      3

Chapter 3: Observing Without Evaluating      5

Chapter 4: Identifying and Expressing Feelings      6

Chapter 5: Taking Responsibility For Our Feelings       7

Chapter 6: Requesting That Which Would Enrich Life       11

Chapter 7: Receiving Empathically       15

Chapter 8: The Power of Empathy       18

Chapter 9: Connecting Compassionately With Ourselves       20

Chapter 10: Expressing Anger Fully       24

Chapter 11: The Protective Use Of Force      29

Nonviolent Communication (NVC) is founded on language and communication skills that strengthen our ability to remain human, even under trying conditions. NVC guides us in reframing how we express ourselves and hear others. Instead of being habitual, automatic reactions, our words become conscious responses based firmly on an awareness of what we are perceiving, feeling, and wanting. We are led to express ourselves with honesty and clarity, while simultaneously paying others a respectful and empathic attention. In any exchange, we come to hear our own deeper needs and those of others. NVC trains us to observe carefully, and to be able to specify behaviors and conditions that are affecting us. We learn to identify and clearly articulate what we are concretely wanting in a given situation. 

 

The form is simple, yet powerfully transformative. As NVC replaces our old patterns of defending, withdrawing, or attacking in the face of judgment and criticism, we come to perceive ourselves and others, as well as our intentions and relationships, in a new light. Resistance, defensiveness, and violent reactions are minimized. When we focus on clarifying what is being observed, felt, and needed rather than on diagnosing and judging, we discover the depth of our own compassion. Through its emphasis on deep listening—to ourselves as well as others—NVC fosters respect, attentiveness, and empathy, and engenders a mutual desire to give from the heart. We perceive relationships in a new light when we use NVC to hear our own deeper needs and those of others.

Although I refer to it as “a process of communication” or a “language of compassion,” NVC is more than a process or a language. On a deeper level, it is an ongoing reminder to keep our attention focused on a place where we are more likely to get what we are seeking. There is a story of a man under a street lamp searching for something on all fours. A policeman passing by asked what he was doing. “Looking for my car keys,” replied the man, who appeared slightly drunk. “Did you drop them here?” inquired the officer. “No,” answered the man, “I dropped them in the alley.” Seeing the policeman's baffled ex-pression, the man hastened to explain, “But the light is much better here.” I find that my cultural conditioning leads me to focus attention on places where I am unlikely to get what I want.  I developed NVC as a way to train my attention—to shine the light of consciousness — on places that have the potential to yield what I am seeking. What I want in my life is compassion, a flow between myself and others based on a mutual giving from the heart. Let's shine the light of consciousness on places where we can hope to find what we are seeking.

This quality of compassion, which I refer to as “giving from the heart,” is expressed in the following lyrics by my friend, Ruth Bebermeyer: 

This kind of giving benefits both the giver and the receiver. The receiver enjoys the gift without worrying about the consequences that accompany gifts given out of fear, guilt, shame, or desire for gain. The giver benefits from the enhanced self-esteem that results when we see our efforts contributing to someone's well-being.  

To arrive at a mutual desire to give from the heart, we focus the light of consciousness on four areas—referred to as the four components of the NVC model. First, we observe what is actually happening in a situation: what are we observing others saying or doing that is either enriching or not enriching our life? The trick is to be able to articulate this observation without introducing any judgment or evaluation—to simply say what people are doing that we either like or don't like. Next, we state how we feel when we observe this action: are we hurt, scared, joyful, amused, irritated, etc.? And thirdly, we say what needs of ours are connected to the feelings we have identified. An awareness of these three components is present when we use NVC to clearly and honestly express how we are. 

    1. observation 

    2. feeling 

    3. needs 

    4. request. 

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For example, a mother might express these three pieces to her teenage son by saying, “Felix, when I see two balls of soiled socks under the coffee table and another three next to the TV, I feel irritated because I am needing more order in the rooms that we share in common.” She would follow immediately with the fourth component—a very specific request: “Would you be willing to put your socks in your room or in the washing machine?” This fourth component addresses what we are wanting from the other person that would enrich our lives or make life more wonderful for us. Thus, part of NVC is to express these four pieces of information very clearly, whether verbally or by other means. The other aspect of this communication consists of receiving the same four pieces of information from others. We connect with them by first sensing what they are observing, feeling, and needing, and then discover what would enrich their lives by receiving the fourth piece, their request. As we keep our attention focused on the areas mentioned, and help others do likewise, we establish a flow of communication, back and forth, until compassion manifests naturally: what I am observing, feeling, and needing; what I am requesting to enrich my life; what you are observing, feeling, and needing; what you are requesting to enrich your life. . . . 

1. expressing honesty through the four components 

2. receiving empathically through the four components.

NVC helps us connect with each other and ourselves in a way that allows our natural compassion to flourish. It guides us to reframe the way we express ourselves and listen to others by focusing our consciousness on four areas: what we are observing, feeling, and needing and what we are requesting to enrich our lives. NVC fosters deep listening, respect, and empathy and engenders a mutual desire to give from the heart. Some people use NVC to respond compassionately to themselves, some to create greater depth in their personal relationships, and still others to build effective relationships at work or in the political arena. Worldwide, NVC is used to mediate disputes and conflicts at all levels.

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—Holy Bible, Matthew 7:1 

In studying the question of what alienates us from our natural state of compassion, I have identified specific forms of language and communication that I believe contribute to our behaving violently toward each other and ourselves. I use the term “life-alienating communication” to refer to these forms of communication. Certain ways of communicating alienate us from our natural state of compassion: 

Moralistic Judgments One kind of life-alienating communication is the use of moralistic judgments that imply wrongness or badness on the part of people who don't act in harmony with our values. Such judgments are reflected in language such as, “The problem with you is that you're too selfish.” “She's lazy.” “They're prejudiced.” “It's inappropriate.” Blame, insults, put-downs, labels, criticism, comparisons, and diagnoses are all forms of judgment. In the world of judgments, our concern centers on WHO “IS” WHAT. 

The Sufi poet Rumi once wrote, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing, there is a field. I'll meet you there.” 

Life-alienating communication, however, traps us in a world of ideas about rightness and wrongness—a world of judgments; it is a language rich with words that classify and dichotomize people and their actions. When we speak this language, we judge others and their behavior while preoccupying ourselves with who's good, bad, normal, abnormal, responsible, irresponsible, smart, ignorant, etc. 

Long before I reached adulthood, I learned to communicate in an impersonal way that did not require me to reveal what was going on inside of myself. When I encountered people or behaviors I either didn't like or didn't understand, I would react in terms of their wrongness. If my teachers assigned a task I didn't want to do, they were “mean” or “unreasonable.” If someone pulled out in front of me in traffic, my reaction would be, “You idiot!” When we speak this language, we think and communicate in terms of what's wrong with others for behaving in certain ways, or occasionally, what's wrong with ourselves for not understanding or responding as we would like. Our attention is focused on classifying, analyzing, and determining levels of wrongness rather than on what we and others need and not getting. Thus if my partner wants more affection than I'm giving her, she is “needy and dependent.” But if I want more affection than she is giving me, then she is “aloof and insensitive.” If my colleague is more concerned about details than I am, he is “picky and compulsive.” On the other hand, if I am more concerned about details than he is, he is “sloppy and disorganized.” 

It is my belief that all such analyses of other human beings are tragic ex-pressions of our own values and needs. They are tragic because, when we express our values and needs in this form, we increase defensiveness and resistance to them among the very people whose behaviors are of concern to us. Or, if they do agree to act in harmony with our values because they concur with our analysis of their wrongness, they will likely do so out of fear, guilt, or shame. We all pay dearly when people respond to our values and needs, not out of a desire to give from the heart, but out of fear, guilt, or shame. Sooner or later, we will experience the consequences of diminished goodwill on the part of those who comply with our values out of a sense of either external or internal coercion. They, too, pay emotionally, for they are likely to feel resentment and decreased self-esteem when they respond to us out of fear, guilt, or shame. Furthermore, each time others associate us in their minds with any of those feelings, we decrease the likelihood of their responding compassionately to our needs and values in the future. 

It is important here not to confuse value judgments and moralistic judgments. All of us make value judgments as to the qualities we value in life; for example, we might value honesty, freedom, or peace. 

Value judgments reflect our beliefs of how life can best be served. We make moralistic judgments of people and behaviors that fail to support our value judgments, e.g. “Violence is bad. People who kill others are evil.” Had we been raised speaking a language that facilitated the ex-pression of compassion, we would have learned to articulate our needs and values directly, rather than to insinuate wrongness when they have not been met. For example, instead of “Violence is bad,” we might say instead, “I am fearful of the use of violence to resolve conflicts; I value the resolution of human conflicts through other means.” 

The relationship between language and violence is the subject of psychology professor O.J. Harvey's research at the University of Colorado. He took random samples of pieces of literature from many countries over the world and tabulated the frequency of words that classify and judge people. His study shows a high correlation between the frequent use of such words and incidences of violence. It does not surprise me to hear that there is considerably less violence in cultures where people think in terms of human needs than in cultures where people label one another as “good” or “bad” and believe that the “bad” ones deserve to be punished. 

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At the root of much, if not all, violence—whether verbal, psychological, or physical, whether among family members, tribes, or nations—is a kind of thinking that attributes the cause of conflict to wrongness in one's adversaries, and a corresponding inability to think of oneself or others in terms of vulnerability—what one might be feeling, fearing, yearning for, missing, etc. We saw this dangerous way of thinking during the Cold War. Our leaders viewed Russians as an “evil empire” bent on destroying the American way of life. Russian leaders referred to the people of the United States as “imperialist oppressors” who were trying to subjugate them. Neither side acknowledged the fear lurking behind such labels. 

Making Comparisons Another form of judgment is the use of comparisons. In his book, How to Make Yourself Miserable, Dan Greenberg demonstrates through humor the insidious power that comparative thinking can exert over us. He suggests that if readers have a sincere desire to make life miserable for themselves, they might learn to compare themselves to other people. For those unfamiliar with this practice, he provides a few exercises. The first one displays full-length pictures of a man and a woman who embody ideal physical beauty by contemporary media standards. Readers are instructed to take their own body measurements, compare them to those superimposed on the pictures of the attractive specimens, and dwell on the differences. 

Denial Of Responsibility Another kind of life-alienating communication is the denial of responsibility. Life-alienating communication clouds our awareness that we are each responsible for our own thoughts, feelings, and actions. The use of the common ex-pression “have to” as in “There are some things you have to do, whether you like it or not” illustrates how personal responsibility for our actions is obscured in such speech. The phrase “makes one feel” as in “You make me feel guilty” is another example of how language facilitates the denial of personal responsibility for our own feelings and thoughts.  

Communicating our desires as demands is another form of language that blocks compassion. A demand explicitly or implicitly threatens listeners with blame or punishment if they fail to comply. It is a common form of communication in our culture, especially among those who hold positions of authority. We can never make people do anything. 

Life-alienating communication is also associated with the concept that certain actions merit reward while others merit punishment. This thinking is expressed by the word “deserve” as in “He deserves to be punished for what he did.” It assumes “badness” on the part of people who behave in certain ways, and calls for punishment to make them repent and change their behavior. I believe it is in everyone's interest that people change, not in order to avoid punishment, but because they see the change as benefiting themselves. Most of us grew up speaking a language that encourages us to label, compare, demand, and pronounce judgments rather than to be aware of what we are feeling and needing. I believe life-alienating communication is rooted in views of human nature that have exerted their influence for several centuries. These views stress our innate evil and deficiency, and a need for education to control our inherently undesirable nature. Such education often leaves us questioning whether there is something wrong with whatever feelings and needs we may be experiencing. We learn early to cut ourselves off from what's going on within ourselves.

Life-alienating communication both stems from and supports hierarchical or domination societies. Where large populations are controlled by a small number of individuals for their own benefit, it would be to the interest of kings, czars, nobles, etc. that the masses be educated in a way that renders them slave-like in mentality. The language of wrongness, “should” and “have to” is perfectly suited for this purpose: the more people are trained to think in terms of moralistic judgments that imply wrongness and badness, the more they are being trained to look outside themselves—to outside authorities—for the definition of what constitutes right, wrong, good and bad. When we are in contact with our feelings and needs, we humans no longer make good slaves and underlings. 

It is our nature to enjoy giving and receiving compassionately. We have, however, learned many forms of “life-alienating communication” that lead us to speak and behave in ways that injure others and ourselves. One form of life-alienating communication is the use of moralistic judgments that imply wrongness or badness on the part of those who don't act in harmony with our values. Another form of such communication is the use of comparisons, which can block compassion both for others and ourselves. Life-alienating communication also obscures our awareness that we are each responsible for our own thoughts, feelings, and actions. Communicating our desires in the form of demands is yet another characteristic of language that blocks compassion.

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The first component of NVC entails the separation of observation from evaluation. We need to clearly observe what we are seeing, hearing, or touching that is affecting our sense of well-being, without mixing in any evaluation. Observations are an important element in NVC, where we wish to clearly and honestly express how we are to another person. When we combine observation with evaluation, however, we decrease the likelihood that others will hear our intended message. Instead, they are apt to hear criticism and thus resist what we are saying. NVC does not mandate that we remain completely objective and refrain from evaluating. It only requires that we maintain a separation between our observations and our evaluations. 

