Respectful Disagreement: Do We Really Have to Say What We Think?

This morning, while getting my teeth polished, the conversation with my hygienist turned to something I've been noticing more and more lately: how difficult it seems to have become for people to simply allow someone else to have a different point of view.

We talked about how polarized our society has become and how quickly a difference of opinion can turn into something sad or ugly. She said something I completely agreed with—that what we need is a lot more love and compassion.

A little later in this same conversation, she made a comment that I completely disagreed with.

As I was forced to pause with dental instruments inside my mouth, I noticed a little voice in my head wanting to get out. I wanted to tell her what I thought–why I thought she was incorrect in her thinking.

As I waited to be able to voice my opinion, the pause was long enough for me to realize from the context of the conversation that nothing I could have said would have change her mind. 

Yet I still felt the urge to make sure she knew that I saw it differently.

I didn't say anything.

It took some willpower and intention not to, but ultimately I later felt better for keeping my mouth shut in this particular instance.

Why do we feel the need to tell people what we think?

There's a difference between having an opinion and feeling compelled to express it.

We all have opinions. Strong ones, sometimes.

But why is it that when someone says something we disagree with, there's often an almost immediate internal nudge to respond?

That's not how I see it.

You should know why I think differently.

I need to explain this.

Here's why you are incorrect.

Sometimes our words are helpful. Sometimes speaking up is important. There are certainly things worth saying.

But sometimes, if I'm being completely honest with myself, the urge to speak has less to do with contributing something useful and more to do with wanting to be understood, wanting to be right, or simply wanting the other person to know that I don't agree.

I'm beginning to realize that perhaps that distinction matters.

I'm recognizing that... not everything we think needs to be said.

That doesn't mean I should become a quiet agreeable person who never expresses an opinion. It means becoming a little more intentional about my words.

I'm striving to pause long enough to ask myself, not only "What do I want to say?" but also:

"Why do I want to say it?"

What does it mean to practice right speech?

I've been rereading one of Thich Nhat Hanh's books about communication and right speech.

I read it years ago, but this time I'm reading just a few pages at a time because I've come to understand that reading something once doesn't mean I've learned it. Or that I've absorbed it enough to integrate it into my life.

Some lessons are worth returning to.

We may understand an idea intellectually, but that doesn't mean we've mastered it in our daily lives. We need opportunities to practice.

Right speech, as Thich Nhat Hanh teaches it, isn't simply about being polite or saying nice things. It asks us to become more mindful of our communication—to listen deeply, to speak with compassion, and to become aware of the intention behind our words.

And that feels particularly relevant right now.

Sometimes the challenge isn't knowing how to be kind.

Rather, the challenge is catching ourselves in that split second before we speak and asking whether what we're about to say will actually help. 

I'm working on this, but if I'm honest, I foresee years of practice ahead. 

How to disagree without arguing

I don't think the answer is that we should stop expressing our opinions.

Healthy relationships require honesty. We should be able to say what we think, even when our thoughts are different from someone else's.

But perhaps we can practice disagreeing differently.

Pause before responding.

This feels like the first and yet essential step. That little space between someone else's words and our response can change everything.

Instead of immediately preparing our counterargument, we can take a breath.

Do I actually need to respond to this?

Sometimes the answer will be yes.

Sometimes it will be no.

Notice why you want to speak.

This may be the hardest one.

Am I sharing this because it will add something meaningful to the conversation?

Or because I want them to know I'm right?

Am I genuinely trying to understand?

Or am I trying to convince?

I'm finding that the answer for me typically isn't what I'd like it to be.

I think it's worth celebrating when you are able to catch yourself and pause. And then when you can regularly pause long enough to notice your own motivation... you've achieved another huge milestone.

Listen without preparing your rebuttal.

It's surprising to me how difficult it is to listen to someone with whom we disagree without simultaneously formulating a response.

Yet here's the thing to emblazon on your brain: listening doesn't mean agreeing.

We can listen and still think, I don't see it that way at all.

We can be curious about how someone arrived at their perspective without adopting it ourselves.

This may be one of the most generous things we can offer another person: the experience of being heard without immediately being corrected.

Allow someone else to be different from you.

This one sounds simple.

It isn't.

We live in a culture that often seems to encourage us to sort people into categories based on what they believe. We can begin to feel as though another person's opinion says something about their character—or about ours.

When I step back and think about this, it feels a little absurd.

Many people see things differently than I do.

I can believe they are mistaken.

They can believe I am mistaken.

And we can still sit across the table from each other and enjoy each other's company and the meal.

Sometimes agreeing to disagree is enough

My husband and I have a very ordinary example of this.

He doesn't think buying organic produce is particularly important.

I disagree. Vehemently.

I've read enough and thought enough about the subject that I don't expect either of us is every going to change our mind. So we've agreed to disagree.

But it hasn't become a lingering point of contention. We've accepted that we disagree.

We've found a practical compromise that works for both of us.

I'll compare the price of organic and conventional produce. If the difference is small, I'll usually choose organic. If the difference is significant, I'll consider whether it's something that's on the Clean Fifteen list and may choose the conventional option instead.

We've found a way to compromise and to live peacefully with our differences in opinion.

Perhaps that's an important distinction.

We don't have to resolve every important difference to remain connected.

We don't have to convince everyone we care about to see the world exactly as we do.

Each disagreement doesn't need to turn into a debate.

What if we didn't need to be right?

The woman who was polishing my teeth and I were actually talking about the same thing this morning.

She was concerned about how difficult it has become for people to tolerate differences of opinion. I agreed with her.

And then I found myself wanting to make sure she knew my opinion about one statement in the conversation was different from hers.

How easy it is to see the problem in other people.

How hard it is to notice it in ourselves.

I think this is why practices like "right speech" matter.

They give us a set of rules to follow, but more importantly they invite us to become more aware.

To notice.

To pause.

To choose.

To practice.

I may still disagree with someone.

I may still have a strong opinion.

I may still decide that something is important enough to say so.

But perhaps I can become a little better at asking myself first:

• Is this something that needs to be said?
• Will saying it help?
• Can I say it with kindness?
• And if I choose not to say it, can I be completely okay with that?

Those questions feel particularly relevant in a time when so many of us seem to be standing on opposite sides of so many things.

Perhaps we don't need less conviction.

Perhaps we need more compassion alongside our convictions.

I myself want to strive to do a little deeper listening.

To have a little more curiosity.

To be willing to simply let another person be different from me and be completely okay with that choice.

And to have a little more restraint when that familiar urge rises up to say, Yes, but here's what I think...

The lessons worth practicing again

That's why I'm rereading Thich Nhat Hanh's book once again.

I remember the gist of what he expressed within the pages.

Yet I acknowledge that knowing something and living it are two very different things and I'm not quite there yet.

Perhaps the lessons that matter most in our lives aren't necessarily the ones we learn once and move on from. They are often the ones we return to again and again.

The ones we need to practice to integrate within our lives.

Do this with intention and slowly we become the kind of person we want to be.

Even if, every once in a while, it means sitting in a dentist's chair, biting our tongue, and realizing that sometimes... the most compassionate thing we can say is nothing at all.