It’s Not What You Said, But How You Said It
How do you feel after your partner or loved one says "I'm fine." Eeek. It usually begins with something perfectly ordinary. "Did you remember to book the restaurant?" And within a minute, you're both defending your characters, your workloads and, somehow, something that happened in the summer of 2019. Neither of you set out to argue. So what happened?
What's interesting is that most conflict has very little to do with the words actually spoken. It lives in the space between what someone says and what we decide it means. That space is where Penny Newton-Hurley works. A communication specialist and workplace mediator, she has developed an approach she calls The Human Language, and a four-part framework for practising it, The MECAnism. Her work moves easily between the boardroom and the kitchen table, because, as she puts it, the patterns underneath are the same.
"We are rarely responding to another person's words alone. We are responding to what we think those words mean." This doesn’t mean about finding the perfect tone in order to get through to someone and the real shift isn't learning what to say. It's learning to notice what is happening beneath the conversation, so that you have a choice in how you respond.
Why do conversations turn into arguments so quickly?
We all carry a running commentary in our heads. Penny calls it our mind chatter: a continuous internal narration that interprets everything we see and hear, usually before we've had the chance to check the facts.
"It interprets what we see and hear, often making judgements before we have had an opportunity to consider the facts," she explains. "Someone might make a perfectly innocent comment, but if we interpret it as criticism, rejection or disrespect, our natural instinct is to defend ourselves."
The other person then reacts to our defensiveness, and we react to theirs. Penny calls this reaction ping-pong, each response setting off the next until nobody can quite remember what the original point was.
Consider the unanswered message. You text a friend and hear nothing back. The fact is simply that you haven't had a reply. But the mind chatter is already drafting the story: she's ignoring me, I've upset her, she doesn't value our friendship anymore.
"None of those thoughts is necessarily true," says Penny. "Your friend may be overwhelmed with work, dealing with a family problem or simply have forgotten to respond. But once we start believing our own interpretation, it influences how we feel and how we behave towards that person." We go cool. We send something pointed. We stop reaching out and a real distance opens up over something that may never have actually happened.
The stories we reach for aren't random, either. They tend to follow the grooves of our deeper beliefs. "If we already believe that we are not valued, or that people tend to let us down, we may be particularly quick to interpret an ambiguous situation as confirmation of that belief."
But perhaps the more interesting question is what sits underneath the ping-pong. Usually, both people are trying to meet a perfectly reasonable human need. One wants respect or recognition; the other wants understanding or reassurance. "Neither intends to cause conflict," Penny says, "but because they are communicating through judgements rather than expressing what they genuinely feel and need, they miss the opportunity to connect."
Facts vs assumptions: the words that start the fight
If there is one idea at the heart of Penny's work, it's this: what happened and what we think happened are two different things, and we routinely present the second as though it were the first.
A colleague arrives thirty minutes late to a meeting. The mind chatter delivers its verdict: unreliable, doesn't respect my time, doesn't care about this project. "But the factual observation is simply that they arrived thirty minutes after the agreed starting time," says Penny. "Everything else is our interpretation."
Open with "You're so unreliable" and you'll get a defence, not a conversation. Penny suggests something closer to this:
"We agreed to start at nine, and you arrived at half past nine. I felt concerned because we had several important things to cover, and I value being able to use our time effectively. Could we talk about how to manage our meeting times in future?"
The concern is exactly the same; the character attack has simply gone. "People don't feel judged, and appreciate honesty and clarity," she says. It also leaves room for curiosity. Perhaps there was a crisis that morning. Perhaps someone sent the wrong start time. We don't know until we ask.
Always, never, should: our "learnt judgement language"
Some words do far more damage than we realise, precisely because we use them on autopilot. Penny calls them our learnt judgement language.
"Always" and "never". "You never listen to me" turns a single behaviour into a verdict on someone's character, and it's rarely accurate. "The other person is likely to start defending themselves, perhaps remembering all the occasions when they did listen or arrive on time, rather than hearing what is genuinely troubling us."