NVC is a process language that discourages static generalizations; instead, evaluations are to be based on observations specific to time and context. Semanticist Wendell Johnson pointed out that we create many problems for ourselves by using static language to express or capture a reality that is ever changing: “Our language is an imperfect instrument created by ancient and ignorant men. It is an animistic language that invites us to talk about stability and constants, about similarities and normal and kinds, about magical transformations, quick cures, simple problems, and final solutions. Yet the world we try to symbolize with this language is a world of process, change, differences, dimensions, functions, relationships, growths, interactions, developing, learning, coping, complexity. And the mismatch of our ever-changing world and our relatively static language forms is part of our problem.”

1. Use of verb to be without indication that the evaluator accepts responsibility for the evaluation:

You are too generous. (observation and evaluation mixed)

When I see you give all your lunch money to others I think you being too generous. (separated)

2. Use of verbs with evaluative connotations: 

Doug procrastinates. (evaluation)

Doug only studies for exams the night before. (observation)

3. Implication that one's inferences about another person's thoughts, feelings, intentions, or desires are the only ones possible:

She won't get her work in. (mixed)

I don't think she'll get her work in. or She said, “I won't get my work in.”(separated)

4. Confusion of prediction with certainty:

If you don't eat balanced meals, your health will be impaired. 

If you don't eat balanced meals, I fear that your health may be impaired.  

5. Failure to be specific about referents:

Minorities don't take care of their property. (evaluation)

I have not seen the minority family living at 1679. (observation)

6. Use of words denoting ability without indicating that an evaluation is being made:

Hank Smith is a poor soccer player. (evaluation)

Hank Smith has not scored a goal in 20 games. (observation)

7. Use of adverb and adjectives in ways that do not signify an evaluation has been made:

Jim is ugly. 

Jim's looks don't appeal to me. 

Note: The words always, never, ever, whenever, etc. express observations when used in the following ways:

Whenever I have observed Jack on the phone, he has spoken for at least 30 minutes. 

I cannot recall your ever writing to me.  

Sometimes such words are used as exaggerations, in which case observations and evaluations are being mixed: 

You are always busy. 

She is never there when she's needed. 

When these words are used as exaggerations, they often provoke defensiveness rather than compassion. 

Words like frequently and seldom can also contribute to confusing observation with evaluation.

You seldom do what I want. (evaluation)

The last three times I initiated an activity, you said you didn't want to do it.  (observation)

He frequently comes over. (evaluation)

He comes over at least three times a week. (observation)

The first component of NVC entails the separation of observation from evaluation. When we combine observation with evaluation, others are apt to hear criticism and resist what we are saying. NVC is a process language that discourages static generalizations. Instead, observations are to be made specific to time and context, e.g. “Hank Smith has not scored a goal in 20 games” rather than “Hank Smith is a poor soccer player.”

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The first component of NVC is to observe without evaluating; the second component is to express how we are feeling. Psychoanalyst Rollo May suggests that “the mature person becomes able to differentiate feelings into as many nuances, strong and passionate experiences, or delicate and sensitive ones as in the different passages of music in a symphony.” For many of us, however, our feelings are, as May would describe it, “limited like notes in a bugle call.” 

I regularly hear statements like, “I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea—I'm married to a wonderful man—but I never know what he is feeling.” One such dissatisfied woman brought her spouse to a workshop, during which she told him, “I feel like I'm married to a wall.” The husband then did an excellent imitation of a wall: he sat mute and immobile. Exasperated, she turned to me and exclaimed, “See! This is what happens all the time. He sits and says nothing. It's just like living with a wall.” “It sounds to me like you are feeling lonely and wanting more emotional contact with your husband,” I responded. When she agreed, I tried to show how statements such as “I feel like I'm living with a wall” are unlikely to bring her feelings and desires to her husband's attention. In fact, they are more likely to be heard as criticism than an invitation to connect with our feelings. Furthermore, such statements often lead to self-fulfilling prophecies. A husband, for example, hears himself criticized for behaving like a wall; he is hurt and discouraged and doesn't respond, thereby confirming his wife's image of him as a wall. 

The benefits of strengthening our feelings vocabulary are evident not only in intimate relationships, but also in the professional world. In one instance, I was working with the administrators of a hospital who were anxious about a forthcoming meeting with the hospital's physicians. They wanted support for a project that the physicians had only recently turned down by a vote of 17 to 1. The administrators were eager to have me demonstrate how they might use NVC when approaching the physicians. Assuming the voice of an administrator in a role-playing session, I opened with, “I'm feeling frightened to be bringing up this issue.” I chose to start this way because I sensed how frightened the administrators were as they prepared to confront the physicians on this topic again. Before I could continue, one of the administrators stopped me to protest, “You're being unrealistic! We could never tell the physicians that we were frightened.” When I asked why an admission of fear seemed so impossible, he replied without hesitation, “If we admitted we're frightened, then they would just pick us to pieces!” His answer didn't surprise me; I have often heard people say how they cannot imagine ever expressing feelings at their workplace. I was pleased to learn, however, that one of the administrators did decide to risk expressing his vulnerability at the dreaded meeting. Instead of his customary manner of appearing strictly logical, rational and unemotional, he chose to state his feelings together with reasons for wanting the physicians to change their position. He noticed how differently the physicians responded to him. In the end he was amazed and relieved when, instead of being “picked to pieces” by the physicians, they reversed their previous position, voting 17 to 1 to support the project instead. This dramatic turnaround helped the administrators realize and appreciate the potential impact of expressing one's vulnerability—even in the workplace.

Expressing our vulnerability can help resolve conflicts. 

 Summary 

The second component necessary for expressing ourselves is feelings. By developing a vocabulary of feelings that allows us to clearly and specifically name or identify our emotions, we can connect more easily with one another. Allowing ourselves to be vulnerable by expressing our feelings can help resolve conflicts. NVC distinguishes the ex-pression of actual feelings from words and statements that describe thoughts, assessments, and interpretations.

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The third component of NVC entails the acknowledgment of the root of our feelings. NVC heightens our awareness that what others say and do may be the stimulus, but never the cause of our feelings. We see that our feelings result from how we choose to receive what others say and do, as well as our particular needs and expectations in that moment. With the third component, we are led to accept responsibility for what we do to generate our own feelings.

When someone gives us a negative message, whether verbally or nonverbally, we have four options as to how to receive it. One is to take it personally by hearing blame and criticism. For example, someone is angry and says, “You're the most self-centered person I've ever met!” In choosing to take it personally, we might react, “Oh, I should've been more sensitive!”.

1. Blaming ourselves

We accept the other person's judgment and blame ourselves. We choose this option at a great cost to our self-esteem, for it inclines us toward feelings of guilt, shame, and depression.

2. Blaming others

A second option is to fault the speaker. For example, in response to “You're the most self-centered person I've ever met,” we might protest, “You have no right to say that! I am always considering your needs. You're the one who is really self-centered.” When we receive messages this way, and blame the speaker, we are likely to feel anger.

3. Sensing our own feelings and needs

When receiving a negative message, our third option would be to shine the light of consciousness on our own feelings and needs. Thus, we might reply, “When I hear you saying that I am the most self-centered person you've ever met, I feel hurt, because I need some recognition of my efforts to be considerate-of your preferences.” By focusing attention on our own feelings and needs, we become conscious that our current feeling of hurt derives from a need for our efforts to be recognized.

4. Sensing others' feelings and needs

Finally, a fourth option in receiving a negative message is to shine the light of consciousness on the other person's feelings and needs as they are currently expressed. We might for example ask, “Are you feeling hurt because you need more consideration for your preferences?”

We accept responsibility rather than blame other people for our feelings by acknowledging our own needs, desires, expectations, values, or thoughts. Note the difference between the following ex-pressions of disappointment: 

 

A: “You disappointed me by not coming over last evening.” 

B: “I was disappointed when you didn't come over, because I wanted to talk over some things that were bothering me.” 

Speaker A attributes responsibility for the disappointment solely to the action of the other person. In B, the feeling of disappointment is traced to the speaker's own desire that was not being fulfilled. 

A: “Their cancelling the contract really irritated me!” 

B: “When they cancelled the contract, I felt really irritated because I was thinking to myself that it was an awfully irresponsible thing to do.” 

Speaker A attributes her irritation solely to the behavior of the other party, whereas Speaker B accepts responsibility for her feeling by acknowledging the thought behind it. She recognizes that her blaming way of thinking has generated her irritation. In NVC, however, we would urge this speaker to go a step further by identifying what she is wanting: what need, desire, expectation, hope, or value of hers has not been fulfilled? As we shall see, the more we are able to connect our feelings to our own needs, the easier it is for others to respond compassionately. To relate her feelings to what she is wanting, Speaker B might have said: “When they cancelled the contract, I felt really irritated because I was hoping for an opportunity to re-hire the workers we had laid off last year.”

The basic mechanism of motivating by guilt is to attribute the responsibility for one's own feelings to others. When parents say, “It hurts Mommy and Daddy when you get poor grades at school,” they are implying that the child's actions are the cause of the parents' happiness or unhappiness. On the surface, feeling responsible for the feelings of others can easily be mistaken for positive caring. It appears that the child cares for the parent and feels bad because the parent is suffering. However, if children who assume this kind of responsibility change their behavior in accordance to parental wishes, they are not acting from the heart, but acting to avoid guilt. 

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It is helpful to recognize a number of common speech patterns that tend to mask accountability for our own feelings: 1. Use of impersonal pronouns such as “it” and “that”: “It really infuriates me when spelling mistakes appear in our public brochures.” “That bugs me a lot.” 2. Statements that mention only the actions of others: “When you don't call me on my birthday, I feel hurt.” “Mommy is disappointed when you don't finish your food.” 3. The use of the ex-pression “I feel (an emotion) because . . . ” followed by a person or personal pronoun other than “I”: “I feel hurt because you said you don't love me.” “I feel angry because the supervisor broke her promise.” In each of these instances, we can deepen-our awareness of our own responsibility by substituting the phrase, “I feel . . . because I . . . ” 

For example: Connect your feeling with your need: “I feel . . . because I . . .”

1. “ I feel really infuriated when spelling mistakes like that appear in our public brochures, because I want our company to project a professional image.” 

2. “ Mommy feels disappointed when you don't finish your food, because I want you to grow up strong and healthy.” 

3. “ I feel angry that the supervisor broke her promise, because I was counting on getting that long weekend to visit my brother.”

Judgments, criticisms, diagnoses, and interpretations of others are all alienated ex-pressions of our needs. If someone says, “You never understand me,” they are really telling us that their need to be understood is not being fulfilled. If a wife says, “You've been working late every night this week; you love your work more than you love me,” she is saying that her need for intimacy is not being met.

Judgments of others are alienated ex-pressions of our own unmet needs.

When we express our needs indirectly through the use of evaluations, interpretations, and images, others are likely to hear criticism. And when people hear anything that sounds like criticism, they tend to invest their energy in self-defense or counterattack. If we are wishing for a compassionate response from others, it is self-defeating to express our needs by interpreting or diagnosing their behavior. Instead, the more directly we can connect our feelings to our own needs, the easier it is for others to respond compassionately to our needs.

Unfortunately, most of us have never been taught to think in terms of needs. We are accustomed to thinking about what's wrong with other people when our needs aren't being fulfilled. Thus, if we want coats to be hung up in the closet, we may characterize our children as lazy for leaving them on the couch. Or we may interpret our co-workers as being irresponsible when they don't go about their tasks as we would prefer them to. I was once invited to mediate in southern California between some landowners and migrant farm workers whose conflicts had grown increasingly hostile and violent. I began the meeting by asking them two questions: “What is it that you are each needing? And what would you like to request of the other in relation to these needs?” “The problem is that these people are racist!” shouted a farm worker. “The problem is that these people don't respect law and order!” shouted a landowner even more loudly. As is often the case, these groups were more skilled in analyzing the perceived wrongness of others than in clearly expressing their own needs. 

In a comparable situation, I once met with a group of Israelis and Palestinians who wanted to establish the mutual trust necessary to bring peace to their homelands. I opened the session with the same questions, “What is it you are needing and what would you like to request from one another in relation to those needs?” Instead of directly stating his needs, a Palestinian mukhtar (who is like a village mayor) answered, “You people are acting like a bunch of Nazis.” A statement like that is not likely to get the cooperation of a group of Israelis! Almost immediately, an Israeli woman jumped up and countered, “Mukhtar, that was a totally insensitive thing for you to say!” Here were people who had come together to build trust and harmony, but after only one interchange, matters were worse than before they began. This happens often when people are used to analyzing and blaming one another rather than clearly expressing what they need. In this case, the woman could have responded to the Mukhtar in terms of her own needs and requests by saying, for example, “I am needing more respect in our dialogue. Instead of telling us how you think we are acting, would you tell us what it is we are doing that you find disturbing?” Over and over again, it has been my experience that, from the moment people begin talking about what they need rather than what's wrong with one another, the possibility of finding ways to meet everybody's needs is greatly increased.

