The next conversation

At Bobby LaPray’s deposition, Jefferson Fisher began with routine questions, asked politely and without pressure. Still, the enormous witness grew more agitated, until he slammed his hand on the table and declared that lawyers were the worst thing to happen to America. Fisher felt anger rise. When Bobby called his questions stupid, he wanted to answer with a cutting remark and prove him wrong. Instead, he remembered that an explosive reaction may reveal a struggle beneath the words.

As a child, Fisher had read with Evan, a boy who struggled with books and whose life was far harder than Fisher had understood. Evan lived with his grandparents; his father had left and his mother was in jail. Remembering that he had once mistaken the surface of a person for the whole story helped Fisher hold back. He waited, then asked Bobby what his biggest personal struggle had been that year. After a long silence, Bobby explained that he had recently moved his mother into assisted living and was overwhelmed by paperwork, legal notices, and fear about her health. He was alone in managing it. Fisher told him he was a good son, and Bobby began to cry. They paused the deposition while Bobby talked through his worries; Fisher then connected him with a colleague who handled elder law. When questioning resumed, Bobby was calmer and forthcoming.

The encounter illustrates Fisher’s central point: the person you see is not necessarily the person you are talking to. A coworker’s impatience, a cashier’s distraction, or a spouse’s short temper may have a history invisible to you. Conflict can be a window into that hidden struggle, not merely a contest of opinions. Trying to win can cost far more than the brief satisfaction of feeling right: trust, respect, and the connection you still need with someone you may live or work with. Even a technically won argument can leave the underlying problem untouched, now accompanied by hurt feelings and awkward silence.

Fisher urges people to stop treating disagreement as a contest between winners and losers. Its purpose can instead be to examine what is happening beneath the clash: the fear, hope, or frustration driving someone’s words. Understanding that struggle doesn’t mean surrendering your own view. It means recognizing that the argument may be about more than the issue named aloud. Conflict, approached with curiosity, can expose what needs attention and create a chance for change.

The next conversation matters because it offers a chance to repair what the first one damaged. But imagining a perfect reconciliation can set you up to fail. In Fisher’s example, two friends meet after a fight, each secretly hoping the other will admit complete fault. When one says, “What you said really hurt me,” the other responds defensively, and the lunch collapses back into accusation. A better approach is to decide beforehand what you can realistically learn or do. Instead of expecting an immediate apology or a single talk to solve every problem, aim to hear the other person’s perspective, listen without interrupting, or agree on a next step. The guiding principle is to have something to learn, not something to prove.

Goals point the conversation somewhere; values guide how you travel. A person whose goal is to feel heard might choose honesty as a value. If asked afterward, “We good?” they need not say yes just to end the discomfort. They can acknowledge the other person’s perspective while also saying they still don’t feel fully heard. Fisher suggests identifying values by reflecting on moments when you felt most like yourself or asking someone close to describe the qualities they see in you. His own guiding commitments include using kindness where possible, letting actions show who he is, and serving as a steady light. Values help determine how to show up regardless of whether the other person agrees.

Connection, Fisher argues, requires both understanding and acknowledgment. Understanding happens internally; acknowledgment lets the other person know you have heard them. Either alone is incomplete. You can acknowledge someone’s account without agreeing with it, or understand their position while still feeling hurt or upset. His father’s advice to him as a teenager was that he did not have to like a situation, but he did need to understand it. Connection is not a guarantee of agreement, comfort, or a happy ending. Sometimes distance is the wiser choice; not everyone wants to be reached. But where you do seek connection, it means meeting the conversation as it is rather than forcing it to become what you wish it were.

Digital messages make the distinction especially clear. When Fisher’s mother asked how many miles were on an old family Nissan, his repeated text replies that he didn’t know sounded, to her, like attitude. A phone call let her hear his tone and understand his sincerity. Texts and emails efficiently transmit words, but often lose the emotional context that helps people interpret them. Treating transmission as a substitute for connection invites misunderstanding. Beyond that, connection is often blocked by a lack of self-awareness, a failure to understand another person’s perspective, or insufficient confidence to speak directly.

