Pace e Bene

An Application: Interpersonal Transformation

The following paper features an application of Pace e Bene’s CARA Process: Centering; Articulating one’s piece of the truth; Receiving the truth of the other; making Agreements, not assumptions. It was written by a student who took a course that featured Pace e Bene models and processes. The author is anonymous and the names have been changed for the purposes of sharing this application more widely. It is posted with permission.

Studied Application of the CARA Process to a Personal Issue
Facing People in Conflict Without
Avoiding, Accommodating, or Using Violence to Meet Violence 

If you really want to cultivate nonviolence you should take a pledge that, come what may, you will not give way to anger or order about members of your household or lord it over them. You can thus utilize trifling little occasions in everyday life to cultivate nonviolence in your own person and teach it to your children. — Mahatma Gandhi 

Introduction: Intrigued to Know the Process Better

This paper seeks to explore the CARA process as applied to a real situation in my own life. I decided to take this approach, in lieu of a research paper, after feeling simultaneously very intrigued and extremely frustrated both during and after the Nonviolence class, where my fellow students and I experimented with the process. We had attempted to role-play an exchange between a group of somewhat liberal Catholic educational consultants with a more conservative group of religious education instructors over the topic of homosexuality and the Church’s teachings against it. The topic hit very close to home for me—a gay man who has often felt abused, persecuted, and excluded by the Church—and I left the classroom feeling somewhat overwhelmed and unable to articulate my feelings, thoughts, and desires. I have written about my feelings as a gay Catholic previously, and do not wish to discuss them again here. What does still intrigue me, however, are the feelings of powerlessness and frustration that I have often felt during confrontations, as well as the inability to both feel heard and to hear the other persons involved. This is recurrent in the vast majority of my struggles with others. I consider myself a relatively educated and sensitive person, but when I heard myself in class describing such confrontations as “battles” and the other persons as “enemies,” I realized that something was radically wrong with my paradigm for approaching them. Some work needs to be done here. I feel that if I am ever going to be an effective nonviolence advocate in the world, I must somehow begin to master nonviolent confrontation in my own life first.

One of the most insidious places where my lack of “engagement” skills appears is in my relationship with my partner of nearly twelve years, Pat. Overall, the relationship has had many good moments, but it has more often been quite rocky and painful. Many times I have felt trapped, subordinated, and left without a voice. Without getting too personal, suffice it to say that Pat has a much more dominant personality that my own, and that often his will wins out over mine. This leaves me feeling resentful, embattled, and often in the end vanquished. On the other hand, after my experiences with the role-play in class, I wonder just what I am not hearing from his side. He often complains about the same things that I do—not being heard, not being appreciated, not having his needs met. Could it be that in my efforts to win the “battle” and to vanquish the “enemy” I am also marginalizing him and inflicting violence of my own?

To begin to answer this question in more detail, I propose to examine a situation which occurred recently between the two of us, looking first at what really happened, and then at what might have happened (at least on my end) if I had been consciously using the CARA process. What I have begun to notice is that even though the situation changes, as does the participants (it doesn’t always have to be Pat or Lee), often the emotions, actions, and reactions on my end are consistently the same. The following situation exemplifies this process.

Example of a Situation

Pat likes to buy plants for our yard, as he enjoys creating beautiful gardens. He does not particularly like to maintain them, however, and our yard is now full of many, many plants that require much care and labor during three out of four seasons during the year. A great deal of this labor ends up coming from me. In addition, the amount of money spent on new plants, landscaping, and maintenance each year exceeds what I think we can afford, but Pat refuses to account for the expenses or budget for them. The last time he bought plants this summer, he did so when I was not around. I discovered them in the garage waiting to be planted, and confronted him about them, while he was standing in the kitchen eating a sandwich. 

Lee: Did you buy more plants?
Pat: [No response.]
Lee: [Voice rising, trying to catch his eyes.] I asked you a question. Did you buy more plants?
Pat: They were on sale and some were two for one.
Lee: How much did you spend?
Pat: I don’t know, I don’t remember. They were only something like $40.
Lee: Great. [Irritated.] Do you know how much you’ve spent on plants this year alone?
Pat: Are you trying to start a fight?
Lee: No. I just want to know. Do you have any idea what you’ve been spending on plants?
Pat: You’re just trying to control me and stifle my creativity. [Begins to get angry.]
Lee: [Anger rising.] I’m not trying to start a fight. Don’t accuse me of that. I just want to know. And who is going to take care of them?
Pat: Fine. If you want to start a fucking fight, now you’ve started one. What about all of the money you spend on things? Like that new program you bought for your computer?
Lee: I needed that for work and I told you that I was going to buy it. It was no secret.
Pat: [Very angry.] Yeah, it’s OK when you want to spend. But the fucking rules are different for me. You’re not my father. I’m an adult and I can do as I please.
Lee: Are you kidding me? What about all of those new clothes you just bought? And it’s not just about the spending. You know I don’t want any more plants in the yard because of all the work. And besides that, you just buy stuff without even telling me.
Pat: Because if I didn’t you’d never let me buy them. [Shouting.] Stop treating me like a child . I shouldn’t have to ask you every time I buy something.
Lee: [Angry, overwhelmed, and frustrated.] Whatever. Never mind that I said anything. Just buy whatever you fucking want. [I storm out of the room and close myself in my office.] 