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In a world where we're often judged harshly for identifying and revealing our needs, doing so can be very frightening. Women, in particular, are susceptible to criticism. For centuries, the image of the loving woman has been associated with sacrifice and the denial of her own needs to take care of others. Because women are socialized to view the care taking of others as their highest duty, they have often learned to ignore their own needs. At one workshop, we discussed what happens to women who internalize such beliefs. These women, if they ask for what they want, will often do so in a way that both reflects and reinforces the beliefs that they have no genuine right to their needs, and that their needs are unimportant. For example, because she is fearful of asking for what she needs, a woman may fail to simply say that she's had a busy day, is feeling tired and wants some time in the evening to herself; instead, her words come out sounding like a legal case: “You know I haven't had a moment to myself all day, I ironed all the shirts, did the whole week's laundry, took the dog to the vet, made dinner, packed the lunches, and called all the neighbors about the block meeting, so [imploringly] . . . so how about if you . . . ?” “No!” comes the swift response. Her plaintive request elicits resistance rather than compassion from her listeners. They have difficulty hearing and valuing the needs behind her pleas, and furthermore react negatively to her weak attempt to argue from a position of what she “should” or “deserves” to get from them. In the end the speaker is again persuaded that her needs don't matter, not realizing that they were expressed in a way unlikely to draw a positive response.

My mother was once at a workshop where other women were discussing how frightening it was to be expressing their needs. Suddenly she got up and left the room and didn't return for a long time. She finally reappeared, looking very pale. In the presence of the group, I asked, “Mother, are you all right?” “Yes,” she answered, “but I just had a sudden realization that's very hard for me to take in.” “What's that?” “I've just become aware that I was angry for 36 years with your father for not meeting my needs, and now I realize that I never once clearly told him what I needed.” My mother's revelation was accurate. Not one time can I remember her clearly expressing her needs to my father. She'd hint around and go through all kinds of convolutions, but never would she ask directly for what she needed. We tried to understand why it was so hard for her to have done so. My mother grew up in an economically impoverished family. She recalled asking for things as a child and being admonished by her brothers and sisters, “You shouldn't ask for that! You know we're poor. Do you think you are the only person in the family?” Eventually she grew to fear that asking for what she needed would only lead to disapproval and judgment. She related a childhood anecdote about one of her sisters who had had an appendix operation and afterwards had been given a beautiful little purse by another sister. My mother was 14 at the time. Oh, how she yearned to have an exquisitely beaded purse like her sister's, but she dared not open her mouth. So guess what? She feigned a pain in her side and went the whole way with her story. Her family took her to several doctors. They were unable to produce a diagnosis and so opted for exploratory surgery. It had been a bold gamble on my mother's part, but it worked—she was given an identical little purse! When she received the coveted purse, my mother was elated despite being in physical agony from the surgery. Two nurses came in and one stuck a thermometer in her mouth. My mother said, “Ummm, ummm,” to show the purse to the second nurse, who answered, “Oh, for me? Why, thank you!” and took the purse! My mother was at a loss, and never figured out how to say, “I didn't mean to give it to you. Please return it to me.” Her story poignantly reveals how painful it can be when people don't openly acknowledge their needs.

In this stage, which I refer to as emotional slavery, we believe ourselves responsible for the feelings of others. We think we must constantly strive to keep everyone happy. If they don't appear happy, we feel responsible and compelled to do something about it. This can easily lead us to see the very people who are closest to us as burdens. Taking responsibility for the feelings of others can be very detrimental in intimate relationships. I routinely hear variations on the following theme: “I'm really scared to be in a relationship. Every time I see my partner in pain or needing something, I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I'm in prison, that I'm being smothered—and I just have to get out of the relationship as fast as possible.” This response is common among those who experience love as denial of one's own needs in order to attend to the needs of the beloved. In the early days of a relationship, partners typically relate joyfully and compassionately to each other out of a sense of freedom. The relationship is exhilarating, spontaneous, wonderful. Eventually, however, as the relationship becomes “serious,” partners may begin to assume responsibility for each other's feelings.

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If I were a partner who is conscious of doing this, I might acknowledge the situation by explaining, “I can't bear it when I lose myself in relationships. When I see my partner's pain, I lose me, and then I just have to break free.” However, if I have not reached this level of awareness, I am likely to blame my partner for the deterioration of the relationship. Thus I might say, “My partner is so needy and dependent it's really stressing out our relationship.” In such a case, my partner would do well to reject the notion that there is anything wrong with her needs. It would only make a bad situation worse to accept that blame. Instead, she could offer an empathic response to address the pain of my emotional slavery: “So you find yourself in panic. It's very hard for you to hold on to the deep caring and love we've had without turning it into a responsibility, duty, obligation. . . . You sense your freedom closing down because you think you constantly have to take care of me.” If, however, instead of an empathic response, she says, “Are you feeling tense because I have been making too many demands on you?” then both of us are likely to stay enmeshed in emotional slavery, making it that much more difficult for the relationship to survive. 

In this stage, we become aware of the high costs of assuming responsibility for others' feelings and trying to accommodate them at our own expense. When we notice how much of our lives we've missed and how little we have responded to the call of our own soul, we may get angry. I refer jokingly to this stage as the obnoxious stage because we tend toward obnoxious comments like, “That's your problem! I'm not responsible for your feelings!” when presented with another person's pain. We are clear what we are not responsible for, but have yet to learn how to be responsible to others in a way that is not emotionally enslaving.

Second stage: “Obnoxious”: we feel angry; we no longer want to be responsible for others' feelings.

As we emerge from the stage of emotional enslavement, we may continue to carry remnants of fear and guilt around having our own needs. Thus it is not surprising that we end up expressing those needs in ways that sound rigid and unyielding to the ears of others. For example, during a break in one of my workshops, a young woman expressed appreciation for the insights she'd gained into her own state of emotional enslavement. When the workshop resumed, I suggested an activity to the group. The same young woman then declared assertively, “I'd rather do something else.” I sensed she was exercising her new found right to express her needs—even if they ran counter to those of others. To encourage her to sort out what she wanted, I asked, “Do you want to do something else even if it conflicts with my needs?” She thought for a moment, and then stammered, “Yes. . . . er . . . I mean no.” Her confusion reflects how, in the obnoxious stage, we have yet to grasp that emotional liberation entails more than simply asserting our own needs. I recall an incident during my daughter Marla's passage toward emotional liberation. She had always been the “perfect little girl” who denied her own needs to comply with the wishes of others. When I became aware of how frequently she suppressed her own desires in order to please others, I talked to her about how I'd enjoy hearing her express her needs more often. When we first broached the subject, Marla cried. “But, Daddy, I don't want to disappoint anybody!” she protested helplessly. I tried to show Marla how her honesty would be a gift more precious to others than accommodating them to prevent their upset. I also clarified ways she could empathize with people when they were upset without taking responsibility for their feelings. A short time later, I saw evidence that my daughter was beginning to express her needs more openly. A call came from her school principal, apparently disturbed by a communication he'd had with Marla, who had arrived at school wearing overalls. “Marla,” he'd said, “young women do not dress this way.” To which Marla had responded, “F___ off!” Hearing this was cause for celebration: Marla had graduated from emotional slavery to obnoxiousness! She was learning to express her needs and risk dealing with the displeasure of others. Surely she had yet to assert her needs comfortably and in a way that respected the needs of others, but I trusted this would occur in time. 

At the third stage, emotional liberation, we respond to the needs of others out of compassion, never out of fear, guilt, or shame. Our actions are therefore fulfilling to us, as well as to those who receive our efforts. We accept full responsibility for our own intentions and actions, but not for the feelings of others. At this stage, we are aware that we can never meet our own needs at the expense of others. Emotional liberation involves stating clearly what we need in a way that communicates we are equally concerned that the needs of others be fulfilled. NVC is designed to support us in relating at this level.

Third stage: Emotional liberation: we take responsibility for our intentions and actions

The third component of NVC is the acknowledgment of the needs behind our feelings. What others say and do may be the stimulus, but never the cause, of our feelings. When someone communicates negatively, we have four options as to how to receive the message: (1) blame ourselves, (2) blame others, (3) sense our own feelings and needs, (4) sense the feelings and needs hidden in the other person's negative message. Judgments, criticisms, diagnoses, and interpretations of others are all alienated ex-pressions of our own needs and values. When others hear criticism, they tend to invest their energy in selfdefense or counterattack. The more directly we can connect our feelings to our needs, the easier it is for others to respond compassionately. In a world where we are often harshly judged for identifying and revealing our needs, doing so can be very frightening, especially for women who are socialized to ignore their own needs while caring for others. In the course of developing emotional responsibility, most of us experience three stages: (1) “emotional slavery”—believing ourselves responsible for the feelings of others, (2) “the obnoxious stage”—in which we refuse to admit to caring what anyone else feels or needs, and (3) “emotional liberation”—in which we accept full responsibility for our own feelings but not the feelings of others, while being aware that we can never meet our own needs at the expense of others.

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We have now covered the first three components of NVC that address what we are observing, feeling, and needing. We have learned to do this without criticizing, analyzing, blaming, or diagnosing others, and in a way most likely to inspire compassion. The fourth and final component of this process addresses the question of what we would like to request of others in order to enrich life for us. When our needs are not being fulfilled, we follow the ex-pression of what we are observing, feeling, and needing with a specific request: we ask for actions that might fulfill our needs. How do we express our requests so that others are more willing to respond compassionately to our needs?

When requests are worded in the negative, people are often confused as to what is actually being requested, and furthermore, negative requests are likely to provoke resistance. A woman at a workshop, frustrated that her husband was spending so much time at work, described how her request had backfired: “I asked him not to spend so much time at work. Three weeks later, he responded by announcing that he'd signed up for a golf tournament!” She had successfully communicated to him what she did not want—his spending so much time at work—but had failed to request what she did want. Encouraged to reword her request, she thought a minute and said, “I wish I had told him that I would like him to spend at least one evening a week at home with the children and me.” Use positive language when making requests.

I was once invited to work with some high school students who suffered a long litany of grievances against their principal. They regarded the principal as a racist, and searched for ways to get even with him. A minister who worked closely with the young people became deeply concerned over the prospect of violence. Out of respect for the minister, the students agreed to meet with me. They began by describing what they saw as discrimination on the part of the principal. After listening to several of their charges, I suggested that they proceed by clarifying what they wanted from the principal. “What good would that do?” scoffed one student in disgust, “We already went to him to tell him what we wanted. His answer to us was, 'Get out of here! I don't need you people telling me what to do!'” I asked the students what they had requested of the principal. They recalled saying to him that they didn't want him telling them how to wear their hair. I suggested that they might have received a more cooperative response if they had expressed what they did, rather than what they did not, want. They had then informed the principal that they wanted to be treated with fairness, at which he had become defensive, vociferously denying ever having been unfair. 

I ventured to guess that the principal would have responded more favorably if they had asked for specific actions rather than vague behavior like “fair treatment.” Working together, we found ways to express their requests in positive action language. At the end of the meeting, the students had clarified 38 actions they wanted the principal to take, including “We'd like you to agree to black student representation on decisions made about dress code,” and “We'd like you to refer to us as 'black students' and not 'you people.'” The following day, the students presented their requests to the principal using the positive action language we had practiced; that evening I received an elated phone call from them: their principal had agreed to all 38 requests! 

In addition to using positive language, we also want to avoid vague, abstract, or ambiguous phrasing and to word our requests in the form of concrete actions that others can undertake. A cartoon depicts a man who has fallen into a lake. As he struggles to swim, he shouts to his dog on shore, “Lassie, get help!” In the next frame, the dog is lying on a psychiatrist's couch. We all know how opinions vary as to what constitutes “help”: some members of my family, when asked to help with the dishes, think “help” means supervision. Making requests in clear, positive, concrete action language reveals what we really want.

Often, the use of vague and abstract language can mask such oppressive interpersonal games. A similar lack of clarity occurred between a father and his 15-year-old son when they came in for counseling. “All I want is for you to start showing a little responsibility,” claimed the father. “Is that asking too much?” I suggested that he specify what it would take for his son to demonstrate the responsibility he was seeking. After a discussion on how to clarify his request, the father responded sheepishly, “Well, it doesn't sound so good, but when I say that I want responsibility, what I really mean is that I want him to do what I ask, without question—to jump when I say jump, and to smile while doing it.” He then agreed with me that if his son were to actually behave this way, it would demonstrate obedience rather than responsibility. Vague language contributes to internal confusion.

Making Requests Consciously

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Sometimes we may be able to communicate a clear request without putting it in words. Suppose you're in the kitchen and your sister, who is watching television in the living room, calls out, “I'm thirsty.” In this case, it may be obvious that she is requesting you to bring her a glass of water from the kitchen. It may not be clear to the listener what we want them to do when we simply express our feelings. However, in other instances, we may express our discomfort and incorrectly assume that the listener has understood the underlying request. For example, a woman might say to her husband, “I'm annoyed you forgot the butter and onions I asked you to pick up for dinner.” While it may be obvious to her that she is asking him to go back to the store, the husband may think that her words were uttered solely to make him feel guilty. Even more often, we are simply not conscious of what we are requesting when we speak. We talk to others or at them without knowing how to engage in a dialogue with them. We toss out words, using the presence of others as a wastebasket. In such situations, the listener, unable to discern a clear request in the speaker's words, may experience the kind of distress illustrated in the following anecdote. We are often not conscious of what we are requesting.

