As much as we’d like to see ourselves as rational observers of the world as it is, none of us is immune from the reality that we are constantly interpreting, evaluating, and making meaning from what we experience. There are gifts that come with this truth – creativity, philosophy, drawing complex connections, just to name a few – but there are also dangers. This is especially the case in conflict, where interpretations can easily supplant our ability to see things as they are and to recognize openings for transformation.
Consider some recent conflicts in your life, whether large or small, inside or outside of workspaces, with loved ones or strangers or anything in between. Now try writing the one sentence summary of the conflict from your perspective. Perhaps you have more clarity on it now but try to channel how you felt at the time it was unfolding.
Looking back at your summaries, you might notice some patterns:
· Do I tend to view myself in a certain light, like being misunderstood or mischaracterized? Taken advantage of? Undervalued?
· How much were my summaries focused on my wants and needs and how much on those of others I was in conflict with?
· What leaps do these summaries make from the facts of what happened?
Resist the temptation to categorize these patterns as wrong or right, true or untrue. Instead, these tendencies are a window into how we think, into our relationships, into power dynamics, into invisible or unspoken assumptions we are operating under. It’s not that stories are not real; they are simply one aspect of a fuller picture. Just like a painting with multiple layers of paint enhances its depth and richness, identifying conflict stories as a layer gives us a greater sense of the multi-faceted mix of sensory experience, beliefs, emotions, and behaviors involved in conflict.
In addition to our personal patterns, cognitive biases frequently shape our lens on conflict. These biases are adaptive ways our brain digests vast amounts of information and stimuli more quickly, but they can skew our perception of reality. One that is common in conflict is the fundamental attribution error, which can be condensed into: for them, it’s their character; for me, it’s the context. An example would be if a co-worker drops the ball on a task and your narrative is that they are not invested in the job or that they constantly expect others on your team to pick up the slack. However, if you drop the ball, your narrative may be that you weren’t set up for success, that you didn’t have enough time, that the ask wasn’t realistic or you had too much on your plate.
Another that is more widely known is confirmation bias, in which we seek out and privilege information that confirms our prior beliefs while discounting or discrediting information that counters those beliefs. Imagine you are advocating for a specific priority in your organization or community because you deeply believe that should be an area of focus. When someone else makes a compelling point that would suggest setting a different priority, you might look for ways in which what they said is inaccurate or ascribe ulterior motives to the person who raised it.
In addition to sharpening our awareness of our own assumptions and biases, there are other tools that can help us work with conflict stories. We might ask a trusted friend to be a sounding board for us about a conflict we’re experiencing, but with the specific ask of listening for leaps of interpretation and pointing those out to us. Once we recognize that we’re operating under a particular narrative we can consider, what’s a different plausible story about this situation? We need not replace one interpretation with the other, but contemplating alternatives helps us accept that there is never only one unimpeachable way to understand a conflict. And if we are having a conversation with the person we’re in conflict with, we don’t have to pretend the story isn’t there; we simply want to distinguish it as an narrative as opposed to an objective observation. A great tip from the Right Use of Power Institute is to actually say, “the story in my head about this is…” and own it as just that - your beliefs or assumptions about what’s going on.
I have an aphorism of sorts that I come back to frequently in my work: conflict is when we’re at our most human. For me this captures the beauty of conflict as a natural and vital part of life, as well as the ways in which it can highlight our infallibility, our imperfectness. Conflict stories reflect all of that – the good, the bad, the messiness of it all. The trick is to see them clearly when they show up.