Centering Myself

What Happened: During this situation, I was angry when I found the plants in the garage, but was determined to conceal the fact from Pat when I confronted him. I was angry that he had gone against my wishes again. Looking back on the situation, this was my first untruth—I was not recognizing and naming my emotional state. Second, rather than collecting my thoughts, calming myself, and trying to put the anger aside before confronting him, I immediately went into the kitchen and asked, “Did you buy more plants.” It was obvious that he had, so what purpose had the question served? It probably did come across as being parent-like and didactic, since that is very much a method that his parents (or mine for that matter) would have used. I was also probably not doing a very good job of hiding my anger, since I can recall that my body felt very tense, my stomach was tight, I was taking in short breaths, and that I was clenching my jaw—something I often do when I feel stressed. Third, I confronted him standing up in the kitchen while he was eating, and this was most likely awkward and off-putting at the very least. We stood in the kitchen, with the center island between us, as if we were squaring off in a ring. In short, I was not centered when I began the discussion, and neither was Pat.

During the conversation, which obviously started from a place of imbalance, we both kept throwing things further out of balance through reactions to things said.

Pat reacted to my spurious question first by ignoring it, which began to inflame me. When I asked again, it is certain that I was more aggressive (I raised my voice and tried to force him to make eye contact with me) which made him even more defensive, and his answers more evasive. When he did answer my question about the cost, I responded in a tone of voice that let him know my disapproval, without ever having stated my feelings directly. Additionally, I am the one who first brought up past-oriented actions when I asked if he knew how much he’d spent this year. (This was a real surprise, since even up to just a few moments ago while I was writing the scenario, I had thought Pat was the first to have brought up the past.) At this point, the conversation really shifted to a place where it could not be recovered. It became about the whole vast history of problems we’ve had and all the unresolved pain that goes with them. We began to shout at each other, anger took over and we began to use abusive language. Neither of us was listening to the other any longer, and we were both simply trying to “win” the argument and get the other to back down. There was no way to build a solution that would be acceptable to both of us. In this confrontation (and in many others I’ve had with many other people that have gone down the same path), this is the place where I become frustrated and must drop out. I can never figure out how the conversation degenerated to such a low point when I had the best of intentions for resolution. But then again, did I? Perhaps my only intentions for resolution were for me to get my way.

What Might Have Happened:

Instead of immediately marching into the kitchen to confront Pat, I might have taken a moment to go out into the yard to sit and ask for guidance and patience. I might have asked for the strength of mind to be honest about my feelings while maintaining the presence to really stop and listen to what Pat was saying. I could have stopped to center myself and to deepen my breathing, so that I might dispel physical tension (which always somehow translates itself into mental and spiritual tension) from my body. Rather than directly confronting Pat while he was standing and eating, I could have asked him if he would sit and talk with me once he’d finished his sandwich. Certainly, rather than asking didactic questions, I could have simply stated my feelings plainly. Throughout the conversation, I could have focused on keeping my breathing deep and regular, and could have even silently repeated a mantra before speaking. Rather than bringing up things in the past, I could have worked to retain focus on the present and to deal with the plants that were right in front of us right at that moment, and what might happen in the future: “OK, so now that you’ve bought them, what do you want to do with them? Is there a possibility to take some of them back? Is there a point where we can agree on what is enough in terms of the landscaping?” Additionally, even if Pat were to have become angry, to have raised his voice, and to have used abusive language, I might have chosen to not follow suit. I might have chosen not to meet violence with violence. This, in itself, would have been disarming and might have diffused the situation.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, rather than disengaging and storming away in frustration, I could have composed myself and stayed engaged. Leaving only created more resentment on both sides, and served to increase the distance (both physical and emotional) between us. It also allowed me to abdicate responsibility for changing what I felt was an unjust situation. By saying, “Never mind what I just said. Buy anything you fucking want,” I basically jettisoned my feelings and needs, sent the wrong message, and failed to resist what I consider an injustice. (Certainly I can see how this happens to me in bigger issues, such as with the Church’s position on homosexuality.) By not remaining engaged (hand held out) and openly resisting (hand held up), I am all but condoning future abuses. In case of point, Pat continues to buy more plants to this day, and I continue to feel less and less valued and heard. 