Equally problematic is the reverse situation—when people state their requests without first communicating the feelings and needs behind them. This is especially true when the request takes the form of a question. “Why don't you go and get a haircut?” can easily be heard by youngsters as a demand or an attack unless parents remember to first reveal their own feelings and needs: “We're worried that your hair is getting so long it might keep you from seeing things, especially when you're on your bike. How about a haircut?”The clearer we are about what we want back, the more likely it is that we'll get it.

As we know, the message we send is not always the message that's received. We generally rely on verbal cues to determine whether our message has been understood to our satisfaction. If, however, we're uncertain that it has been received as intended, we need to be able to clearly request a response that tells us how the message was heard so as to be able to correct any misunderstanding. On some occasions, a simple question like, “Is that clear?” will suffice. At other times, we need more than “Yes, I understood you,” to feel confident that we've been truly understood. At such times, we might ask others to reflect back in their own words what they heard us say. We then have the opportunity to restate parts of our message to address any discrepancy or omission we might have noticed in their reflection. To make sure the message we sent is the message that's received, ask the listener to reflect it back.

Express appreciation when your listener tries to meet your request for a reflection.

When we first begin asking others to reflect back what they hear us say, it may feel awkward and strange because such requests are rarely made. When I emphasize the importance of our ability to ask for reflections, people often express reservations. They are worried about reactions like, “What do you think I am—deaf?” or “Quit playing your psychological games.” To prevent such responses, we can explain to people ahead of time why we may sometimes ask them to reflect back our words. We make clear that we're not testing their listening skills, but checking out whether we've expressed ourselves clearly. However, should the listener retort, “I heard what you said; I'm not stupid!”, we have the option to focus on their feelings and needs and ask—either aloud or silently, “Are you saying you're feeling annoyed because you want respect for your ability to understand things?”Empathize with the listener who doesn't want to reflect back.

After we've openly expressed ourselves and received the understanding we want, we're often eager to know the other person's reaction to what we've said. Usually the honesty we would like to receive takes one of three directions: Sometimes we'd like to know the feelings that are stimulated by what we said, and the reasons for those feelings. We might request this by asking, “I would like you to tell me how you feel about what I just said, and your reasons for feeling as you do.”

After we express ourselves vulnerably, we often want to know (a) what the listener is feeling; (b) what the listener is thinking; or (c) whether the listener would be willing to take a particular action. The use of NVC requires that we be conscious of the specific form of honesty we would like to receive, and to make that request for honesty in concrete language.

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Requests are received as demands when others believe they will be blamed or punished if they do not comply. When people hear us make a demand, they see only two options: submission or rebellion. Either way, the person requesting is perceived as coercive, and the listener's capacity to respond compassionately to the request is diminished.

When the other person hears a demand from us, they see two options: submit or rebel.

The more we have in the past blamed, punished, or “laid guilt trips” on others when they haven't responded to our requests, the higher the likelihood that our requests will now be heard as demands. We also pay for the use of such tactics by others. To the degree that people in our lives have been blamed, punished, or urged to feel guilty for not doing what others have requested, the more likely they are to carry this baggage to every subsequent relationship and hear a demand in any request.

How to tell if it's a demand or a request: Observe what the speaker does if the request is not complied with.

Let's look at two variations of a situation. Jack says to his friend Jane, “I'm lonely and would like you to spend the evening with me.” Is that a request or a demand? The answer is that we don't know until we observe how Jack treats Jane if she doesn't comply. Suppose she replies, “Jack, I'm really tired. If you'd like some company, how about finding someone else to be with you this evening?” If Jack then remarks, “How typical of you to be so selfish!” his request was in fact a demand. Instead of empathizing with her need to rest, he has blamed her. It's a demand if the speaker then criticizes or judges.

Consider a second scenario: 

Jack: “I'm lonely and would like you to spend the evening with me.” 

Jane: “Jack, I'm really tired. If you'd like some company, how about finding someone else to be with you tonight?” 

Jack turns away wordlessly. Jane, sensing he is upset: “Is something bothering you?” 

Jack: “No.” 

Jane: “Come on, Jack, I can sense something's going on. What's the matter?” 

Jack: “You know how lonely I'm feeling. If you really loved me, you'd spend the evening with me.” 

Again, instead of empathizing, Jack now interprets Jane's response to mean that she doesn't love him and that she has rejected him. The more we interpret noncompliance as rejection,the more likely our requests will be heard as demands. This leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy, for the more people hear demands, the less they enjoy being around us. It's a demand if the speaker then lays a guilt-trip.

On the other hand, we would know that Jack's request had been a genuine request, not a demand, if his response to Jane had expressed a respectful recognition of her feelings and needs, e.g. “So, Jane, you're feeling worn out and needing some rest this evening?” We can help others trust that we are requesting, not demanding, by indicating that we would only want the person to comply if he or she can do so willingly. Thus we might ask, “Would you be willing to set the table?” rather than “I would like you to set the table.” However, the most powerful way to communicate that we are making a genuine request is to empathize with people when they don't respond to the request. We demonstrate that we are making a request rather than a demand by how we respond when others don't comply. If we are prepared to show an empathic understanding of what prevents someone from doing as we asked, then by my definition, we have made a request, not a demand. Choosing to request rather than demand does not mean we give up when someone says “no” to our request. It does mean that we don't engage in persuasion until we have empathized with what's preventing the other person from saying “yes.”It's a request if the speaker then shows empathy toward the other person's needs.

Expressing genuine requests also requires an awareness of our objective. If our objective is only to change people and their behavior or to get our way, then NVC is not an appropriate tool. The process is designed for those of us who would like others to change and respond, but only if they choose to do so willingly and compassionately. The objective of NVC is to establish a relationship based on honesty and empathy. When others trust that our primary commitment is to the quality of the relationship, and that we expect this process to fulfill everyone's needs, then they can trust that our requests are true requests and not camouflaged demands. Our objective is a relationship based on honesty and empathy.

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A consciousness of this objective is difficult to maintain, especially for parents, teachers, managers, and others whose work centers around influencing people and obtaining behavioral results. A mother who once returned to a workshop after lunch break announced, “Marshall, I went home and tried it. It didn't work.” I asked her to describe what she'd done. “I went home and expressed my feelings and needs, just as we'd practiced. I made no criticism, no judgments of my son. I simply said, 'Look, when I see that you haven't done the work you said you were going to do, I feel very disappointed. I wanted to be able to come home and find the house in order and your chores completed.' Then I made a request: I told him I wanted him to clean it up immediately.” “It sounds like you clearly expressed all the components,” I commented, “What happened?” “He didn't do it.” “Then what happened?” I asked. “I told him he couldn't go through life being lazy and irresponsible.” I could see that this woman was not yet able to distinguish between expressing requests and making demands. She was still defining the process as successful only if she got compliance for her “requests.” 

During the initial phases of learning this process, we may find ourselves applying the components of NVC mechanically without awareness of the underlying purpose. Sometimes, however, even when we're conscious of our intent and express our request with care, some people may still hear a demand. This is particularly true when we occupy positions of authority and are speaking with those who have had past experiences with coercive authority figures. 

The fourth component of NVC addresses the question of what we would like to request of each other to enrich each of our lives. We try to avoid vague, abstract, or ambiguous phrasing, and remember to use positive action language by stating what we are requesting rather than what we are not. When we speak, the clearer we are about what we want back, the more likely we are to get it. Since the message we send is not always the message that's received, we need to learn how to find out if our message has been accurately heard. Especially when we are expressing ourselves in a group, we need to be clear about the nature of the response we are wanting back. Otherwise we may be initiating unproductive conversations that waste considerable group time. Requests are received as demands when listeners believe that they will be blamed or punished if they do not comply. We can help others trust that we are requesting, not demanding, by indicating our desire for them to comply only if they can do so willingly. The objective of NVC is not to change people and their behavior in order to get our way; it is to establish relationships based on honesty and empathy that will eventually fulfill everyone's needs.

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The last four chapters describe the four components of NVC: what we are observing, feeling, and needing, and what we wish to request to enrich our lives. Now we turn from self-ex-pression to apply these same four components to hearing what others are observing, feeling, needing, and requesting. 

We refer to this part of the communication process as “receiving empathically.”

—expressing honestly 

—receiving empathically

Presence: Don't Just Do Something, Stand There

Empathy is a respectful understanding of what others are experiencing. The Chinese philosopher Chuang-Tzu stated that true empathy requires listening with the whole being: “The hearing that is only in the ears is one thing. The hearing of the understanding is another. But the hearing of the spirit is not limited to any one faculty, to the ear, or to the mind. Hence it demands the emptiness of all the faculties. And when the faculties are empty, then the whole being listens. There is then a direct grasp of what is right there before you that can never be heard with the ear or understood with the mind.” In relating to others, empathy occurs only when we have successfully shed all preconceived ideas and judgments about them. The Austrian-born Israeli philosopher Martin Buber describes this quality of presence that life demands of us: “In spite of all similarities, every living situation has, like a newborn child, a new face, that has never been before and will never come again. It demands of you a reaction that cannot be prepared beforehand. It demands nothing of what is past. It demands presence, responsibility; it demands you.”

Empathy: emptying the mind and listening with our whole being

The presence that empathy requires is not easy to maintain. “The capacity to give one's attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle,” asserts French writer Simone Weil. “Nearly all those who think they have the capacity do not possess it.” Instead of empathy, we tend instead to have a strong urge to give advice or reassurance and to explain our own position or feeling. Empathy, on the other hand, requires focusing full attention on the other person's message. We give to others the time and space they need to express themselves fully and to feel understood. There is a Buddhist saying that aptly describes this ability: “Don't just do something, stand there.”

It is often frustrating for someone needing empathy to have us assume that they want reassurance or “fix-it” advice. I received a lesson from my daughter that taught me to check whether advice or reassurance is wanted before offering any. She was looking in the mirror one day and said, “I'm as ugly as a pig.” “You're the most gorgeous creature God ever put on the face of the earth,” I declared. She shot me a look of exasperation, exclaimed “Oh, Daddy!”, and slammed the door as she left the room. I later found out that she was wanting some empathy. Instead of my illtimed reassurance, I could have asked, “Are you feeling disappointed with your appearance today?” My friend Holley Humphrey identified some common behaviors that prevent us from being sufficiently present to connect empathically with others. The following are examples of such obstacles: Advising: “I think you should . . . ” “How come you didn't . . . ?” One-upping: “That's nothing; wait'll you hear what happened to me.” Educating: “This could turn into a very positive experience for you if you just . . . ” Consoling: “It wasn't your fault; you did the best you could.” Story-telling: “That reminds me of the time . . . ”. Shutting down: “Cheer up. Don't feel so bad.” Sympathizing: “Oh, you poor thing . . . ” Interrogating: “When did this begin?” Explaining: “I would have called but . . . ”. Correcting: “That's not how it happened.” 

When we are thinking about people's words, listening to how they connect to our theories, we are looking at people—we are not with them. The key ingredient of empathy is presence: we are wholly present with the other party and what they are experiencing. This quality of presence distinguishes empathy from either mental understanding or sympathy. While we may choose at times to sympathize with others by feeling their feelings, it's helpful to be aware that during the moment we are offering sympathy, we are not empathizing. Intellectual understanding blocks empathy.

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In NVC, no matter what words people use to express themselves, we listen for their observations, feelings, and needs, and what they are requesting to enrich life. Imagine having loaned your car to a new neighbor who had approached you with a personal emergency. When your family finds out, they react with intensity, “You are a fool for having trusted a total stranger!” The dialog on the next page shows how to tune in to the feelings and needs of the family members in contrast to either (1) blaming yourself by taking the message personally, or (2) blaming and judging them. No matter what others say, we only hear what they are (a) observing, (b) feeling, (c) needing, and (d) requesting.

In this situation, it's obvious what the family is observing and reacting to: the lending of the car to a relative stranger. In other situations, it may not be so clear. If a colleague tells us, “You're not a good team player,” we may not know what he or she is observing, although we can usually guess at the behavior that might have triggered such a statement. The following exchange from a workshop demonstrates the difficulty of focusing on other people's feelings and needs when we are accustomed to assuming responsibility for their feelings and to taking messages personally. 

After we focus our attention and hear what others are observing, feeling, and needing and what they are requesting to enrich their lives, we may wish to reflect back by paraphrasing what we have understood. In our previous discussion on requests (Chapter 6), we discussed how to ask for a reflection; now we will look at how to offer it to others. If we have accurately received the other party's message, our paraphrasing will confirm this for them. If, on the other hand, our paraphrase is incorrect, the speaker has an opportunity to correct us. Another advantage of our choosing to reflect a message back to the other party is that it offers them time to reflect on what they've said and an opportunity to delve deeper into themselves. NVC suggests that our paraphrasing take the form of questions that reveal our understanding while eliciting any necessary corrections from the speaker.

