Most mistakes with our children, with our spouses, with all family members are not the result of bad intent. It's just that we really don't understand. We don't see clearly into one another's hearts.

If we did-if an entire family could develop the kind of openness we're talking about-over 90 percent of the difficulties and problems could be resolved.

A Flood of Witnesses

People have begun to realize that much of the pain in families is caused by lack of understanding. And if you take a look at the best-selling family books on the market today, you can get an idea of how significant this pain and this growing awareness are.

Books such as Deborah Tannen's You Just Don't Understand and John Gray's Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus have become tremendously popular because they touch on this pain. And these books come on the crest of a wave of recognition of the problem. In the recent past there have been many other writers on the family, including Carl Rogers, Thomas Gordon, and Haim Ginott, who have recognized and attempted to deal with this issue. They provide a flood of witnesses who affirm the vital importance of seeking to understand.1 The fact that these books, programs, and movements have had enduring value illustrates how much people hunger to feel understood.

Satisfactions and Judgments Surround Expectations

Perhaps the greatest contribution of these materials is in helping us realize that by understanding the differences between people, we can learn to take them into account and adjust our expectations accordingly. Much of the material focuses on gender differences, but there are also other powerful dimensions that create differences, such as past and present experiences in the family and on the job. By understanding these differences we can adjust our expectations.

Basically, our satisfactions come from our expectations. So if we're aware of our expectations, we can adjust them accordingly and-in a very real sense-adjust our satisfactions as well. To illustrate: I knew of one couple who came into marriage with totally different expectations. She expected everything to be sunshine, daffodils, and "happily ever after." When the realities of marriage and family life hit, she spent much of her time feeling disappointed, frustrated, and dissatisfied. He, on the other hand, anticipated having to deal with the challenges of marriage and family life. And every moment of joy was a wonderful, happy surprise to him, for which he was deeply grateful.

As Gordon B. Hinckley, a wise leader, commented: Of course all of marriage is not bliss. Stormy weather occasionally hits every household. Connected inevitably with the whole process is much of pain-physical, mental, and emotional. There is much of stress and struggle, of fear and worry. For most there is the ever haunting battle of economics. There seems never to be enough money to cover the needs of the family. Sickness strikes periodically. Accidents happen. The hand of death may reach in and with dread stealth to take a precious one. But all of this seems to be part of the processes of family life. Few indeed are those who get along without experiencing some of it.2 To understand that reality-and to adjust expectations accordingly-is, to a great extent, to control our own satisfaction.

Our expectations are also the basis for our judgments. If you knew, for example, that children in a growth stage of around six or seven had a very strong tendency to exaggerate, you wouldn't overreact to that behavior because you would understand. That's why it is so important to understand growth stages and unmet emotional needs, as well as what changes are taking place in the environment that stir up emotional needs and lead to particular behavior. Most child experts agree that almost all "acting out" can be explained in terms of growth stages, unmet emotional needs, environmental changes, just plain ignorance, or a combination.

Isn't it interesting: When you understand, you don't judge. We even say to each other, "Oh, if you only understood, you wouldn't judge." You can see why the wise, ancient king Solomon prayed for an understanding heart, why he wrote, "In all thy getting, get understanding." Wisdom comes from such understanding. Without it, people act unwisely. Yet from their own frame of reference, what they are doing makes perfect sense.

The reason we judge is that it protects us. We don't have to deal with the person; we can just deal with the label. In addition, when you expect nothing, you're never disappointed.

But the problem with judging or labeling is that you begin to interpret all data in a way that confirms your judgment. This is what is meant by "prejudice" or "prejudgment." If you have judged a child as being ungrateful, for example, then you will subconsciously look for evidence in his behavior to support that judgment. Another person looking at the exact same behavior may see it as evidence of gratitude and appreciation. And the problem is compounded when you act on the basis of what you consider reconfirmed judgment-and it produces more of the same behavior. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

If you label your child as lazy, for example, and you act based on that label, your child will probably see you as bossy, domineering, and critical. Your behavior itself will invoke a resisting response in your child that you interpret as further evidence of his laziness-which gives you justification for being even more bossy, domineering, and critical. It creates a downward spiral, a form of codependency and collusion that feeds on itself until both parties are convinced they are right and actually need the bad behavior of the other to confirm their rightness.