Control begins with noticing what conflict does to you. In a hypothetical argument between parents John and Grace about their daughter Lilly’s bedtime, John undermines Grace’s strict routine by letting Lilly play longer. Grace calls him careless and says he is never there; John retaliates by attacking her family and friendships. Their original disagreement disappears beneath personal blows. During this ignition phase, a perceived threat can set off the body’s fight-or-flight response: breathing becomes shallow and quick, the heart rate rises, muscles tense, and rational decision-making becomes harder as emotional reactions take over. A person may feel flooded, unable to gather their thoughts, and say things they would not normally say.

When the heat fades, the cooling phase brings slower breathing, clearer thinking, and often regret. The body’s response is not proof that the other person is the enemy; it is information that something feels threatening. Triggers can be physical, such as someone invading personal space, or psychological: fear of rejection or humiliation, a threat to identity or autonomy, or anxiety about losing a valued relationship or status. Noticing tense shoulders, a clenched jaw, a quickened voice, or shallow breathing in yourself—or someone else—can reveal that the conversation is heating up. Such cues invite curiosity about what is driving the reaction, rather than another attempt to win.

The most useful moment to regain control is often the quiet one just before an argument takes off, when the emotional climate shifts and you sense a storm approaching. Rather than using that instant to prepare a reprimand or a clever comeback, use it to prepare yourself. Three small practices can help: let your first word be a breath, take a quick scan of your state, and have a brief personal conversation with yourself.

A conversational breath gives you a few seconds to steady your body before you respond. Breathe in through your nose, take a second quick inhale, then let the exhale last longer than the inhale. Repeat as needed. When Elizabeth, a client, was being pressed in a deposition by an attorney known for rattling witnesses, she began to rush and lose confidence. Then, before answering a hostile question, she breathed, lowered her shoulders, and took a moment. Her calm reply prevented the attorney from getting the flustered reaction he wanted. She couldn’t control his questions, but she could control herself.

A quick scan helps you notice where stress is hiding. Take a breath, close your eyes briefly, and check your body for tension; as you exhale, release some of it and name the emotion you’re feeling. The label might be “pressured,” “frustrated,” or “overwhelmed.” Naming it can help you observe the feeling instead of being swept along by it. You can also say, “I can tell I’m getting upset,” or “I can tell I’m overwhelmed. Can we take this step-by-step?” That makes your state and your needs clear.

The third practice is a small talk: a short, personal phrase that helps direct your actions when you feel off balance. After a difficult first day in court, Fisher began repeating, “You be Jefferson,” “Wait for the right pitch,” and “Let the facts tell the truth.” He wrote the phrases on his legal pad and still takes a small talk into trial. Useful phrases begin with verbs, connect to a real goal, and are short enough to remember. “Seek to understand,” “Stand firm,” or “Find the heart of it” can serve as a quick internal cue to act according to your values rather than your first impulse.

Control also comes from choosing the pace of a conversation. Fisher once noticed his client Chuck answering deposition questions before the attorney had finished asking them. In the hallway, he asked Chuck about his weekend plans. Chuck paused to think, then relaxed as he answered. Fisher told him to treat each deposition question the same way: take a moment before responding. Back in the room, Chuck stopped interrupting himself and answered deliberately. The pause was not dead air; it was a way to keep control of the exchange.

A pause can give you time to reflect, reconsider, and regulate. It lets you decide whether your words will help, whether you need more information, and whether the conversation is moving toward your goal. Short pauses, lasting one to four seconds, give weight to what follows and can make an answer sound more considered. Longer pauses, around five to ten seconds, create space for reflection. When a truck driver denied texting before a crash, Fisher let the driver’s emphatic answer sit in silence. The witness began revising his claim, and after another long pause admitted he might have been texting. Silence can keep you from escalating, while giving the other person time to hear their own words.