Articulating My Truth

What Happened: When I entered the kitchen, I was in denial about what I was really feeling (anger at the very least), and consequently was not in tune with what I needed from the conversation. In fact, I never actually used words to articulate my feelings or my needs at any point in the conversation. I began the conversation with a question that I hoped would throw him, my “adversary,” off balance. Rather than ask a question out of curiosity to find out what he was thinking or feeling, I asked one that was tried and tested to put us both into a defensive battle stance. I did not open a safe space in which to be open and have a real discussion through making myself vulnerable. I did not invite Pat into a conversation, I immediately asked him to defend what he had done, and then I continued to ask questions to make him defend both his past and present actions. I was looking for redress for both past and present “offences.” Clearly, in my mind what he had done was wrong, I was right, and I wanted him to see this truth, admit it, apologize for it, and promise to never do it again. I had judged him to be guilty of overconsumption and lack of self-control, and whether or not this was the case, my mind was made up from the beginning and there could be no other outcome but the one that I foresaw. Even without words, I managed to communicate this through my body language, my tension, and my method of questioning. Not only did these actions on my part preclude the opening of safe space and dialogue, but they also insured that my point of view and my real desires (not to mention Pat’s) would never be heard or seriously considered. In trying to make Pat fail—in trying to sabotage the enemy and ensure an easy win for myself—I, in effect, quashed any hopes I might have had for having my feelings affirmed and my needs met. 

What Might Have Happened:

Again, after centering and inviting Pat into a conversation, rather than putting him on the defensive with menacing questions, I might have begun by simply stating my reality at that moment: “Pat, I noticed there are new plants in the garage, and I’m feeling a little angry and apprehensive about them.” To take things further, I might have probed those feelings a little more deeply. I recently read that all feelings of anger can be broken down into the more basic feelings of sadness and fear (Marianne Williamson, Everyday Grace: Having Hope, Finding Forgiveness, and Making Miracles), and it seems to really work when I make the effort to employ it. Thus, I could have gone on to say, “Actually, I’m sad and afraid. I’m sad that you acted against my wishes without even talking with me and afraid that maybe I don’t matter enough to you to have my feelings heard.” To that I could have even further added, “I’m apprehensive that in even bringing this up I will displease you and I might lose you.” Those are all valid, deeper feelings that would have exposed my vulnerability, spoke to things that were really happening in my mind, opened the door for openness and vulnerability on Pat’s end.

Yet even one step further, I could have gone on to begin to lie out my needs. “I need to come to agreement with you on how to move forward with the landscaping and its maintenance so that it suits both our needs.” “I need to discuss expenses and our budget as a couple because I am very unsure about what is appropriate spending on my own part, and what is not. “I need some clarity on what our financial goals are, and how we are going to meet them as a couple.” “I need to feel that my voice matters and that you feel safe and comfortable enough to come to me with issues, even if you know that we will disagree about them, and I need to feel this way with you as well.” All of these things, and probably many others, would have been more appropriate, both for expressing myself and for moving toward the goal of a “win-win” resolution.

Receive the Truth of the Other Person

What Happened: Since the conversation got off a very defensive foot in the first place, there was not much of an opportunity provided for Pat to tell me about what he was thinking and feeling, and what he wanted and didn’t want in that situation. Perhaps he sensed that I was full of my own truths, that he was already judged, and that there really was no room for his. I did not ask him what he wanted and what he was feeling. I did not ask questions out of curiosity to find out more about what the plants meant for him, what he wanted to do with them, and why he’d bought them. In fact, in retrospect I did not really want to know these things. I wanted satisfaction to redress my wounds—I wanted the situation to change and I wanted to be validated in my feelings and gratified with an outcome that would satisfy my expectations. I was again in a very closed space that was not safe for him—for either of us, really.