A) what others are observing: “Are you reacting to how many evenings I was gone last week?” 

B) how others are feeling and the needs generating their feelings: “Are you feeling hurt because you would have liked more appreciation of your efforts than you received?” 

C) what others are requesting: “Are you wanting me to tell you my reasons for saying what I did?”

These questions require us to sense what's going on within other people, while inviting their corrections should we have sensed incorrectly. Notice the difference between these questions and the ones below: 

a) “What did I do that you are referring to?” 

b) “How are you feeling?” “Why are you feeling that way?” 

c) “What are you wanting me to do about it?” 

This second set of questions asks for information without first sensing the speaker's reality. Though they may appear to be the most direct way to connect with what's going on within the other person, I've found that questions like these are not the safest route to obtain the information we seek. Many such questions may give speakers the impression that we're a schoolteacher examining them or a psychotherapist working on a case. If we do decide to ask for information in this way, however, I've found that people feel safer if we first reveal the feelings and needs within ourselves that are generating the question. Thus, instead of asking someone “What did I do?” we might say, “I'm frustrated because I'd like to be clearer about what you are referring to. Would you be willing to tell me what I've done that leads you to see me in this way?” While this step may not be necessary—or even helpful—in situations where our feelings and needs are clearly conveyed by the context or tone of voice, I would recommend it particularly during moments when the questions we ask are accompanied by strong emotions. When asking for information, first express our own feelings and needs.

How do we determine if an occasion calls for us to reflect people's messages back to them? Certainly if we are unsure that we have accurately understood the message, we might use paraphrasing to elicit a correction to our guess. But even if we are confident that we've understood them, we may sense the other party wanting confirmation that their message has been accurately received. They may even express this desire overtly by asking, “Is that clear?” or “Do you understand what I mean?” At such moments, hearing a clear paraphrase will often be more reassuring to the speaker than hearing simply, “Yes, I understand.”Paraphrase only when it contributes to greater compassion and understanding.

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Sustaining Empathy I recommend allowing others the opportunity to fully express themselves before turning our attention to solutions or requests for relief. When we proceed too quickly to what people might be requesting, we may not convey our genuine interest in their feelings and needs; instead, they may get the impression that we're in a hurry to either be free of them or to fix their problem. Furthermore, an initial message is often like the tip of an iceberg; it may be followed by yet unexpressed, but related—and often more powerful—feelings. By maintaining our attention on what's going on within others, we offer them a chance to fully explore and express their interior selves. We would stem this flow if we were to shift attention too quickly either to their request or to our own desire to express ourselves. Staying with empathy, we allow speakers to touch deeper levels of themselves.

Suppose a mother comes to us, saying, “My child is impossible. No matter what I tell him to do, he doesn't listen.” We might reflect her feelings and needs by saying, “It sounds like you're feeling desperate and would like to find some way of connecting with your son.” Such a paraphrase often encourages a person to look within. If we have accurately reflected her statement, the mother might touch upon other feelings: “Maybe it's my fault. I'm always yelling at him.” As the listener, we would continue to stay with the feelings and needs being expressed and say, for example, “Are you feeling guilty because you would have liked to have been more understanding of him than you have been at times?” If the mother continues to sense understanding in our reflection, she might move further into her feelings and declare, “I'm just a failure as a mother.” We continue to remain with the feelings and needs being expressed: “So you're feeling discouraged and want to relate differently to him?” We persist in this manner until the person has exhausted all her feelings surrounding this issue.

We know the speaker has received adequate empathy when a. we sense a release of tension, or b. the flow of words comes to a halt.

What evidence is there that we've adequately empathized with the other person? First, when an individual realizes that everything going on within has received full empathic understanding, they will experience a sense of relief. We can become aware of this phenomenon by noticing a corresponding release of tension in our own body. A second even more obvious sign is that the person will stop talking. If we are uncertain as to whether we have stayed long enough in the process, we can always ask, “Is there more that you wanted to say?”

Empathy is a respectful understanding of what others are experiencing. Instead of offering empathy, we often have a strong urge to give advice or reassurance and to explain our own position or feeling. Empathy, however, calls upon us to empty our mind and listen to others with our whole being. In NVC, no matter what words others may use to express themselves, we simply listen for their observations, feelings, needs, and requests. Then we may wish to reflect back, paraphrasing what we have understood. We stay with empathy, allowing others the opportunity to fully express themselves before we turn our attention to solutions or requests for relief. We need empathy to give empathy. When we sense ourselves being defensive or unable to empathize, we need to (a) stop, breathe, give ourselves empathy, (b) scream nonviolently, or (c) take time out.

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Carl Rogers described the impact of empathy on its recipients: “When . . . someone really hears you without passing judgment on you, without trying to take responsibility for you, without trying to mold you, it feels damn good. . . . When I have been listened to and when I have been heard, I am able to re-perceive my world in a new way and go on. It is astonishing how elements that seem insoluble become soluble when someone listens. How confusions that seem irremediable turn into relatively clear flowing streams when one is heard.”

One of my favorite stories about empathy comes from the principal of an innovative school. She had returned after lunch one day to find Milly, an elementary school student, sitting dejectedly in her office waiting to see her. She sat down next to Milly, who began, “Mrs. Anderson, have you ever had a week when everything you did hurt somebody else, and you never intended to hurt anyone at all?” “Yes,” the principal replied, “I think I understand,” whereupon Milly proceeded to describe her week. “By now,” the principal related, “I was quite late for a very important meeting—still had my coat on—and anxious not to keep a room full of people waiting, and so I asked, 'Milly, what can I do for you?' Milly reached over, took both my shoulders in her hands, looked me straight in the eyes, and said very firmly, 'Mrs. Anderson, I don't want you to do anything; I just want you to listen.'

“Don't just do something. . . .”

This was one of the most significant moments of learning in my life—taught to me by a child—so I thought, 'Never mind the roomful of adults waiting for me!' Milly and I moved over to a bench that afforded us more privacy and sat, my arm around her shoulders, her head on my chest, and her arm around my waist, while she talked until she was done. And you know, it didn't take that long.” One of the most satisfying aspects of my work is to hear how individuals have used NVC to strengthen their ability to connect empathically with others. My friend Laurence, who lives in Switzerland, described how upset she had felt when her 6-year-old son had stormed away angrily while she was still talking to him. Isabelle, her 10-year-old daughter who had accompanied her to a recent NVC workshop, remarked, “So you're really angry, Mom. You'd like for him to talk when he's angry and not run off.” Laurence marveled at how, upon hearing Isabelle's words, she had felt an immediate diminishing of tension, and was subsequently able to be more understanding with her son when he returned. A college instructor described how relationships between students and faculty had been affected when several members of the faculty learned to listen empathically and to express themselves more vulnerably and honestly. “The students opened up more and more and told us about the various personal problems that were interfering with their studies. The more they talked about it, the more work they were able to complete. Even though this kind of listening took a lot of our time, we were glad to spend it in this way. Unfortunately, the dean got upset; he said we were not counselors and should spend more time teaching and less time talking with the students.” When I asked how the faculty had dealt with this, the instructor replied, “We empathized with the dean's concern. We heard that he felt worried and wanted to know that we weren't getting involved in things we couldn't handle. We also heard that he needed reassurance that the time spent on talking wasn't cutting into our teaching responsibilities. He seemed relieved by the way we listened to him. We continued to talk with the students because we could see that the more we listened to them, the better they did in their studies.” When we work in a hierarchically structured institution, there is a tendency to hear commands and judgments from those higher up in the hierarchy. While we may easily empathize with our peers and those in less powerful positions, we may find ourselves being defensive or apologetic, instead of empathic, in the presence of those we identify as our “superiors.” This is why I was particularly pleased that these faculty members had remembered to empathize with their dean as well as with their students.

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It's harder to empathize with those who appear to possess more power, status, or resources.

Because of our tendency to read rejection into someone else's “no” and “I don't want to . . . ,” these are important messages for us to be able to empathize with. If we take them personally, we may feel hurt without understanding what's actually going on within the other person. When we shine the light of consciousness on the feelings and needs behind someone else's “no,” however, we become cognizant of what they are wanting that prevents them from responding as we would like.

Empathizing with someone's “no” protects us from taking it personally.

One time I asked a woman during a workshop break to join me and other participants for some ice cream nearby. “No!” she replied brusquely. The tone of her voice led me to interpret her answer as a rejection, until I reminded myself to tune in to the feelings and needs she might be expressing through her “no.” “I sense that you are angry,” I said. “Is that so?” “No,” she replied, “it's just that I don't want to be corrected every time I open my mouth.” Now I sensed that she was fearful rather than angry. I checked this out by asking, “So you're feeling fearful and want to protect yourself from being in a situation where you might be judged for how you communicate?” “Yes,” she affirmed, “I can imagine sitting in the ice cream shop with you and having you notice everything I say.” I then discovered that the way I'd been providing feedback in the workshop had been frightening to her. My empathy for her message had taken the sting out of her “no” for me: I heard her desire to avoid receiving similar feedback in public. Assuring her that I wouldn't evaluate her communication in public, I then conferred with her on ways to give feedback that would leave her feeling safe. And yes, she joined the group for ice cream.

We have all found ourselves in the midst of a lifeless conversation. Perhaps we're at a social event, hearing words without feeling any connection to the speaker. Or we're listening to a “Babble-on-ian”—a term coined by my friend Kelly Bryson for someone who elicits in their listeners the fear of interminable conversation. Vitality drains out of conversations when we lose connection with the feelings and needs generating the speaker's words, and with the requests associated with those needs. This is common when people talk without consciousness of what they are feeling, needing, or requesting. Instead of being engaged in an exchange of life energy with other human beings, we see ourselves becoming wastebaskets for their words. How and when do we interrupt a dead conversation to bring it back to life? I'd suggest the best time to interrupt is when we've heard one word more than we want to hear. The longer we wait, the harder it is to be civil when we do step in. Our intention in interrupting is not to claim the floor for ourselves, but to help the speaker connect to the life energy behind the words being spoken. To bring a conversation back to life: interrupt with empathy.

One of the hardest messages for many of us to empathize with is silence. This is especially true when we've expressed ourselves vulnerably and need to know how others are reacting to our words. At such times, it's easy to project our worst fears onto the lack of response and forget to connect with the feelings and needs being expressed through the silence. Once when I was working with the staff of a business organization, I was talking about something deeply emotional and began to cry. When I looked up, I received a response from the organization's director that was not easy for me to receive: silence. He turned his face from me with what I interpreted to be an ex-pression of disgust. Fortunately, I remembered to put my attention on what might be going on within him, and said, “I'm sensing from your response to my crying that you're feeling disgusted, and you'd prefer to have someone more in control of his feelings consulting with your staff.”Empathize with silence by listening for the feelings and needs behind it.

If he had answered “yes,” I would have been able to accept that we had different values around expressing emotions, without somehow thinking that I was wrong for having expressed my emotions as I did. But instead of “yes,” the director replied, “No, not at all. I was just thinking of how my wife wishes I could cry.” He went on to reveal that his wife, who was divorcing him, had been complaining that living with him was like living with a rock.

Our ability to offer empathy can allow us to stay vulnerable, defuse potential violence, help us hear the word “no” without taking it as a rejection, revive a lifeless conversation, and even hear the feelings and needs expressed through silence. Time and again people transcend the paralyzing effects of psychological pain when they have sufficient contact with someone who can hear them empathically.

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Let us become the change we seek in the world. —Mahatma Gandhi We have seen how NVC contributes to relationships with friends and family, at work and in the political arena. Its most crucial application, however, may be in the way we treat ourselves. When we are internally violent towards ourselves, it is difficult to be genuinely compassionate towards others.

The most important use of NVC may be in developing self-compassion.

Remembering The Specialness Of What We Are In the play, “A Thousand Clowns” by Herb Gardner, the protagonist refuses to release his 12-year-old nephew to child-welfare authorities, declaring, “I want him to get to know exactly the special thing he is or else he won't notice it when it starts to go. I want him to stay awake and . . . see . . . all the wild possibilities. I want him to know it's worth all the trouble just to give the world a little goosing when you get the chance. And I want him to know the subtle, sneaky, important reason why he was born a human being and not a chair.” I am gravely concerned that many of us have lost awareness of “the special thing” we are; we have forgotten the “subtle, sneaky, important reason” the uncle so passionately wanted his nephew to know. When critical self-concepts prevent us from seeing the beauty in ourselves, we lose connection with the divine energy that is our source. Conditioned to view ourselves as objects—objects full of shortcomings—is it any wonder that many of us end up relating violently to ourselves? An important area where this violence can be replaced with compassion is in our moment- to-moment evaluation of ourselves. Since we want whatever we do to lead to the enrichment of life, it is critical to know how to evaluate events and conditions in ways that help us learn and make ongoing choices that serve us. Unfortunately, the way we've been trained to evaluate ourselves often promotes more self-hatred than learning.

We use NVC to evaluate ourselves in ways that engender growth rather than self-hatred.