Confidence, Fisher argues, is not something you can summon like a feeling on command. You build it through assertiveness: acting on your confidence by saying what you mean and following through. Start by removing words that make a clear statement sound hesitant. “I wanted to touch base” is stronger than “I just wanted to touch base.” Say what you will do in the present tense, then do it. Instead of threatening to leave if an argument continues and staying when it does, say, “I’m going to leave the room,” and follow through.

Assertiveness also means stating needs directly, without burying them in unnecessary apologies. “I need a moment,” or “I need more clarity on your expectations,” gives the other person something clear to respond to. Save “I’m sorry” for actual apologies; when you’re asking for help or clarification, gratitude is often more fitting: “Thank you for clarifying that.” Say less, remove filler words, and avoid putting yourself down before making a point. A steady tone, measured pace, and clear language help convey respect for both the other person and yourself. Assertiveness is not aggression; it is confidence put into action.

With difficult people, kindness does not require you to be soft or to tolerate being pushed around. Fisher describes representing one of two sisters who were fighting over an inherited business. The sister who wanted to sell it repeatedly twisted her sister’s words and brought up old wounds. During a final meeting, she told Fisher’s client, “You’re dead to me anyway.” After a long pause, the client said, “I need you to repeat that.” When her sister could not, the client replied, “Then I won’t be repeating this. I’m getting off this roller coaster. If you want to get off with me, do it now. And I’ve always loved you.” The matter settled. The response was firm without returning the insult.

When someone insults you, a long pause can deny them the reaction they may be seeking. If more is needed, slowly repeat their words back to them, then keep breathing rather than rushing into a counterattack. For a patronizing remark, ask the person to repeat it, or ask, “Did you want that to hurt?” A short pause and a question about intent can also help when someone is rude or dismissive: “Did you mean for that to sound rude?” Then wait. The other person may clarify or apologize; if the remark was deliberate, you don’t have to keep engaging.

The same calm firmness applies to bad apologies, interruptions, and disagreements. If someone says, “I’m sorry you feel that way,” redirect them to what they did. If they say, “I’m sorry if I upset you,” ask them to change “if” to “that.” When someone interrupts during a serious conversation, let the first interruption pass, resume where you left off, then use their name and say, “I want to listen to you. I need to finish my thought before I do.” And when you disagree, you don’t have to turn a difference into a verdict. “I see things differently,” “I take another approach,” or “I tend to lean the opposite” states your position without declaring the other person wrong.

Saying no is often harder than it sounds. Over time, people learn to accept invitations, demands, and expectations to avoid disappointing others, until overcommitment gives way to stress and resentment. But declining an invitation need not become a defense of your decision. Fisher recommends a simple sequence: state the no, express gratitude, then offer kindness. “I can’t. Thank you for the invite. I’ve heard good things about it!” is clear without an excuse or an apology. If someone presses for a reason, repeat the no. You are not negotiating with them; you are deciding what is right for you. No is a complete sentence.

A boundary goes further than a refusal. It marks a perimeter around something you value, such as your health, family, time, or peace of mind. Values become boundaries through choices: protecting family time by turning down an event, or protecting mental health by stepping away from a relationship that drains you. To make those limits clear, Fisher suggests thinking of an operator’s manual rather than handing someone the remote control to your emotions. Instead of shouting, “Stop yelling at me,” you can say, “I don’t respond to that volume.” Write down what you will and will not accept, then state the boundary in an “I” statement. If the person keeps crossing it, name what you will do: “If you continue to treat me this way, I’m going to end the conversation.” The crucial step is following through. A boundary that has no consequence you will enforce is not a reliable limit.

Not everyone will welcome your boundaries. Some may prefer the version of you who always says yes, because they benefited from having easy access to your time and energy. Their discomfort does not prove your boundary is wrong; it may show that the limit is doing its work. Still, boundaries are not excuses to avoid reasonable responsibilities or ordinary cooperation. They are meant to protect what genuinely matters, while making your expectations visible to others.

