Communication as Weapon

A thin, blurred line stretches between open, honest, good-willed communication and igniting the wicks of explosives in the name of communication. The phrase “looking for a fight” unquestionably applies to the latter.

Why do people want to start fights? Discontentment, anger ultimately at oneself but more easily taken out on surroundings in flesh or form. It’s always easiest to have a culprit other than oneself. Taking the blame requires a strong sense of self, a grounded self esteem, and a knowledge and contentment of one’s identity – something that seems to become more skewed as the world becomes busier and more object-centered.

It is easiest to unload one’s naturally occurring darkness on loved ones – they are closest, they are most forgiving and understanding. Growing up, my dad would sometimes come in from a long day of hard work, and I remember thinking, “He’s looking for a fight.” Paired with my mother’s sensitivity to constant fights with my dad (initiated by either, but usually over something rather important), there usually was a fight. I question, was my father appeased? Did my mother fulfill her self-prophesied curse of stasis? Now, I look back and think of how difficult it must have been for them, pregnant so young, married so young, with no tools or guidance on how to tend to their relationship. When I was an adolescent and into my college-years, the next person “closest to home” who stuck her fingers as deep into a person’s tissue – this time, my own – as she could manage, was my sister. My sister tucked away her feelings and forfeited or maybe never really understood her right to free speech within our family until she was in her twenties. Going through a masters program in counseling helped her to precisely define her problem with clear communication and how important it was and is to relationships, and so was born her focus on being assertive. As she worked through many issues that has lain buried and covered in the thickest moldiest dirt, she would toss her messes at me, at our parents, in the name of “assertiveness.” Painful does not begin to describe what we all felt. But, would she have been able to move beyond the years of repressed emotions and thoughts without unloading? Probably not. Could she have participated in intensive therapy and worked through those issues there instead of throwing her inner hurt at those she loved? Probably so. But, loved ones forgive and can hopefully overcome their own pride to help. And happy emotions are only a small portion of many.

Then, there are those people who thrive off of conflict. One such person is a woman with whom I work. Currently recounting the details in my head reveal the laughable idiocy of both the situation and the woman whom I shall call “Ms. Me.” B was asked to participate in a faculty candidate lunch at work. At one of the lunches, this coworker of ours monopolized the conversation, as she is wont to do, and after about ten minutes of her monologue on a new yogurt shop on Magazine Street, B pulled out his phone to check his e-mail. After the lunch, the order of events occurred as follows: Ms. Me complained to the leader of the search about B’s unprofessionalism and sullenness throughout the whole lunch, and the search leader complained to B’s direct supervisor, who then talked to B. Two words for this affair: Bullshit Bureaucracy. Or maybe there are many words: failed communication, narcissism, disease, cannibalism, black magic. Strong, melodramatic words, yes. Where the communication becomes rather grimy and with what I began this post – igniting the wicks of explosives in the name of communication – was when Ms. Me approached me in my office the following day.

“I heard you were really upset about what happened yesterday,” she said.
“Yes, I was. There are a lot of things in this building that upset me at the moment. That was one of them,” I replied.
“Well, B was being totally unprofessional and sullen the whole lunch.” I felt the fingers of tension forcefully run up the back of my head, and started asking myself, “Why is she discussing this with me? This has nothing to do with me, except that B is my partner.”
And so what did I do? I participated in the conversation, saying things and giving answers in the attempt to get her to leave as quickly as possible, and then, I did what I always do: I psychoanalyzed her.
Unprofessional? Ah, I see what’s happening: projection. She’s talking about herself. What I really wanted to tell Ms. Me is how ridiculous she is and how I don’t care about what shoes she wears (her favorite topic) or where she shops. Many of us, albeit no one else in my place of work save a few, have lives outside of our jobs and shopping – fulfilling, creative, successful lives. And our jobs are just that: jobs (income). This is something I have to work on, because I become too emotionally involved, but I still know it, regardless of whether I practice it or not: a job is a job. But, I held my tongue and realized that Ms. Me was not being nice and attempting to smooth things over; she was really trying to scoot me into a compromised, uncomfortable position, yes, somewhat successfully, and delicately sticking needles into my skin poisoned with her own unhappiness and fear. That’s when my tension headache slipped away.

The strength and force of negativity overpopulates the world, and so many times, it doesn’t even take a verbal exchange to reveal the destruction. More often than not, I respond to such darkness by becoming angry or sad. Translating those feelings into positivity and health is difficult, taking much practice, but with the accompaniment of a happy sigh, it’s not impossible.