This is the reason that the tendency to judge is such a major obstacle to healthy relationships. It causes you to interpret all data to support your judgment. And whatever misunderstanding existed before is compounded tenfold by the emotional energy surrounding this collusion.

Two major problems in communication are perception, or how people interpret the same data, and semantics, or how people define the same word. Through empathic understanding, both of these problems can be overcome.

Seeking to Understand: The Fundamental Deposit

Consider the following account of a father's journey in seeking to understand his daughter and how it profoundly influenced them both: Around the time our daughter Karen turned sixteen, she began to treat us very disrespectfully. She would make a lot of sarcastic comments, a lot of put-downs. And this began carrying over to her younger brothers and sisters.

I didn't do much about it until it finally came to a head one night. My wife and I and our daughter were in our bedroom, and Karen let fly some very inappropriate comments. I decided that I had had enough, so I said, "Karen, listen. Let me tell you how life works in this household." And I went through this long, authoritative argument that I was sure would convince her that she should treat her parents with respect. I mentioned all the things we had done for her recent birthday. I talked about the dress we had bought her. I reminded her how we had helped her get her driver's license and how we were now letting her drive the car. I went on and on, and the list was quite impressive. By the time I finished, I was expecting Karen to almost drop on her knees and worship her parents. Instead, somewhat belligerently she said, "So?"

I was furious. I said angrily, "Karen, you go to your room. Your mother and I are going to talk about consequences, and we'll let you know what's going to happen." She went storming off and slammed her bedroom door. I was so angry, I was literally pacing back and forth, seething with anger. And then suddenly it hit me. I had done nothing to try to understand Karen. I certainly wasn't thinking win-win. I was totally on my own agenda. This realization caused a profound shift in my thinking and in the way I felt toward Karen.

When I went to her room a few minutes later, the first thing I did was apologize for my behavior. I didn't excuse any of her behavior, but I apologized for my own. I had been pretty abrupt. I said, "Look, I can tell that something's going on here, and I don't know what it is." I let her know that I really wanted to understand her, and I was finally able to create an atmosphere where she was willing to talk.

Somewhat hesitantly she began to share her feelings about being brand-new in high school: the struggle she was having trying to make good grades and make new friends. She said she was concerned about driving the car. It was such a new experience for her, and she worried whether she was going to be safe. She had just started a new part-time job and was wondering how her boss felt she was doing. She was taking piano lessons. She was teaching piano students. Her schedule was extremely busy.

Finally, I said, "Karen, you're feeling totally overwhelmed." And that was it. Bingo! She felt understood. She had been feeling overwhelmed by all these challenges, and her sarcastic comments and disrespect to her family were basically a cry for attention. She was saying, "Please, somebody, just listen to me!"

So I said to her, "Then when I asked you to treat us with a little more respect, that just sounded like one more thing for you to do."

"That's right!" she said. "Another thing for me to do-and I can't handle what's on my plate now."

I got my wife involved, and the three of us sat down and brainstormed ways in which Karen might simplify her life. Ultimately, she decided to stop taking piano lessons and stop teaching her piano students-and she felt wonderful about it. In the weeks that followed, she was like a totally changed person.

From that experience she gained more confidence in her ability to make choices in her life. She knew her parents understood her and would support her. And soon after that, she decided to leave her job because it wasn't as good a job as she wanted. She found a very good job elsewhere and reached manager status.

In looking back, I think much of that confidence came because we didn't say, "Okay, there's no excuse for behaving like that. You're grounded!" Instead, we were willing to take the time to sit down and understand.

Notice how Karen's father was able to rise above his concern about Karen's outward behavior and seek to understand what was going on in her mind and heart. Only after doing this was he able to get at the real issue involved.

The argument between Karen and her parents was superficial. Karen's behavior camouflaged the real concern. And as long as her parents focused only on her behavior, they never got to that concern. But then her father stepped out of the role of judge and became a genuinely concerned and affirming listener and friend. When Karen felt that her father really wanted to understand her, she began to feel safe in opening up and sharing on a deeper level. She herself may not even have realized what her own real concern was until she had someone who was willing to listen and give her the chance to get it out. Once the problem was clear and she really felt understood, Karen then wanted the guidance and direction her parents were able to give.

