The Need To Be Understood
Posted by Dr. Ben Kim on Jun 26, 2017
In 1999, I spent almost a full month of my summer at a water fasting clinic in Ohio. There, I experienced a two-week water-only fast, followed by a period of clean eating to rebuild my health.
I was immensely blessed to share a room with a man from Boston named Joseph Somario. From day one, I was drawn to Joe's palpable kindness and willingness to share from his wealth of life experiences.
Joe was 70 at the time, and having accomplished so much as a real estate developer, entrepreneur, father of three, and grandfather of four, well, I could not have been more captive in listening to his life story, from his childhood of eating little but cornmeal three times a day, to losing and making small fortunes up and down the east coast and in the deserts of Arizona and Nevada.
I was only 26 at the time and hadn't done a whole lot, but Joe wanted to know all about my life. I will forever cherish my memories of those seemingly endless nights when we shared whatever was on our minds, drunk on gallons of distilled water and the most beautiful moonlit room ever.
Over the course of several days, Joe developed a strong understanding of the difficult relationship that I shared with my father. My father being a first generation Korean immigrant looking to find his way in a foreign country, and me being a second generation Korean-Canadian craving unconditional love that I felt wasn't there from my parents, we had a solid history of being deeply disappointed with each other.
It's hard to describe how comforting it was to have Joe - a man who was older and more accomplished than my father - take the time to offer me genuine empathy. Having Joe understand my hurt and all the pressure I felt to live up to my parents' expectations provided a sort of relief that I hadn't known up until that point.
Somewhere around night 10 of our water fast, with the moonlight illuminating the top of Joe's head as we took in a warm summer breeze through our screened window, Joe said something that continues to reverberate within my soul even now, almost twenty years later.
Ben, as unfair and difficult as things have been for you, all I can say is that at this point in your father's life, his need for you to understand him is probably greater than your need for him to understand you.
As I've meditated on this thought over the years, my appreciation for Joe's wisdom continues to grow. I feel as though he gave me a solid but loving thump to the back with a sack of wisdom that continues to serve me in all of my relationships.
With my father, Joe helped me see that for every ounce of angst that I had in my life, my father probably had two ounces. Maybe not the same pain, but pain nonetheless. With his own struggles and challenges to deal with, my father hasn't always had the capacity to think about the emotional well-being of his children, which is probably true of every parent who has walked on this planet, myself included.
With some of the people I have spent significant time with over the past twenty years, in times of conflict, I have found that the best way I can facilitate reconciliation is to put all of my feelings and thoughts to the side and focus completely on viscerally understanding what the other person is feeling.
My experience has been that when the other person feels truly understood - not just in a superficial way with a mirroring of words, but to a point where they can sense that I have really tried to step into their shoes and feel their pain - at that point, they have much greater capacity to do the same for me.
In times when I can't restrain myself and end up pressing for the other person to understand me first, almost without exception, everyone tends to feels more pain and
for a greater length of time.
Call it restraint, call it maturity - not everyone has the ability to put their anger and frustration aside and focus on understanding what the other person is feeling first
because there are times when all they see and feel is red. This ability is a true super
power in my book, and at the risk of being immodest, I'm darn glad that I have
learned to utilize it in most times of conflict because it has spared me many mountains of unnecessary pain.
The late Stephen Covey describes this as habit number five of highly effective people:
seek first to understand, then to be understood. I would only add that when you seek to understand, you must do so with all of your heart, and without clutching your own bag of hurt feelings.
My dear friend Joe would tell you that at this point in your mother's life, her need for you to understand her is probably greater than your need for her to understand you.
Speaking of our elders, as I sit here at 42 years of age, I am more aware that parents with adult children can carry tremendous sadness in their hearts, sadness that their pride will not allow them to share with their children. Perhaps the most common source of sadness stems from feeling neglected, forgotten, and not appreciated for all that was done in years past.
Let's remember that the best gift that we can give those who raised us is any action that shows that we think about them, care about them, and remember all that they did.
The next time you find yourself in a contentious situation and you sense that reconciliation isn't going to happen easily, I encourage you to remember my friend Joe Somario and put your feelings away in a box until you have done everything possible to deeply understand the other person's feelings. Then and only then, if it feels right, open up your box and share your perspective.