The next tool for connecting is a conversational frame. Just as a picture frame draws attention to what matters, a frame gives a discussion a clear subject and direction. Without one, a talk can wander through old grievances and side issues until neither person remembers what it was meant to resolve. Before beginning, say what you want to discuss, what you hope to feel or achieve by the end, and ask whether the other person agrees to have the conversation on those terms. For example, you might say you want to discuss a colleague’s comments at a meeting and leave with a better understanding of what matters to each of you. A frame is not permission to control the other person or silence disagreement; it sets expectations for both of you.

Keep to one frame and one issue. If the discussion strays, bring it back with a reminder of the topic or the goal. When the other person raises a separate grievance, acknowledge it without abandoning the original conversation: “I agree that’s worth talking about too. Let’s focus on one issue at a time.” If you are the one who derails things, apologize, recognize that your words were unhelpful, and return to the point. Acknowledgment lets the other person know you heard them; holding the frame keeps the conversation from becoming a contest over every unresolved issue.

Defensiveness, Fisher argues, is a wall that prevents both people from understanding each other. He recalls cross-examining a biomechanical engineer who used technical language to sound authoritative. When Fisher asked whether the crash could have caused his client’s back injuries, the witness could have clarified that his opinion was more nuanced. Instead, he implied the questioner might not grasp physics or biology. The jury’s reaction turned against him: his defensiveness weakened the trust his testimony needed. In everyday life, defensiveness can look like interrupting, raising your voice, attacking someone personally, dismissing their view, or dragging up old disputes. Often, the impulse beneath it is fear of being judged, exposed as inadequate, or abandoned.

When you feel that impulse, pause and let the other person’s words fall rather than grabbing them and throwing them back. Take a breath, remind yourself, “Put it down,” and get curious about what may be driving their words. You can give someone the benefit of the doubt without deciding that their behavior was acceptable. To reduce the other person’s defensiveness, speak from your own perspective rather than accusing them with “you,” replace accusatory “why” questions with “what,” “when,” or “how,” and acknowledge something before offering your own view. You might say, “I’ve learned this subject is important to you,” or simply, “That’s helpful to know.” Acknowledgment is not agreement; it is evidence that you have heard them.

When a difficult conversation is necessary, prepare before it begins. Set aside private, undistracted time, and ask whether the other person has the capacity or bandwidth to talk. A specific proposed time is more useful than “Got a second?” Give the discussion enough room, especially if the subject is sensitive. At the start, resist the urge to hide the purpose behind small talk. People can often sense that something is wrong, and cheerful pleasantries may feel more evasive than kind. Name the reality plainly: “This is going to be difficult to hear,” or “I have something uncomfortable to share.” Then lead with your main point instead of making the other person wait through a long explanation to discover it. Clarity gives them less uncertainty to struggle with.

The same care matters when someone brings a difficult subject to you. Fisher recalls his young son admitting that he had cut a hole in a new shirt to test whether scissors would cut it. Rather than scolding him for coming forward, Fisher asked what he had learned, thanked him for telling the truth, and helped him understand what to do next time. The exchange made it easier for his son to approach him again. When someone trusts you with difficult news, begin by showing that you value their openness: “I’m glad you came to me with this,” or “Thank you for telling me.” Ask a question that keeps the attention on their experience, such as, “How are you feeling about that?” If you have something from your own experience to offer, ask permission before sharing it. Being a safe space does not require pretending everything is fine. It means letting the other person speak without immediately redirecting the conversation to yourself, judging them, or telling them what to do.

Difficult conversations cannot always be made comfortable, but they can be made clearer and more respectful. Set the time, say what the conversation is about, and offer your main point directly. Then make room for the other person’s perspective, acknowledging what they share even when you do not agree. The aim is not to force an outcome, but to meet the struggle honestly and leave space for understanding.