As long as we're in the role of judge and jury, we rarely have the kind of influence we want. Perhaps you remember the story from the first chapter of this book of the man who "found his son again." Do you remember how "overdrawn" that relationship was, how strained it was, how totally void of any authentic communication? (You may want to review that story because it's a wonderful example of the power of Habit 5.) That was another situation in which there were difficult, painful problems between parent and child, but there was no real communication. Only when the father stopped judging and really tried to understand his son was he able to begin to make a difference.

In both these cases, parents were able to turn the situation around because they made the most significant deposit you can ever make into anyone's Emotional Bank Account: They sought to understand.

Giving "Psychological Air"

One of the primary reasons seeking to understand is the first and most important deposit you can make is that it gives other people "psychological air."

Try to remember a time when you had the wind knocked out of you and were gasping for air. At that moment, did anything else matter? Was anything as important as getting air?

That experience demonstrates why seeking to understand is so important. Being understood is the emotional and psychological equivalent of getting air, and when people are gasping for air-or for understanding-until they get it, nothing else matters. Nothing.

Sandra: I remember one Saturday morning when Stephen was working at the office. I called him and said, "Stephen, come home fast. I'm going to be late for my appointment downtown, and I need help."

"Why don't you get Cynthia to help you?" he suggested. "She can take over, and you can be on your way."

I replied, "She won't help me at all. She's totally uncooperative. I need you to come home.

"Something must have happened in your relationship with Cynthia," Stephen said. "Cure that relationship, and everything will work out."

"Look, Stephen," I said impatiently, "I don't have time. I've got to go. I'm going to be late. Will you please just come home?"

"Sandra, it will take me fifteen minutes to get home," he replied. "You can solve this thing in a matter of five or ten minutes if you'll just sit down with her. Try to identify anything you've done that has in any way offended her. Then apologize. If you don't find anything you've done, just say, 'Honey, I've been rushing around so fast that I haven't really paid attention to your concern. I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?' "

"I can't think of a thing I've done to offend her," I said.

"Well," Stephen replied, "then just sit there and listen."

So I went to Cynthia. At first she refused to cooperate. She was just kind of numb and stolid. She wouldn't respond. So I said, "Honey, I've been rushing around and haven't listened to you, and I sense something really important is bothering you. Would you like to talk about it?"

For a couple of minutes Cynthia refused to open up, but finally she blurted out, "It's not fair! It's not fair!" Then she talked about how she had been told she could have a sleep-over with her friends like her sister had had, and it never happened.

I just sat and listened. At that point I didn't even attempt to solve the problem. But as she got out all her feelings, the air began to clear.

Suddenly she said, "Go on, Mom. Take off. I'll take over." She knew the challenge I had been going through-trying to handle all kinds of issues with the children when no one was being cooperative. But until she got that emotional air, nothing else mattered. Once she got that air, she was able to focus on the problem at hand and do what she knew she needed to do to help out.

Remember the phrase "I don't care how much you know until I know how much you care." People do not care about anything you have to say when they're gasping for psychological air-to be understood, the first evidence of caring.

Think about it: Why do people shout and yell at each other? They want to be understood. They're basically yelling, "Understand me! Listen to me! Respect me!" The problem is that the yelling is so emotionally charged and so disrespectful toward the other person that it creates defensiveness and more anger-even vindictiveness-and the cycle feeds on itself. As the interaction continues, the anger deepens and increases, and people end up not getting their point across at all. The relationship is wounded, and it takes far more time and effort to deal with the problems created by yelling at each other than simply practicing Habit 5 in the first place: exercising enough patience and self-control to listen first.

Next to physical survival, our strongest need is psychological survival. The deepest hunger of the human heart is to be understood, for understanding implicitly affirms, validates, recognizes, and appreciates the intrinsic worth of another. When you really listen to another person, you acknowledge and respond to that most insistent need.

Knowing What Constitutes a "Deposit" in Someone's Account

I have a friend who is happily married. For years her husband constantly said, "I love you," and every so often he would bring her a single beautiful rose. She was delighted with this special communication of affection. It was a deposit in her Emotional Bank Account.

But she sometimes felt frustrated when he didn't get to projects that she felt needed to be done around the home: hanging curtains, painting a room, building a cupboard. When he finally did get to these things, she responded as though he had suddenly made a hundred-dollar deposit into the account, compared to the ten-dollar deposits he was making whenever he gave her a rose.