"Should", "must" and "have to". These carry expectation and obligation, and "can leave people feeling controlled rather than invited to cooperate."
"You made me feel…" This hands responsibility for our feelings to someone else. Their words may have triggered the anger, Penny says, but the feeling itself comes from "what that situation means to us and the needs that are not being met."
The alternative is more specific, and more honest: "When I was telling you about my day yesterday and you carried on looking at your phone, I felt disappointed, because I really wanted to share something important with you."
"We are no longer attacking the person or making assumptions about their intentions," says Penny. "We are describing what happened, explaining how we felt and allowing them to understand what matters to us."
How to stop being defensive (when your body has already decided)
If you've ever replied to an email before you'd really finished reading it, you'll recognise this. Feeling criticised, ignored or misunderstood can register in the body as a threat, and the stress response arrives long before the thinking brain catches up.
"Although we are no longer routinely facing the physical dangers experienced by our ancestors, our fight-or-flight response can still be activated by everyday social situations," says Penny. A pointed remark from a colleague or a message left on read can be enough. We fight back with blame, we withdraw, or we turn it inward and start blaming ourselves.
For many of us, it's less about willpower and more about awareness. The body usually tells us first: a rising heart rate, a tightening stomach, a sudden rush of anger or anxiety. Rather than replying in that moment, Penny suggests pausing to ask three questions:
What am I thinking?
What am I feeling?
What do I need underneath that feeling?
Say a colleague questions a piece of your work. The first thought might be they think I'm incompetent, with hurt or defensiveness close behind, because recognition, reassurance or respect matter to you. Once you can see that, you have options. Instead of bristling, you might ask: "Could you help me understand which part you think I could improve?"
"We are moving from automatic reaction to conscious response," Penny says. "That small shift can prevent a difficult moment from becoming a much larger conflict."
What does real listening look like?
Most of us believe we're good listeners. But when someone brings us something painful, the instinct is to help: don't worry, it'll be fine; have you tried…; the same thing happened to me.
These responses come from a kind place, Penny says, but they can pull the focus away from the person who is struggling. "If somebody is feeling upset, telling them not to worry may leave them feeling that their emotions have been dismissed. We're actually telling them not to feel, yet feelings are our own important messaging service." Advice offered too early skips the very thing people need first: to feel heard.
Empathic listening, in her words, means being fully present, setting aside our own judgements, resisting the urge to interrupt and allowing silence. It sounds like "How are you feeling about that?" or "It sounds as though this has been a really difficult experience for you."
Penny also suggests what she calls an empathy guess: "I'm wondering whether you're feeling disappointed because you were hoping for more support?"
"We aren't claiming to know exactly how they feel," she says. "We are inviting them to explore their experience more deeply." Once someone feels genuinely heard, you can ask whether they'd welcome your thoughts. Often, by then, they've found their own answer.
Your feelings are pointing at a need
Penny describes feelings as "an incredibly valuable internal messaging system". When we're frustrated, hurt or anxious, there is always something important underneath that we haven't yet named.
Imagine your partner changes your weekend plans without asking you. The first reaction is anger, and the accusation follows fast: that's so selfish. But look beneath the anger and you might find disappointment, because you'd been looking forward to the original plan. Or hurt, because you wanted to be part of the decision. Beneath those sit the needs themselves: consideration, choice, mutual respect, connection.
So instead of arguing about who was right, you say what mattered: "I felt disappointed when I found out our plans had changed, because I'd put thought into the evening and would have liked to be involved in the decision." Your partner might then explain they were worried about getting home late, or wanted to make the evening easier for everyone. Their needs were comfort, ease and consideration for others. This is where Penny's most useful reframe comes in:
"We aren't in conflict over our fundamental needs … Where we are in conflict is with the different strategies we have chosen to meet them."
