There is something beautifully balanced in these words.

Conflict asks courage of us in two very different ways.

First, there is the courage to stand up and purposefully speak.

To say, This hurt me.

To say, This matters to me.

To say, This is what I need you to understand.

This kind of speaking requires vulnerability. In mediation, people are often being asked to put words around something that may have been building inside of them for months — or, even, years. Anger may be the emotion we see, but underneath, there may be disappointment, fear, grief, betrayal, embarrassment, or simply the deep human ache of feeling misunderstood.

It takes courage to give those feelings a voice.

But then comes the second courage — and, perhaps, the quieter one.

The courage to sit down and actively listen.

Not to wait for the other person to stop talking so that we can defend ourselves. Not to formulate our rebuttal. Not to search their words for the one sentence we can prove wrong.

But to listen with the possibility that we may hear something we did not expect.

This is where mediation becomes something more than two people taking turns speaking.

Because active listening carries a certain risk: we may be changed by what we hear.

We may discover that the person sitting across from us experienced the same event very differently. We may hear pain where we expected accusation. Fear where we saw stubbornness. Misunderstanding where we assumed malice.

And suddenly, the conflict begins to look different.

Perhaps this is one of the quiet purposes of mediation.

It creates a place where people can find enough courage to do both:

Speak so that they may be understood.
Listen so that they may understand.

Resolution does not always begin when someone finds the perfect words. Sometimes, it begins when someone finally feels heard.

And courage? There is no winner or loser with courage, just as there should be no winner or loser in mediation and an agreement.

It’s dropping the weaponry of the mind, and the tongue, and being brave enough to do so, because:   

Sometimes the bravest person in the room isn’t the individual speaking, but the one who hears something painful, resists the instinct to defend, and with curiosity in the heart, says, “Tell me more.”

Carpe Diem,