In a routine workshop activity, I ask participants to recall a recent occasion when they did something they wish they hadn't. We then look at how they spoke to themselves immediately after having made what is referred in common language as a “mistake” or “error.” Typical statements were: “That was dumb!” “How could you do such an stupid thing?” “What's wrong with you?” “You're always messing up!” “That's selfish!” These speakers have been taught to judge themselves in ways that imply that what they did was wrong or bad; their self-admonishment implicitly assumes that they deserve to suffer for what they'd done. It is tragic that so many of us get enmeshed in self hatred rather than benefit from mistakes which show us our limitations and guide us towards growth. Even when we sometimes do “learn a lesson” from mistakes for which we judge ourselves harshly, I worry about the nature of the energy behind that kind of change and learning. I'd like change to be stimulated by a clear desire to enrich life for ourselves or for others rather than by destructive energies such as shame or guilt. If the way we evaluate ourselves leads us to feel shame, and we consequently change our behavior, we are allowing our growing and learning to be guided by self-hatred. Shame is a form of selfhatred, and actions taken in reaction to shame are not free and joyful acts. Even if our intention is to behave with more kindness and sensitivity, if people sense shame or guilt behind our actions, they are less likely to appreciate what we do than if we are motivated purely by the human desire to contribute to life. In our language there is a word with enormous power to create-shame and guilt. This violent word, which we commonly use to evaluate ourselves, is so deeply ingrained in our consciousness that many of us would have trouble imagining how to live without it. It is the word “should,” as in “I should have known better” or “I shouldn't have done that.” Most of the time when we use this word with ourselves, we resist learning because “should” implies that there is no choice. Human beings, when hearing any kind of demand, tend to resist because it threatens our autonomy—our strong need for choice. We have this reaction to tyranny even when it's internal tyranny in the form of a “should.”

A similar ex-pression of internal demand occurs in the following self-evaluation: “What I'm doing is just terrible. I really must do something about it!” Think for a moment of all the people you've heard say, “I really should give up smoking.” or “I really have to do something about exercising more.” They keep saying what they “must” do and they keep resisting doing it because human beings were not meant to be slaves. We were not meant to succumb to the dictates of “should” and “have to,” whether they come from outside or inside of ourselves. And if we do yield and submit to these demands, our actions arise from an energy that is devoid of life-giving joy.

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When we communicate with ourselves on a regular basis through inner judgment, blame and demand, it's not surprising that our self-concept gives in to feeling “more like a chair than a human being.” A basic premise of NVC is that whenever we imply that someone is wrong or bad, what we are really saying is that he or she is not acting in harmony with our needs. If the person we are judging happens to be ourselves, what we are saying is, “I myself am not behaving in harmony with my own needs.” I am convinced that if we learn to evaluate ourselves in terms of whether and how well our needs are being fulfilled, we are much more likely to learn from the evaluation.

Self-judgments, like all judgments, are tragic ex-pressions of unmet needs.

Our challenge then, when we are doing something that is not enriching life, is to evaluate ourselves moment by moment in a way that inspires change both: 1. in the direction of where we would like go, and 2. out of respect and compassion for ourselves, rather than out of self-hatred, guilt or shame.

After a lifetime of schooling and socialization, it is probably too late for most of us to train our minds to think purely in terms of what we need and value from moment to moment. However, just as we have learned to translate judgments when conversing with others, we can train ourselves to recognize judgmental self-talk and to immediately focus our attention on the underlying needs. For example, if we find ourselves reacting reproachfully to something we did: “Look, you just messed up again!”, we can quickly stop and ask ourselves, “What unmet need of mine is being expressed through this moralistic judgment?” When we do connect to the need—and there may be several layers of needs—we will notice a remarkable shift in our bodies. Instead of the shame, guilt, or depression we likely feel when criticizing ourselves for having “messed up again,” we will experience any number of feelings. Whether it's sadness, frustration, disappointment, fear, grief, or some other feeling, we have been endowed by nature with these feelings for a purpose: they mobilize us for action in pursuing and fulfilling what we need or value. Their impact on our spirit and bodies is substantially different from the disconnection that is brought on by guilt, shame, and depression. Mourning in NVC is the process of fully connecting with the unmet needs and feelings that are generated when we have been less than perfect. It is an experience of regret, but regret that helps us learn from what we have done without blaming or hating ourselves. We see how our behavior ran counter to our own needs and values, and we open ourselves to feelings that arise out of that awareness. When our consciousness is focused on what we need, we are naturally stimulated towards the creative possibilities of how to get that need met. In contrast, the moralistic judgments we use when blaming ourselves tend to obscure such possibilities and to perpetuate a state of self-punishment. NVC mourning: connecting with the feelings and unmet needs stimulated by past actions which we now regret.

We follow up on the process of mourning with self-forgiveness. Turning our attention to the part of the self which chose to act in the way that led to the present situation, we ask ourselves, “When I behaved in the way which I now regret, what need of mine was I trying to meet?” I believe that human beings are always acting in the service of needs and values. This is true whether the action does or does not meet the need, or whether it's one we end up celebrating or regretting. When we listen empathically to ourselves, we will be able to hear the underlying need. Self-forgiveness occurs the moment this empathic connection is made. Then we are able to recognize how our choice was an attempt to serve life, even as the mourning process teaches us how it fell short of fulfilling our needs. An important aspect of self-compassion is to be able to empathically hold both parts of ourselves—the self that regrets a past action and the self that took the action in the first place. The process of mourning and self-forgiveness free us in the direction of learning and growing. In connecting moment by moment to our needs, we increase our creative capacity to act in harmony with them.

NVC self-forgiveness : connecting with the need we were trying to meet when we took the action which we now regret.

In addition to the process of mourning and self-forgiveness, another aspect of self-compassion I emphasize is the energy behind whatever action we take. When I advise, “Don't do anything that isn't play!” some take me to be radical, even insane. I earnestly believe, however, that an important form of self-compassion is to make choices motivated purely by our desire to contribute to life rather than out of fear, guilt, shame, duty, or obligation. When we are conscious of the life-enriching purpose behind an action we take, when the soul energy that motivates us is simply to make life wonderful for others and ourselves, then even hard work has an element of play in it. Correspondingly, an otherwise joyful activity performed out of obligation, duty, fear, guilt or shame will lose its joy and eventually engender resistance.

In Chapter 2, we considered replacing language that implies lack of choice with language that acknowledges choice. Many years ago I engaged in an activity which significantly enlarged the pool of joy and happiness available to my life, while diminishing depression, guilt, and shame. I offer it here as a possible way to deepen our compassion for ourselves, to help us live our lives out of joyous play by staying grounded in a clear awareness of the life enriching need behind everything we do.

Step One What do you do in your life that you don't experience as playful? List on a piece of paper all those things that you tell yourself you have to do, any activity you dread but do anyway because you perceive yourself to have no choice. When I first reviewed my own list, just seeing how long it was gave me insight as to why so much of my time was spent not enjoying life. I noticed how many things in an ordinary day I was doing by tricking myself into believing that I had to do them. The first item on my list was “write clinical reports.” I hated doing these reports, yet I was spending at least an hour of agony over them every day. My second item was “drive the children's carpool to school.” 

Step two After completing the list, clearly acknowledge to yourself that you are doing these things because you choose to do them, not because you have to. Insert the words “I choose to . . . ” in front of each item you listed. I recall my own resistance to this step. “Writing clinical reports,” I insisted to myself, “is not something I choose to do! I have to do it. I'm a clinical psychologist. I have to write these reports.” Step three After having acknowledged that you chose to do a particular activity, get in touch with the intention behind the choice by completing the statement, “I choose to ____ because I want _____.” At first I fumbled to identify what I wanted from writing clinical reports. Several months earlier, I had already determined that the reports did not serve my clients enough to justify the time they were taking, so why was I continuing to invest so much energy in their preparation? Finally I realized that I was choosing to write the reports solely because I wanted the income they provided. As soon as I recognized this, I never wrote another clinical report. I can't tell you how joyful I feel just thinking of how many clinical reports I haven't written since that moment 35 years ago! When I realized that money was my primary motivation, I immediately saw that I could find other ways to take care of myself financially, and that in fact, I'd rather scavenge in garbage cans for food than to write another clinical report.

The next item on my list of unjoyful tasks was driving the children to school. When I examined the reason behind that chore, however, I felt appreciation for the benefits my children received from attending their current school. They could easily walk to the neighborhood school, but their own school was far more in harmony with my educational values. I continued to drive, but with a different energy; instead of “Oh, darn, I have to drive carpool today,” I was conscious of my purpose, which was for my children to have a quality of education that was very dear to me. Of course I sometimes needed to remind myself two or three times during the drive to refocus my mind on what purpose my action was serving.

As you explore the statement, “I choose to ____ because I want ____”, you may discover — as I did with the children's carpool — the important values behind the choices you've made. I am convinced that after we gain clarity regarding the need being served by our actions, we can experience them as play even when they involve hard work, challenge or frustration. For some items on your list, however, you might uncover one or several of the following motivations:

1) FOR MONEY

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Money is a major form of extrinsic reward in our society. Choices prompted by a desire for reward are costly: they deprive us of the joy in life that comes with actions grounded in the clear intention to contribute to a human need. Money is not a “need” as we define it in NVC; it is one of countless strategies that may be selected to address a need.

2) FOR APPROVAL

Like money, approval from others is a form of extrinsic reward. Our culture has educated us to hunger for reward. We attended schools that used extrinsic means to motivate us to study; we grew up in homes where we were rewarded for being good little boys and girls, and punished when our caretakers judged us to be otherwise. Thus, as adults we easily trick ourselves into believing that life consists of doing things for reward; we are addicted to getting a smile, a pat on the back, and people's verbal judgments that we are a “good person,” “good parent,” “good citizen,” “good worker,” “good friend,” etc. We do things to get people to like us, and avoid things that may lead them to dislike or punish us. I find it tragic that we work so hard to buy love and assume that we must deny ourselves and do for others in order to be liked. In fact, when we do things solely in the spirit of enhancing life, we will find others appreciating us. Their appreciation, however, is only a feedback mechanism confirming that our efforts had the intended effect. The recognition that we have chosen to use our power to serve life and have done so successfully brings us the genuine joy of celebrating ourselves in a way that approval from others can never offer.

3) TO ESCAPE PUNISHMENT

Some of us pay income tax primarily to avoid punishment. As a consequence we are likely to approach that yearly ritual with a degree of resentment. I recall, however, in my childhood how differently my father and grandfather felt about paying taxes. They had immigrated from Russia to the United States, and were desirous of supporting a government they believed were protecting people in a way that the czar had not. Imagining the many people whose welfare was being served by their tax money, they felt earnest pleasure as they sent their checks to the U.S. government.

4) TO AVOID SHAME

There may be some tasks we choose to do just to avoid shame. We know that if we don't do them, we'll end up suffering severe self-judgment, hearing our own voice telling us how there is something wrong or stupid about us. If we do something stimulated solely by the urge to avoid shame, we will generally end up detesting it.

Be conscious of actions motivated by the desire for money or the approval of others, and by fear, shame, or guilt. Know the price you pay for them. 5) TO AVOID GUILT

In other instances, we may think, “If I don't do this, people will be disappointed in me. ” We are afraid we'll end up feeling guilty for failing to fulfill other people's expectations of us. There is a world of difference between doing something for others in order to avoid guilt and doing it out of a clear awareness of our own need to contribute to the happiness of other human beings. The first is a world filled with misery; the second is a world filled with play.

6) OUT OF DUTY

When we use language which denies choice, e.g. words such as “should,” “have to,” “ought,” “must,” “can't,”“supposed to,” etc., our behaviors arise out of a vague sense of guilt, duty, or obligation. I consider this to be the most socially dangerous and personally unfortunate of all the ways we act when we're cut off from our needs.

After examining the list of items you have generated, you may decide to stop doing certain things in the same spirit that I chose to forego clinical reports. As radical as it may seem, it is possible to do things only out of play. I believe that to the degree that we engage moment by moment in the playfulness of enriching life—motivated solely by the desire for its enrichment—to that degree are we being compassionate with ourselves.

The most crucial application of NVC may be in the way we treat ourselves. When we make mistakes, we can use the process of NVC mourning and self-forgiveness to show us where we can grow instead of getting caught up in moralistic self-judgments. By assessing our behaviors in terms of our own unmet needs, the impetus for change comes not out of shame, guilt, anger or depression, but out of the genuine desire to contribute to our own and others' well-being. We also cultivate self-compassion by consciously choosing in daily life to act only in service to our own needs and values rather than out of duty, for extrinsic rewards, or to avoid guilt, shame, and punishment. If we review the joyless acts to which we currently subject ourselves and make the translation from “have to” to “choose to,” we will discover more play and integrity in our lives.

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The subject of anger gives us a unique opportunity to dive more deeply into NVC. Because it brings many aspects of this process into sharp focus, the ex-pression of anger clearly demonstrates the difference between NVC and other forms of communication. I would like to suggest that killing people is too superficial. Killing, hitting, blaming, hurting others—whether physically or mentally—are all superficial ex-pressions of what is going on within us when we are angry. If we are truly angry, we would want a much more powerful way to fully express ourselves. This understanding comes as a relief to many groups I work with that experience oppression and discrimination and want to increase their power to effect change. Such groups are uneasy when they hear the terms “nonviolent” or “ compassionate” communication because they have so often been urged to stifle their anger, calm down, and accept the status quo. They worry about approaches that view their anger as an undesirable quality needing to be purged. The process we are describing, however, does not encourage us to ignore, squash, or swallow anger, but rather to express the core of our anger fully and wholeheartedly.