What is more important, not only did I not stop to open up space for Pat’s truth, but I never stopped for a moment to check my own assumptions. From the beginning, I had assumed that Pat bought the plants with total disregard for my feelings and desires. I assumed that he’d given in to a momentary impulse to self-medicate through making a purchase (as I’d observed he’d done in the past many times), without regard for the long-term emotional and financial consequences on our relationship. I assumed that since I had been wronged by his actions, that I was the only one with feelings that would need to be gently handled through this process. Once I’d begun my confrontation, I did not pay attention to clues that he was giving me about how he was feeling. When he began to get evasive, I assumed that he was hiding something from me, but I did not try to find out what or why. I did not notice when I opened the door for past actions to enter the discussion, and I was unaware that the conversation was quickly becoming more about redressing past issues than present one. In the long run, though I felt as though I was the one being wronged and not listened to, my assumptions and actions were indicating quite the opposite. I was also acting violently toward his feelings, and was not listening to his truth. 

What Might Have Happened: 

Certainly, I could have checked my assumptions at the door and tried to enter the conversation with a clean slate. Through my centering, I might have at least stopped to make myself aware of my assumptions and tried to monitor their influence on my words and the demeanor of the conversation. I might have asked Pat why he had bought the plants, and if he’d thought about what my reaction might be and how I would feel. I might have tried to find out if something bad had happened to him that day that made him feel that he wanted to buy something or do something creative to lift his spirits. If so, I could have tried to explore with him just why buying things makes him feel better. I might have tried to lower my voice and to speak to him in a tone that wasn’t so accusatory and threatening. Moreover, I would have just stopped pushing my agenda long enough to stop and listen.

In retrospect, it is now obvious to me that certain things were going on with Pat that I was not paying attention to during the disagreement. Specifically, Pat mentioned several things about the way he perceived I was treating him. He said he didn’t want to be treated like a child, that he was an adult, that I was not his father, and that I was trying to stifle his creativity. I’ve heard these things many, many times in arguments with him over the years, but only now have I understood the pain that lies behind these statements. For years I have simply thought that Pat brought out these “weapons” as a way to deflect the attention off of himself to avoid making any changes in his behavior. (Perhaps this is still partially true, but certainly there is something else going on here as well.) When I think about it now, at a distance and with a more critical eye, I bring an understanding of Pat’s rocky relationship with his father. His father, who is now deceased, was very critical of Pat’s abilities, was constantly putting him down and telling him that he would never amount to anything. In effect, his father minimized and humiliated him as a child, and continued to treat him this way even as a young adult. Whether or not I was really treating him this way, this is how Pat perceived I was treating him, and that made all of the difference. Even though I was trying to engage Pat out of a place inside of myself that was injured and frightened in its own right, it is likely that my inability to actually hear and honor his truth made my intentions seem domineering and similar to the methods of his father.

There is room for much improvement here for me. I know that I have a problem hearing the voice of those I feel are oppressing me. Rather than engaging them as brothers and sisters with a different opinion, it is easier for me to write them off adversaries who “just don’t get it.” Apparently, though, this happens much more often and much closer to home that I had known. 

Agree, Don’t Assume

What Happened: In this particular instance, there was no opportunity to come together for agreement since I’d abandoned the conversation altogether before it had ever had a chance to get to that stage. In other similar arguments, however, often once the accusing and name-calling subsides, we are both left drained of energy and unsure where to go next. After the initial release of built-up anger and resentment, we have not had the skills to put things back together or to make a plan going forward. By this time, even though we may have both calmed down, there is still so much tension and animosity in the air that neither of us has much good will to extend toward the other. If a period of time goes by and the anger has completely vanished, it often comes to pass that neither of us is brave enough to venture back into resolving the initial problem, for fear of provoking yet another messy confrontation and further strife. What is left unsaid is often larger than what was expressed. For my part, I often assume that since I have made my point about what displeases me through having confronted it at all—no matter how poorly—that Pat will have gotten the message and that things will change. Even in the case of this confrontation with the plants, which ended abruptly without resolution and without me ever clearly stating my feelings or my wishes and needs, I assumed that Pat must have gotten the point. When I next came home a few days later and found more plants in the garage, I realized that this was certainly not the case, and I was disappointed, angry, and frustrated once again. The cycle continues, and in fact, seems to worsen with each new breach between us.