Once both sets of needs are on the table, the conversation changes shape. You're no longer fighting over whose plan wins. You're looking for one that works for you both.
Request vs demand: how to ask without controlling
The difference, Penny says, is choice. A genuine request gives the other person a real option; a demand expects them to comply. And demands don't have to sound aggressive. "Please have that report on my desk by Tuesday" is perfectly polite, but it can still land as an order if there's no room to say whether it's doable.
When people feel controlled, they comply grudgingly, withdraw or push back. None of that builds trust. A request explains what we'd like and why it matters, then invites the other person in:
"I'm concerned about having enough time to prepare for Friday's meeting, and I'd really value having the report by Tuesday. Would you be willing to complete it by then?"
The real test of a request is whether we can hear "no". That doesn't mean abandoning what matters to us. It means getting curious. "There is often a 'yes' behind somebody's 'no'," says Penny. "They may be saying yes to their need for rest, family time, security or completing another commitment." Understand that, and another way forward usually appears: a later deadline, an extra pair of hands, a different approach.
"The aim is cooperation through understanding," she says, "rather than compliance through pressure."
"They may be saying yes to their need for rest, family time, security or completing another commitment."
Why we're often kinder to colleagues than to the people we love
The patterns are the same at work and at home, Penny says. Only the setting changes. At work, conflict looks like silence in meetings, prickly responses to feedback, gossip and simmering resentment about who does what. At home, it's the dishwasher, the parenting, the timekeeping, and the sense that your partner isn't really listening.
And yes, many of us are more measured with colleagues. At work there's a reputation to protect, a job to keep and a set of expectations to meet. At home, where we feel safest, our automatic reactions surface more readily. There's history, too. "A simple comment from a partner can trigger a much deeper reaction because it connects with previous disagreements or longstanding feelings."
Work brings its own complications. Hierarchy and fear of judgement mean that "someone may appear calm and agreeable in a meeting while privately feeling anxious, frustrated or unheard." In Penny's view, many of our triggers trace back to our earliest years, and they follow us everywhere: into the office, the kitchen, even the supermarket queue.
"Whether we are speaking to a CEO or our child, the aim is to communicate authentically, listen empathically and find ways forward that consider everyone's needs."
How to stop having the same argument: The MECAnism
If you keep finding yourself in the same fight, Penny's framework is built for exactly that. The MECAnism has four interconnected "gears", each one revealing a different layer of what's happening beneath the words.
Mind. Notice the story you're telling. Are you labelling someone, exaggerating, or assuming you know their intentions? Separate the judgement from what actually happened.
Emotions. Name what you're really feeling: anger, disappointment, anxiety, sadness, hurt. Treat it as a message, rather than something to dismiss or act on straight away.
Core Needs. Ask what sits beneath the feeling. Understanding? Appreciation? Reassurance, respect, connection, clarity?
Action. Decide how to meet that need. That might mean offering yourself some compassion, seeing the situation differently, or having a conversation in which you share your feelings and needs and make a clear request.
Here's how it plays out. Your partner is scrolling while you're talking, again. The automatic line is "You never listen to me!", and you both know where that goes.
Run it through the gears instead. Mind: "never" is an exaggeration, and you're reading the phone as a lack of interest. Emotions: disappointment, a little hurt. Core Needs: connection, and to feel heard. Action:
"When I was telling you about my day and you carried on looking at your phone, I felt disappointed, because I'd really like us to spend some time connecting. Would you be willing to put your phone aside for a little while so we can talk?"
Penny uses The MECAnism in three ways: for self-empathy, for empathising with someone else, and for having more constructive conversations. With practice, it becomes instinctive. You begin to spot your patterns and your triggers before they spot you.
"Changing the way we communicate isn't about finding the perfect words," she says. "It's about adopting an alternative language, developing a different relationship with our own thoughts, feelings and needs, and extending that same understanding and compassion to other people."
Words by Penny Newton-Hurley for The Well Edit.
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