This level of restraint may not always yield delicious fruit, but I promise you the effort will be worthwhile over the long term.
I was immensely blessed to share a room with a man from Boston named Joseph Somario. From day one, I was drawn to Joe's palpable kindness and willingness to share from his wealth of life experiences.
Joe was 70 at the time, and having accomplished so much as a real estate developer, entrepreneur, father of three, and grandfather of four, well, I could not have been more captive in listening to his life story, from his childhood of eating little but cornmeal three times a day, to losing and making small fortunes up and down the east coast and in the deserts of Arizona and Nevada.
I was only 26 at the time and hadn't done a whole lot, but Joe wanted to know all about my life. I will forever cherish my memories of those seemingly endless nights when we shared whatever was on our minds, drunk on gallons of distilled water and the most beautiful moonlit room ever.
Over the course of several days, Joe developed a strong understanding of the difficult relationship that I shared with my father. My father being a first generation Korean immigrant looking to find his way in a foreign country, and me being a second generation Korean-Canadian craving unconditional love that I felt wasn't there from my parents, we had a solid history of being deeply disappointed with each other.
It's hard to describe how comforting it was to have Joe - a man who was older and more accomplished than my father - take the time to offer me genuine empathy. Having Joe understand my hurt and all the pressure I felt to live up to my parents' expectations provided a sort of relief that I hadn't known up until that point.
Somewhere around night 10 of our water fast, with the moonlight illuminating the top of Joe's head as we took in a warm summer breeze through our screened window, Joe said something that continues to reverberate within my soul even now, almost twenty years later.
Ben, as unfair and difficult as things have been for you, all I can say is that at this point in your father's life, his need for you to understand him is probably greater than your need for him to understand you.
As I've meditated on this thought over the years, my appreciation for Joe's wisdom continues to grow. I feel as though he gave me a solid but loving thump to the back with a sack of wisdom that continues to serve me in all of my relationships.
With my father, Joe helped me see that for every ounce of angst that I had in my life, my father probably had two ounces. Maybe not the same pain, but pain nonetheless. With his own struggles and challenges to deal with, my father hasn't always had the capacity to think about the emotional well-being of his children, which is probably true of every parent who has walked on this planet, myself included.
With some of the people I have spent significant time with over the past twenty years, in times of conflict, I have found that the best way I can facilitate reconciliation is to put all of my feelings and thoughts to the side and focus completely on viscerally understanding what the other person is feeling.
My experience has been that when the other person feels truly understood - not just in a superficial way with a mirroring of words, but to a point where they can sense that I have really tried to step into their shoes and feel their pain - at that point, they have much greater capacity to do the same for me.
In times when I can't restrain myself and end up pressing for the other person to understand me first, almost without exception, everyone tends to feels more pain and
for a greater length of time.
Call it restraint, call it maturity - not everyone has the ability to put their anger and frustration aside and focus on understanding what the other person is feeling first
because there are times when all they see and feel is red. This ability is a true super
power in my book, and at the risk of being immodest, I'm darn glad that I have
learned to utilize it in most times of conflict because it has spared me many mountains of unnecessary pain.
The late Stephen Covey describes this as habit number five of highly effective people:
seek first to understand, then to be understood. I would only add that when you seek to understand, you must do so with all of your heart, and without clutching your own bag of hurt feelings.
My dear friend Joe would tell you that at this point in your mother's life, her need for you to understand her is probably greater than your need for her to understand you.
Speaking of our elders, as I sit here at 42 years of age, I am more aware that parents with adult children can carry tremendous sadness in their hearts, sadness that their pride will not allow them to share with their children. Perhaps the most common source of sadness stems from feeling neglected, forgotten, and not appreciated for all that was done in years past.
Let's remember that the best gift that we can give those who raised us is any action that shows that we think about them, care about them, and remember all that they did.
The next time you find yourself in a contentious situation and you sense that reconciliation isn't going to happen easily, I encourage you to remember my friend Joe Somario and put your feelings away in a box until you have done everything possible to deeply understand the other person's feelings. Then and only then, if it feels right, open up your box and share your perspective.
This level of restraint may not always yield delicious fruit, but I promise you the effort will be worthwhile over the long term.
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