What Might Have Happened:

Had I been able to center myself from the beginning, to articulate my truth, and to receive Pat’s truth, most likely I would not have disengaged from the discussion. Most likely there would not have been such negative feelings and words bandied back and forth. Even if there had been some unpleasantness, and even if I had chosen to leave the conversation, I think I might have been more inclined to re-engage to work toward some kind of agreement or resolution. We might have looked together at some of the things that we both agree on: 1) we both want the landscaping to look nice, 2) neither of us enjoys spending a lot of time on maintenance, and 3) we both have other priorities for how money might be spent. In considering Pat’s truth, I might have tried harder to understand how working with plants is a creative process for him, and how it helps him to feel better when things are not going well. I could also have been more patient in helping Pat to understand my truth—that I long for simplicity, for freedom from debt and obligation from the dominant system, and to not consume more than is necessary. Finally, we might have singled out the items on which we could agree to disagree. These might have included: 1) just when it’s appropriate to talk to each other before purchasing something, 2) the best way to deal with finances and long-term budgets, and 3) how many plants and how much landscaping we really need. In the end, we might have put together a plan where we would agree to consult each other for any purchases dealing with the home, since we share it and it is an extension of both of us, and any major purchases over a certain dollar amount. We might have decided upon a certain amount of time that I would spend in the yard, no matter how many plants were there, that I would not go beyond. We might even have talked about a process to engage disagreement in the future and a way to avoid me feeling unheard and Pat feeling like he was being quashed by his father.

In short, we might have compassionately tried to approach and work with each other, feeling each other’s pains and desires from the inside, as friends and brothers rather than as antagonists. 

Conclusion: Setting Limits and Seeing the Bigger Picture

In taking the time to look at even this one situation between Pat and myself in great detail, it is enlightening to see the many similarities at play between this event and the role-play about the Church and homosexuality in the Nonviolence class. In both scenarios, the old, frustrating feelings of being voiceless and powerless emerged early on in the discussion, hampering my ability to express myself or act in a constructive way. In both, I viewed the other as opponent or enemy and the whole process of dialogue as battle. The effect of this was to create a closed and tense space, rather than an open and safe one. In this kind of space, I immediately judged the other as wrong and shut down any attempt to hear their truth or to understand their position, and this further weakened my ability to engage in true dialogue. I believe I have learned to do this, probably from my childhood, to feel more powerful and to compensate for old feelings of inferiority. This compensation is in effect overcompensation, as I do not end up as an equal to my opponent, but as superior. Either way, being in a position of superiority or inferiority seems to interfere with any true compassion and hope for peaceful, mutual resolution as equals. Also, in both scenarios as my anger, frustration, and anxieties rose, I felt less and less connected to the discussion, to the point that I deemed it fit to disengage altogether, and I left. In one case my leaving was symbolic of my leaving the Catholic Church, feeling that I would never be heard or respected, much less fit in. In the other, I emotionally left Pat, feeling like he would never hear me or see my point of view—or admit that he was wrong, not I. In either case, it is clear to me that the need to win was really dominant within me, rather than my true need to be heard, loved, accepted, and welcomed.

In looking at my scenario with Pat, it was interesting to see things for the first time that I dared not look at before—such as the fact that I was the first to bring up the past in the discussion, not Pat as I had thought. It is difficult to understand how I failed to grasp this before. Perhaps I was just not ready. It was also quite useful to apply the CARA process to this incident, even though it took place several months ago, since it not only helped me to better understand this particular encounter, but also gave me the framework to engage in future discourses of which I will be a part.

Further, I understand that that my analysis was perhaps quite an oversimplification of the true complexity in this relationship. (All relationships are extremely complex, and the more personalities involved the more complex they become.) I may indeed have been a bit harsh with myself, in terms of my lack of awareness, presence, and understanding during the struggle. I believe, however, that looking at any encounter through the lens of the CARA tool provides insights into persons’ actual thoughts and feelings, which often may run counter to their stated intentions or actions. Certainly, I was able to stand back and see processes operating within myself that I had not understood before.

Finally, I realize that despite sincerely trying to understand and employ the CARA process, things will not always be perfect or go as planned in relationships either during or after struggles and discussions take place. In light of this, I know that if done correctly, it is healthy to set limits. This should not be a process of threatening the other (If you buy another plant I’m going to leave you.), but rather simply taking care of the self by not violating your own needs and values while trying to accommodate the other (If you buy more plants, I will not be responsible for their maintenance, because it’s not what I want to do. I’ll only continue to spend no more than two hours in the yard a week.)

What all of this has shown me, very clearly, is that the more emotionally attached we are to a struggle—the closer to home it hits and the more we have to risk by its outcome—the more difficult it is to remain engaged, to view the other as person rather than enemy, and to keep open, sacred, safe space for discussion to take place. This is both empowering and humbling. It speaks to the fact that we must turn to God for the wellsprings of compassion that we need to fortify and sustain us. This is a process that transcends human will alone—it is a process greater than mere human ability, but that works through human ability. May the God of Love be with us as we continue to engage on ever-deeper levels at the intersection of ever more complex desires.