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Reflect with Juliane – M. Sc. Psychology and Systemic Counsellor
For a long time, I struggled with finding the right words when something bothered me. I would want to say something, but wasn’t quite sure how. Sometimes I held back, sometimes I tried to explain myself, and sometimes what came out wasn’t really what I wanted to communicate. Instead of making things better, I would end up making the situation worse.
I often wished for tools that would help me express myself more clearly. Not just to avoid conflict, but to feel empowered to say what mattered to me without hurting someone else or losing our connection. What took me even longer to realise was that I wasn’t always particularly good at listening either.
Two experiences in my own life really changed how I understood communication.
For many years, people around me would tell me that I was working too much. “Stop working.” “You’re always working.” “You spend far too much time on your laptop.”
I would immediately become defensive, explaining why I had so much to do, why my work was important, or why I couldn’t simply stop. To me, it sounded like criticism, as though people were telling me I was doing something wrong.
But then, one day, a friend said something different: “I miss you. I want to spend time with you. It makes me sad when you’re always at your laptop.”
And suddenly, I heard something completely different. This wasn’t about my work anymore. It was about someone who loved me, who wanted to be close to me, who missed spending time with me. Behind all those complaints had been a wish: a wish for connection, for time together, for me to be present. And once I understood that, I no longer felt the same need to defend myself.
Something similar happened when I was in a relationship that I wasn’t entirely sure was good for me. People close to me were worried and kept telling me that I should end it. But I wasn’t ready, and the more they pushed, the more misunderstood and judged I felt. I knew things were difficult, but I also knew how complicated my feelings were. Instead of feeling supported, I sometimes felt even more alone.
Until one day, a friend told me how genuinely worried they were about me, including the possible impact of the relationship on my health. They weren’t trying to tell me what to do. They were afraid that someone they cared about might get hurt.
That conversation changed something. I could suddenly hear the love behind the concern. It wasn’t about controlling my decisions, but about someone being afraid for me.
These experiences taught me how much we can miss when we only listen to the words someone says, rather than trying to understand what is happening underneath them.
This is something I now see so often in my work with couples and families. We say things like:
Although these words may come from genuine hurt, they often make the other person feel criticised or attacked. They defend themselves, withdraw, or criticise us in return. And suddenly, two people who may both be longing for connection find themselves fighting.
But what happens if we look underneath those complaints?
Of course, not every complaint is simply a hidden wish. Sometimes we also need to address genuinely harmful behaviour, unfairness or boundaries that have been crossed. But very often, understanding the need underneath the complaint gives us a completely different starting point for the conversation.
This is one of the reasons I love Nonviolent Communication, developed by psychologist Marshall Rosenberg. It gives us a simple structure to express ourselves more clearly and listen more deeply.
The first step is to describe what happened without immediately interpreting, judging or blaming.
I often ask clients to imagine a fly sitting on the wall. What would that fly actually have seen or heard?
The fly might have seen your partner looking at their phone while you were speaking. But it wouldn’t have seen that your partner “doesn’t care about you.” That’s an interpretation.
The fly might have seen your partner arriving home at 8 p.m. three evenings this week. But it wouldn’t have seen that your partner “always puts work first.” That’s the meaning you’ve given the behaviour.
Instead of saying, “You never listen to me,” we might say, “Yesterday, when I was telling you about my day, you were looking at your phone.”
Separating what happened from what we think it means can be incredibly powerful.
Next, we try to identify what we actually felt. Was I sad, lonely, disappointed, anxious, frustrated or hurt?
This sounds simple, but many of us find it surprisingly difficult. We might say, “I felt ignored.” But “ignored” also describes how we interpret another person’s behaviour. What was the emotion underneath? Perhaps I felt lonely, sad or unimportant.
Naming our emotions helps the other person understand our experience without immediately making them responsible for it.
This is often where the real connection begins. Our emotions can point us towards something we value or need, such as connection, appreciation, support, respect, reassurance, autonomy or a sense of teamwork.
When I was told to stop working, I heard criticism. When my friend told me they missed me, I finally understood the need for connection. And that changed how I could respond.
We often tell people what we don’t want: “Don’t work so much.” “Don’t be so distant.” “Stop ignoring me.”
But I often remind my clients: We can’t do a don’t.
If I tell you what not to do, you still don’t necessarily know what I would like you to do instead. We need to make our requests specific, positive and achievable. For example:
Importantly, a request is not a demand. The other person needs room to respond, negotiate or suggest something different.
Imagine a couple who have been arguing about household responsibilities.
Instead of saying, “You never help me. I have to do everything around here,” one partner might try:
“When I came home yesterday and saw the dishes still on the counter, I felt overwhelmed and frustrated because I really need support and a sense that we’re sharing responsibilities. Would you be willing to take care of the dishes after dinner tonight?”
The situation hasn’t changed yet, but the invitation to connect has. The other person is no longer being told what is wrong with them. They’re being invited to understand an experience and respond to a need.
This is not a magic formula, and it certainly doesn’t mean we will never disagree again. But it can help us move from blame towards understanding.
What I find particularly beautiful about Nonviolent Communication is that it doesn’t only teach us how to speak differently. It also teaches us how to listen differently.
When someone complains, I try to ask myself: What might this person be feeling? What might they need? What are they longing for that they haven’t quite found the words to express?
And when I’m the one who’s upset, I try to ask myself the same questions. What am I really trying to say? What do I wish this person could understand? What would I like to ask for?
Sometimes the most important change in a conversation happens when we stop hearing the criticism and start hearing the longing underneath it.
Because sometimes, behind the words that hurt us most, there is someone trying to tell us how much we matter to them.
Marshall B. Rosenberg: Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life.
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