Killing people is too superficial.

The first step to fully expressing anger in NVC is to divorce the other person from any responsibility for our anger. We rid ourselves of thoughts such as, “He, she, or they made me angry when they did that.” Such thinking leads us to express our anger superficially by blaming or punishing the other person. Earlier we saw that the behavior of others may be a stimulus for our feelings, but not the cause. We are never angry because of what someone else did. We can identify the other person's behavior as the stimulus, but it is important to establish a clear separation between stimulus and cause.

We are never angry because of what others say or do.

I'd like to illustrate this distinction with an example from my work at a Swedish prison. My job was to show prisoners who had behaved in violent ways how to fully express their anger rather than to kill, beat, or rape other people. During an exercise calling on them to identify the stimulus of their anger, one prisoner wrote: “Three weeks ago I made a request to the prison officials and they still haven't responded to it.” His statement was a clear observation of a stimulus, describing what other people had done. I then asked him to state the cause of his anger: “When this happened, you felt angry because what?” “I just told you,” he exclaimed. “I felt angry because they didn't-respond to my request!” By equating stimulus and cause, he had tricked himself into thinking that it was the behavior of the prison officials that was making him angry. This is an easy habit to acquire in a culture that uses guilt as a means of controlling people. In such cultures, it becomes important to trick people into thinking that we can make others feel a certain way. Where guilt is a tactic of manipulation and coercion, it is useful-to confuse stimulus and cause. As mentioned earlier, children who hear, “It hurts Mommy and Daddy when you get poor grades” are led to believe that their behavior is the cause of their parents' pain. The same dynamic is observed among intimate partners: “It really disappoints me when you're not here for my birthday.” The English language facilitates the use of this guilt-inducing tactic.

We say: “You make me angry.” “You hurt me by doing that.” “I feel sad because you did that.” We use our language in many different ways to trick ourselves into believing that our feelings result from what others do. The first step in the process of fully expressing our anger is to realize that what other people do is never the cause of how we feel. So what is the cause of anger? In Chapter 5, we discussed the four options we have when confronted with a message or behavior that we don't like. Anger is generated when we choose the second option: whenever we are angry, we are finding fault—we choose to play God by judging or blaming the other person for being wrong or deserving of punishment. I would like to suggest that this is the cause of anger. Even if we are not initially conscious of it, the cause of anger is located in our own thinking.

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The third option described in Chapter 5 is to shine the light of consciousness on our own feelings and needs. Rather than going up to our head to make a mental analysis of wrongness regarding somebody, we choose to connect to the life that is within us. This life energy is most palpable and accessible when we focus on what we need in each moment. For example, if someone arrives late for an appointment and we need reassurance that she cares about us, we may feel hurt. If, instead, our need is to spend time purposefully and constructively, we may feel frustrated. If, on the other hand, our need is for thirty minutes of quiet solitude, we may be grateful for her tardiness and feel pleased. Thus, it is not the behavior of the other person, but our own need that causes our feeling. When we are connected to our need, whether it is for reassurance, purposefulness, or solitude, we are in touch with our life energy. We may have strong feelings, but we are never angry. Anger is a result of life-alienating thinking that is disconnected from needs. It indicates that we have moved up to our head to analyze and judge somebody, rather than focus on which of our needs are not getting met. In addition to the third option of focusing on our own needs and feelings, the choice is ours at any moment to shine the light of consciousness on the other person's feelings and needs. When we choose this fourth option, we also never feel anger. We are not repressing the anger; we see how anger is simply absent in each moment that we are fully present with the other person's feelings and needs.

“But,” I am asked, “aren't there circumstances in which anger is justified? Isn't 'righteous indignation' called for in the face of careless, thoughtless pollution of the environment, for example?” My answer is that I strongly believe that to whatever degree I support the consciousness that there is such a thing as a “careless action,” or a “ conscientious action,” a “greedy person,” or a “moral person,” I am contributing to violence on this planet. Rather than agreeing or disagreeing about what people are for murdering, raping, or polluting the environment, I believe we serve life better by focusing attention on what we are needing.

I see all anger as a result of life-alienating, violence-provocative-thinking. At the core of all anger is a need that is not being fulfilled. Thus anger can be valuable if we use it as an alarm clock to wake us up—to realize we have a need that isn't being met and that we are thinking in a way that makes it unlikely to be met. To fully express anger requires full consciousness of our need. In addition, energy is required to get the need met. Anger, however, coopts our energy by directing it toward punishing people rather than meeting our needs. Instead of engaging in “righteous indignation,” I recommend connecting empathically with our own needs or those of others. This may take extensive practice, whereby over and over again, we consciously replace the phrase “I am angry because they . . . ” with “I am angry because I am needing . . . ”

I once was taught a remarkable lesson while working with students in a correctional school for children in Wisconsin. On two successive days I was hit on the nose in remarkably similar ways. The first time I received a sharp blow across the nose from an elbow while interceding in a fight between two students. I was so enraged it was all I could do to keep myself from hitting back. On the streets of Detroit where I grew up, it took far less than an elbow in the nose to provoke me to rage. The second day: similar situation, same nose (and thus more physical pain), but not a bit of anger!

Anger co-opts our energy by diverting it toward punitive actions.

Reflecting deeply that evening on this experience, I recognized how I had labeled the first child in my mind as a “spoiled brat.” That image was in my head before his elbow ever caught my nose, and when it did, it was no longer simply an elbow hitting my nose. It was: “That obnoxious brat has no right to do this!” I had another judgment about the second child; I saw him as a “pathetic creature.” Since I had a tendency to worry about this child, even though my nose was hurting and bleeding much more severely the second day, I felt no rage at all. I could not have received a more powerful lesson to help me see that it's not what the other person does, but the images and interpretations in my own head that produce my anger.

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I emphasize the distinction between cause and stimulus on practical and tactical as well as on philosophical grounds. I'd like to illustrate this point by returning to my dialogue with John, the Swedish prisoner: John: “Three weeks ago I made a request to the prison officials and they still haven't responded to my request.” MBR: “So when this happened, you felt angry because what?” John: “I just told you. They didn't respond to my request!” MBR: “Hold it. Instead of saying, 'I felt angry because they . . . ,' stop and become conscious of what you're telling yourself that's making you so angry.” John: “I'm not telling myself anything.” MBR: “Stop, slow down, just listen to what's going on inside.” John (silently reflecting and then): “I'm telling myself that they have no respect for human beings; they are a bunch of cold, faceless bureaucrats who don't give a damn about anybody but themselves! They're a real bunch of . . . ” MBR: “Thanks, that's enough. Now you know why you're angry—it's that kind of thinking.” John: “But what's wrong with thinking that way?” MBR: “I'm not saying there is anything wrong with thinking that way. Notice if I say there is something wrong with you for thinking that way, I'd be thinking the same way about you. I don't say it's wrong to judge people, to call them faceless bureaucrats or to label their actions inconsiderate or selfish. However, it's that kind of thinking on your part that makes you feel very angry. Focus your attention on your needs: what are your needs in this situation?” John (after a long silence): “Marshall, I need the training I was requesting. If I don't get that training, as sure as I'm sitting here, I'm gonna end up back in this prison when I get out.” MBR: “Now that your attention is on your needs, how do you feel?” John: “Scared.” MBR: “Now put yourself in the shoes of a prison official. If I'm an inmate, am I more likely to get my needs met if I come to you saying, 'Hey I really need that training and I'm scared of what's going to happen if I don't get it . . . . ' or if I approach while seeing you as a faceless bureaucrat? Even if I don't say those words out loud, my eyes will reveal that kind of thinking. Which way am I more likely to get my needs met?” (John, staring at floor, remains silent). MBR: “Hey, buddy, what's going on? John: “Can't talk about it.”

Three hours later John approached me and said, “Marshall, I wish you had taught me two years ago what you taught me this morning. I wouldn't have had to kill my best friend.”

Violence comes from the belief that other people cause our pain and therefore deserve punishment.

All violence is the result of people tricking-themselves, as did this young prisoner, into believing that their pain derives from other people and that consequently those people deserve to be punished.

One time I saw my younger son take a fifty-cent piece from his sister's room. I said, “Brett, did you ask your sister whether you could have that?” “I didn't take it from her,” he answered. Now I faced my four options. I could have called him a liar, which would, however, have worked against my getting my needs met since any judgment of another person diminishes the likelihood of our needs being met. Where I focused my attention at this moment was critical. If I were to judge him as lying, it would point me in one direction. If I were to interpret that he didn't respect me enough to tell me the truth, I would be pointed in another direction. If, however, I were either to empathize with him at that moment, or express nakedly what I was feeling and needing, I would greatly increase the possibility of getting my needs met. The way I expressed my choice—which in this situation turned out helpful—was not so much through what I said, but through what I did. Instead of judging him as lying, I tried to hear his feeling: he was scared, and his need was to protect himself against being punished. By empathizing with him, I had the chance of making an emotional connection out of which we could both get our needs met. However, if I had approached him with the view that he was lying—even if I hadn't expressed it out loud—he would have been less likely to feel safe expressing truthfully what had happened. I would have then become part of the process: by the very act of judging another person as a liar, I would contribute to a self-fulfilling prophecy. Why would people want to tell the truth, knowing they will be judged and punished for doing so?

We recall four options when hearing a difficult message: 1. Blaming ourselves 2. Blaming others 3. Sensing our own feelings and needs 4. Sensing others' feelings and needs

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I would like to suggest that when our heads are filled with judgments and analyses that others are bad, greedy, irresponsible, lying, cheating, polluting the environment, valuing profit more than life, or behaving in other ways they shouldn't, very few of them will be interested in our needs. If we want to protect the environment and we go to a corporate executive with the attitude, “You know, you are really a killer of the planet, you have no right to abuse the land in this way,” we have severely impaired our chances of getting our needs met. It is a rare human being who can maintain focus on our needs when we are expressing them through images of their wrongness. Of course, we may be successful in using such judgments to intimidate people into meeting our needs. If they feel so frightened, guilty, or ashamed that they change their behavior, we may come to believe that it is possible to “win” by telling people what's wrong with them. With a broader perspective, however, we realize that each time our needs are met in this way, we not only lose, but we have contributed very tangibly to violence on the planet. We may have solved an immediate problem, but we will have created another one. The more people hear blame and judgment, the more defensive and aggressive they become and the less they will care about our needs in the future. So even if our present need is met, in the sense that people do what we want, we will pay for it later.

Let's look at what the process of fully expressing our anger actually requires in concrete form. The first step is to stop and do nothing except to breathe. We refrain from making any move to blame or punish the other person. We simply stay quiet. Then we identify the thoughts that are making us angry. For example, we overhear a statement that leads us to believe that we've been excluded from a conversation because of race. We sense anger, stop and recognize the thoughts stirring in our head: “It's unfair to act like that. She's being racist.” We know that all judgments like these are tragic ex-pressions of unmet needs, so we take the next step and connect to the needs behind those thoughts. If I judge someone to be racist, the need may be for inclusion, equality, respect, or connection.

Steps to expressing anger: 1. Stop. Breathe. 2. Identify our judgmental thoughts. 3. Connect with our needs. 4. Express our feelings and unmet needs.

To fully express ourselves, we now open our mouths and speak the anger—but the anger has been transformed into needs and need-connected feelings. To articulate these feelings, however, may require a lot of courage. For me it's easy to get angry and tell people, “That was a racist thing to do!” In fact, I may even enjoy saying such things, but to get down to the deeper feelings and needs behind such a statement may be very frightening. To fully express our anger, we may say to the person, “When you entered the room and started talking to the others and didn't say anything to me and then made the comment about white people, I felt really sick to my stomach, and got so scared; it triggered off all kinds of needs on my part to be treated equally. I'd like you to tell me how you feel when I tell you this.”

In most cases, however, another step needs to take place before we can expect the other party to connect with what is going on in us. Because it will often be difficult for others to receive our feelings and needs in such situations, we would need first to empathize with them if we want them to hear us. The more we empathize with what leads them to behave in the ways that are not meeting our needs, the more likely it is that they will be able to reciprocate afterwards.

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Blaming and punishing others are superficial ex-pressions of anger. If we wish to fully express anger, the first step is to divorce the other person from any responsibility for our anger. Instead we shine the light of consciousness on our own feelings and needs. By expressing our needs, we are far more likely to get them met than by our judging, blaming, or punishing others. The four steps to expressing anger are (1) stop and breathe, (2) identify our judgmental thoughts, (3) connect with our needs, and (4) express our feelings and unmet needs. Sometimes in between steps 3 and 4 we may choose to empathize with the other person so that he or she will be better able to hear us when we express ourselves in Step 4. We need to take our time in both learning and applying the process of NVC.