This went on for years. Neither one of them really understood what was happening. And then one night as they were talking, she began to reminisce about her father, about how he was always working on projects around the house, repairing things that were broken, painting, or building something that would add to the value of their home. As she shared these things, she suddenly realized that to her, the things her father did represented a deep communication of his love for her mother. He was always doing things for her, helping her, making their home more beautiful to please her. Instead of bringing her roses, he planted rosebushes. Service was his language of love.

Without realizing it, our friend had transferred the importance of this form of communication to her own marriage. When her husband didn't respond immediately to household needs, it became a huge but unrecognized withdrawal. And the "I love you's" and the roses-though they were important to her-didn't balance the account.

When they made this discovery, she was able to use her gift of self-awareness to understand the impact the culture in her own home had had on her. She used her conscience and creative imagination to look at her current situation with a new perspective. She used her independent will to begin to place greater value on her husband's expressions.

In turn, her husband also engaged his four human gifts. He realized that what he had thought would be great deposits over the years were not as important to her as these little acts of service. He began communicating to her more often in this different language of love.

This story demonstrates another reason that seeking to understand is the first and foremost deposit you can make: Until you understand another person, you are never going to know what constitutes a deposit in his or her account.

Maria (daughter): One time I planned an elaborate surprise birthday party for my husband, expecting him to be thrilled about it. He wasn't! In fact, he hated it. He didn't like a surprise party. He didn't like a fuss being made over him. What he really would have liked was a nice, quiet dinner with me and a movie after. I have learned the hard way that it's best to find out what's really important to someone before trying to make a deposit.

It's a common tendency to project our own feelings and motives on other people's behavior. "If this means something to me, it must mean something to them." But you never know what constitutes a deposit to others until you understand what is important to them. People live in their own private worlds. Your mission may be their minutia. It may not matter to them at all.

Because everyone is unique, each person needs to be loved in his or her own special way. The key to making deposits, therefore, is to understand-and to speak-that person's language of love.

One father shared this experience of how understanding-rather than trying to "fix" things-worked in his family: I have a ten-year-old daughter, Amber, who loves horses more than anything else in the world. Recently, her grandfather invited her to go on a daylong cattle drive. She was so excited. She was thrilled about the cattle drive and also about the fact that she would get to be with her grandfather, who also loves horses, all day long.

The night before the drive I came home from a trip to find Amber in bed with the flu. I said, "How are you doing, Amber?"

She looked at me and said, "I'm so sick!" And she started crying.

I said, "Boy, you must really feel bad."

"It's not that," she said, sniffling. "I won't be able to go on the cattle drive." And she started crying again.

Through my mind went all of those things I thought a dad should say: "Oh, it will be fine. You can do it again. We'll do something else instead." But instead I just sat there and held her and didn't say anything. I thought of times when I'd been bitterly disappointed. I just hugged her and felt her pain.

Well, the dam broke loose. She just bawled. She was shaking all over as I held her for a couple of minutes. And then it passed. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "Thanks, Dad." And that was it.

I thought again of all those wonderful things I could have said, all that advice I could have given. But she didn't need that. She just needed someone to say, "It's okay to be hurt, to cry when you're disappointed."

Notice how in both these situations people were able to make significant deposits into Emotional Bank Accounts. Because they sought to understand, they were able to speak their loved one's language of love.

People Are Very Tender, Very Vulnerable Inside

Some years ago someone shared a beautiful expression with me anonymously through the mail. Reading this out loud slowly has moved audiences in incredible ways. It captures the essence of why Habit 5 is so powerful. I suggest you read it slowly and carefully, and attempt to visualize a safe setting where another person you care a lot about is really opening up.

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the mask I wear. For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks-masks that I'm afraid to take off-and none of them is me. Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but don't be fooled.

I give the impression that I'm secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without; that confidence is my name, and coolness is my game; that the waters are calm, and I'm in command and I need no one. But don't believe it. Please don't.

My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask-my ever-varying and ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no coolness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me-in confusion, in fear, in loneliness. But I hide this; I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated facade to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation-my only salvation. And I know it. It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers I so painstakingly erect. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.