Asking for what I want.

I have to thank Nosinkmolly this morning. I was unsure of what I was going to write and then I read Molly's comment on my blog yesterday, Rudeness. Thanks Molly!


She asks, "Should there be a difference in the way we ask for what we want when dealing with strangers or people we are close to? And what do we do if we are afraid to ask or stand up for ourselves."

For me, it has always been difficult to ask for what I want, even though one of my father's favourite sayings was, "Ask for what you want. You've got at least a 50 percent chance of getting a yes."

Problem was, I also had a voice in my head that said, "Don't make waves."

Because the actions of the adults around me were often contradictory with their words, asking for what I wanted became a risky business fraught with opportunities to be ridiculed, shut-down, or simply ignored.

And so, I learned to become quietly manipulative. If I wanted something I couched my 'ask' beneath the veil of subterfuge -- you know, that inverted way of asking that wasn't direct enough to get me in trouble, but ended up giving me sort of what I wanted without having to come right out and ask for it. Funny, I remember men in my past often telling me I was manipulative -- guess what? I never believed them! What? Me? Manipulative?

And yet, I was. Because, in my non requests, I was undermining the relationship by not being honest and forthright in my conversations.

It takes time to undo a lifetime of stifling my 'honesty'. In my family of origin, honesty was not big on the agenda. An honest response to "How are you today?" could have left me at risk of being mocked because, had I replied with anything other than the equivalent of, "Happy", the ensuing lecture would have left me feeling wrong for feeling how I was feeling.

Children are inherently honest. They learn through adult's responses whether or not their honesty is acceptable, or not. In many instances, the 'or not' becomes de rigeur.

I remember once when my youngest daughter was about four, we saw an older woman in the grocery store whose face resembled that of a chimpanzee. Liseanne, looked at the woman, and said, "Mommy. That lady looks like George the inquisitive monkey!"

I quickly hushed her, distracting her with some sort of treat while I smiled at the woman and said, "Oh, she says that to everyone."

Imagine Liseanne's confusion. She saw a woman who resembled a character in one of her favourite books and her mother lied to cover up the truth. Truth is, she didn't say that to everyone. Just this woman who did look remarkably like George, the inquisitive monkey.

I did talk to her when we got home about the importance of keeping some of our thoughts to ourselves. "But mommy. I like George. He's funny," she replied.

Learning how to speak up and ask for what I want has been a continual journey of unravelling my childhood voice that is filled with the fear of speaking up. It has been a constant struggle to determine, 'what is my truth?' versus, 'what's important here?"

I still struggle with speaking my truth -- especially in my close relationships. My mind dances around my fear, pitter-pattering in my heart, tiptoeing around my aversion to making waves, whispering all sorts of messages about why I best not do or say something.

If it's a really important discussion, like my wanting to talk to C.C. about smoking, I have to write out my thoughts first -- 1. What's important to me around this issue? 2. Why is it important to me? 3. How do I begin the conversation so that I create a safe space for both of us to be heard? 4. When the going gets rough, how do I bring us back to that safe space so that the conversation doesn't get diverted into opposing sides drawing a line in the sand with the only smoke in the room puffing out of our ears as our tempers steam over?

One of the biggest issues for me, just like the Runaway Bride, is to determine, What is my truth?

That's why speaking up in the coffee shop is important to me. Molly is right -- I will probably never see those people again. What's the risk? In speaking up I was building up my 'truth' muscle. I was practicing 'truth speaking'.

See, I spoke up. The woman was annoyed with me. I didn't die. A big hole didn't open up in the ground and swallow me up whole. Her annoyance is hers to deal with.

What I have to deal with are my runaway thoughts. You know, that conversation in the head that goes like this... 'oh my god, I was rude. I shouldn't have spoken up. She'll hate me forever. She's going to leave here and spend her day telling people about this rude woman who accosted her in a coffee shop, a public place of all places, and told her to shut up....'

Ultimately, it was just a moment in time. A passing moment in which I lived up to my commitment to be fearless. And in that moment, I created the opportunity for me to practice my voice, to test its tonsure without risking more than a look of disdain from a stranger.

That practice helps me in speaking up in my intimate relationships -- and gives me a guide in how to do it better each time. Truth is, when speaking up doesn't come naturally, using strangers as my testing ground is safer than creating havoc in my family!

In the end, it takes practice, patience and a commitment to being my loving self, in every kind of weather to learn how to speak my truth.

And it takes learning -- I've read several books that have helped me. One of the best which I'm reading right now is Crucial Conversations by Kerry Patterson et al, (McGraw Hill 2002). It provides, "Tools for talking when stakes are high."

For me, learning how to speak up when my head is saying, shut up! is a constant journey of fearlessly turning up for me, acknowledging my truth with loving care and staying unattached to the outcome.

The question is: Are you willing to step into your fear and be heard? Are you willing to shut off the chatter in your head so your heart can lead you fearlessly into loving yourself enough to ask for what you want?