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When two disputing parties have each had an opportunity to fully express what they are observing, feeling, needing, and requesting—and each has empathized with the other—a resolution can usually be reached that meets the needs of both sides. At the very least, the two can agree, in goodwill, to disagree. In some situations, however, the opportunity for such dialogue may not exist, and the use of force may be necessary to protect life or individual rights. For instance, the other party may be unwilling to communicate, or imminent danger may not allow time for communication. In these situations, we may need to resort to force. If we do, NVC requires us to differentiate between the protective and the punitive uses of force.

The intention behind the protective use of force is to prevent injury or injustice. The intention behind the punitive use of force is to cause individuals to suffer for their perceived misdeeds. When we grab a child who is running into the street to prevent the child from being injured, we are applying protective force. The punitive use of force, on the other hand, might involve physical or psychological attack, such as spanking the child or reproofs like, “How could you be so stupid! You should be ashamed of yourself!” When we exercise the protective use of force, we are focusing on the life or rights we want to protect without passing judgment on either the person or the behavior. We are not blaming or condemning the child rushing into the street; our thinking is solely directed toward protecting the child from danger. (For application of this kind of force in social and political conflicts, see Robert Irwin's book, Nonviolent Social Defense.) The assumption behind the protective use of force is that people behave in ways injurious to themselves and others due to some form of ignorance. The corrective process is therefore one of education, not punishment. Ignorance includes (a) a lack of awareness of the consequences of our actions, (b) an inability to see how our needs may be met without injury to others, (c) the belief that we have the “right” to punish or hurt others because they “deserve” it, and (d) delusional thinking that involves, for example, hearing a “voice” that instructs us to kill someone.

Punitive action, on the other hand, is based on the assumption that people commit offenses because they are bad or evil, and to correct the situation, they need to be made to repent. Their “ correction” is undertaken through punitive action designed to make them (1) suffer enough to see the error of their ways, (2) repent, and (3) change. In practice, however, punitive action, rather than evoking repentance and learning, is just as likely to generate resentment and hostility and to reinforce resistance to the very behavior we are seeking.

Physical punishment, such as spanking, is one punitive use of force. I have found the subject of corporal punishment to provoke strong sentiments among parents. Some adamantly defend the practice, while referring to the Bible: “Spare the rod, spoil the child. It's because parents don't spank that delinquency is now rampant.” They are persuaded that spanking our children shows that we love them by setting clear boundaries. Other parents are equally insistent that spanking is unloving and ineffective because it teaches children that, when all else fails, we can always resort to physical violence. My personal concern is that children's fear of corporal punishment may obscure their awareness of the compassion that underlies parental demands. Parents often tell me that they “have to” use punitive force because they see no other way to influence their children to do “what's good for them.” They support their opinion with anecdotes of children expressing appreciation for “seeing the light” after having been punished. Having raised four children, I empathize deeply with parents regarding the daily challenges they face in educating children and keeping them safe. This does not, however, lessen my concern about the use of physical punishment.

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First, I wonder whether people who proclaim the successes of such punishment are aware of the countless instances of children who turn against what might be good for them simply because they choose to fight, rather than succumb, to coercion. Second, the apparent success of corporal punishment in influencing a child doesn't mean that other methods of influence wouldn't have worked equally well. Finally, I share the concerns of many parents about the social consequences of using physical punishment. When parents opt to use force, we may win the battle of getting children to do what we want, but in the process, are we not perpetuating a social norm that justifies violence as a means of resolving differences? In addition to the physical, other uses of force also qualify as punishment. One is the use of blame to discredit another person: for example, a parent may label a child as “wrong,” “selfish,” or “immature” when a child doesn't behave in a certain way. Another form of punitive force is the withholding of some means of gratification, such as parents' curtailing of allowance or driving privileges. In this type of punishment, the withdrawal of caring or respect is one of the most powerful threats of all. Punishment also includes judgmental labeling and the withholding of privileges.

When we submit to doing something solely for the purpose of avoiding punishment, our attention is distracted from the value of the action itself. Instead, we are focusing upon the consequences of what might happen if we fail to take that action. If a worker's performance is prompted by fear of punishment, the job gets done, but morale suffers; sooner or later, productivity will decrease. Selfesteem is also diminished when punitive force is used. If children brush their teeth because they fear shame and ridicule, their oral health may improve but their self-respect will develop cavities. Furthermore, as we all know, punishment is costly in terms of goodwill. The more we are seen as agents of punishment, the harder it is for others to respond compassionately to our needs.

I was visiting a friend, a school principal, at his office when he noticed through the window a big child hitting a smaller one. “Excuse me,” he said as he leapt up and rushed to the playground. Grabbing the larger child, he gave him a swat and scolded, “I'll teach you not to hit smaller people!” When the principal returned inside, I remarked, “I don't think you taught that child what you thought you were teaching him. I suspect what he learned instead was not to hit people smaller than he is when somebody bigger— like the principal—might be watching! If anything, it seems to me that you have reinforced the notion that the way to get what you want from somebody else is to hit them.” In such situations, I recommend first empathizing with the child who is behaving violently. For example, if I saw a child hit someone after being called a name, I might empathize, “I'm sensing that you're feeling angry because you'd like to be treated with more respect.” If I guessed correctly, and the child acknowledges this to be true, I would then continue by expressing my own feelings, needs, and requests in this situation without insinuating blame: “I'm feeling sad because I want us to find ways to get respect that don't turn people into enemies. I'd like you to tell me if you'd be willing to explore with me some other ways to get the respect you're wanting.”

Two questions help us see why we are unlikely to get what we want by using punishment to change people's behavior. The first question is: What do I want this person to do that's different from what he or she is currently doing? If we ask only this first question, punishment may seem effective because the threat or exercise of punitive force may well influence the person's behavior. However, with the second question, it becomes evident that punishment isn't likely to work: What do I want this person's reasons to be for doing what I'm asking?

Question 1: What do I want this person to do? Question 2: What do I want this person's reasons to be for doing it?

We seldom address the latter question, but when we do, we soon realize that punishment and reward interfere with people's ability to do things motivated by the reasons we'd like them to have. I believe it is critical to be aware of the importance of people's reasons for behaving as we request. For example, blaming or punishing would obviously not be effective strategies if we want children to clean their rooms out of either a desire for order or a desire to contribute to the parents' enjoyment of order. Often children clean their rooms motivated by obedience to authority (“Because my Mom said so”), avoidance of punishment, or fear of upsetting or being rejected by parents. NVC, however, fosters a level of moral development based on autonomy and interdependence, whereby we acknowledge responsibility for our own actions and are aware that our own well-being and that of others are one and the same.

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We've all learned things that limit us as human beings, whether from well-intentioned parents, teachers, clergy, or others. Passed down through generations, even centuries, much of this destructive cultural learning is so ingrained in our lives that we are no longer conscious of it. In one of his routines, comedian Buddy Hackett, raised on his mother's rich cooking, claimed that he never realized it was possible to leave the table without feeling heartburn until he was in the army. In the same way, pain engendered by damaging cultural conditioning is such an integral part of our lives that we can no longer distinguish its presence. It takes tremendous energy and awareness to recognize this destructive learning and to transform it into thoughts and behaviors that are of value and of service to life. This requires a literacy of needs and the ability to get in touch with ourselves, both of which are difficult for people in our culture. Not only have we never been educated to be literate about our needs, we are often exposed to cultural training that actively blocks our consciousness in this way. As mentioned earlier, we have inherited a language that served kings and powerful elites in domination societies. The masses, discouraged from developing awareness of their own needs, have instead been educated to be docile and subservient to authority. Our culture implies that needs are negative and destructive; the word “needy” applied to a person suggests inadequacy or immaturity. When people express their needs, they are often labeled “selfish” and the use of the personal pronoun “I” is at times equated with selfishness or neediness. By encouraging us to separate observation and evaluation, to acknowledge the thoughts or needs shaping our feelings, and to express our requests in clear action language, NVC heightens our awareness of the cultural conditioning influencing us at any given moment. And drawing this conditioning into the light of consciousness is a key step in breaking its hold on us. We can liberate ourselves from cultural conditioning.

We can apply NVC to resolve the internal conflicts that often result in depression. In his book, Revolution in Psychiatry, Ernest Becker attributes depression to “cognitively arrested alternatives.” This means that when we have a judgmental dialogue going on within, we become alienated from what we are needing and cannot then act to meet those needs. Depression is indicative of a state of alienation from our own needs. A woman studying NVC was suffering a profound bout of depression. She was asked to identify the voices within her when she felt the most depressed and to write them down in dialogue form as though they were speaking to each other. The first two lines of her dialogue were: Voice 1 (“career woman”): I should do something more with my life. I'm wasting my education and talents. Voice 2 (“responsible mother”): You're being unrealistic. You're a mother of two children and can't handle that responsibility, so how can you handle anything else?” Notice how these inner messages are infested with judgmental terms and phrases such as “should,” “wasting my education and talents,” and “can't handle.” Variations of this dialogue had been running for months in the woman's head. She was then asked to imagine the “career woman” voice taking an “NVC pill” in order to restate its message in the following form: “When a, I feel b, because I am needing c. Therefore I now would like d.” She subsequently translated “I should do something with my life. I'm wasting my education and talents” into: “ When I spend as much time at home with the children as I do without practicing my profession, I feel depressed and discouraged because I am needing the fulfillment I once had in my profession. Therefore, I now would like to find part-time work in my profession.” Then it was the turn of her “responsible mother” voice to undergo the same process. The lines, “You're being unrealistic. You're a mother of two children and can't handle that responsibility, so how can you handle anything else?” were transformed into: “ When I imagine going to work, I feel scared because I'm needing reassurance that the children will be well taken care of. Therefore, I now would like to plan how to provide high-quality child care while I work and how to find sufficient time to be with the children when I am not tired.” This woman felt great relief as soon as she translated her inner messages into NVC. She was able to get beneath the alienating messages she was repeating to herself and offer herself empathy. Although she still faced practical challenges such as securing quality child care and her husband's support, she was no longer subject to the judgmental internal dialogue that kept her from being aware of her own needs. To be able to hear our own feelings and needs and to empathize with them can free us from depression.

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When we are entangled in critical, blaming, or angry thoughts, it is difficult to establish a healthy internal environment for ourselves. NVC helps us create a more peaceful state of mind by encouraging us to focus on what we are truly wanting rather than on what is wrong with others or ourselves. A participant once reported a profound personal breakthrough during a three-day training. One of her goals for the workshop was to take better care of herself, but she woke at dawn the second morning with the worst headache in recent memory. “Normally, the first thing I'd do would be to analyze what I had done wrong. Did I eat the wrong food? Did l let myself get stressed-out? Did I do this; did I not do that? But, since I had been working on using NVC to take better care of myself, I asked instead, 'What do I need to do for myself right now with this headache?'

“I sat up and did a lot of really slow neck rolls, then got up and walked around, and did other things to take care of myself right then instead of beating up on myself. My headache relaxed to the point where I was able to go through the day's workshop. This was a major, major breakthrough for me. What I understood, when I empathized with the headache, was that I hadn't given myself enough attention the day before, and the headache was a way to say to myself, 'I need more attention.' I ended up giving myself the attention I needed and was then able to make it through the workshop. I've had headaches all my life, and this was a very remarkable turning point for me.” At another workshop a participant asked how NVC might be used to free us from anger-provoking messages when we are driving on the freeway. This was a familiar topic for me! For years my work involved traveling by car across the country, and I was worn and frazzled by the violence-provoking messages racing through my brain. Everybody who wasn't driving by my standards was an archenemy, a villain. Thoughts spewed through my head: “What the hell is the matter with that guy!? Doesn't he even watch where he's driving?” In this state of mind, all I wanted was to punish the other driver, and since I couldn't do that, the anger lodged in my body and exacted its toll. Eventually I learned to translate my judgments into feelings and needs and to give myself empathy, “Boy, I am petrified when people drive like that; I really wish they would see the danger in what they are doing!” Whew! I was amazed how less stressful a situation I could create for myself by simply becoming aware of what I was feeling and needing rather than blaming others.

Later I decided to practice empathy toward other drivers and was rewarded with a gratifying first experience. I was stuck behind a car going far below the speed limit that was slowing down at every intersection. Fuming and grumbling, “That's no way to drive,” I noticed the stress I was causing myself and shifted my thinking instead to what the driver might be feeling and needing. I sensed that the person was lost, feeling confused, and wishing for some patience from those of us following. When the road widened enough for me to pass, I saw that the driver was a woman who looked to be in her 80's who wore an ex-pression of terror on her face. I was pleased that my attempt at empathy had kept me from honking the horn or engaging in my customary tactics of displaying displeasure toward people whose driving bothered me.

NVC enhances inner communication by helping us translate negative internal messages into feelings and needs. Our ability to distinguish our own feelings and needs and to empathize with them can free us from depression. We can then recognize the existence of choice in all our actions. By showing us how to focus on what we truly want rather than on what is wrong with others or ourselves, NVC gives us the tools and understanding to create a more peaceful state of mind. Professionals in counseling and psychotherapy may also use NVC to engender relationships with clients that are mutual and authentic.

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