Abe

Whatever state you are in walks into the room with you. Tired, annoyed, braced for a fight, they will feel it before you have finished your first sentence, whatever words you chose.

So the work starts with you. Not to calm down, but to know what you are actually carrying and decide whether you want to bring it.

This is why I ask how you are doing before I ask what you want to say.

You already know what you want out of this. You have probably run it a dozen times in your head. What you likely have not worked out is what they want, or what they are afraid of, or why they said the thing that landed badly.

Get curious about that first. Not as a tactic. Because you might be wrong about them, and it is better to find out now.

This is why I ask about them before we get anywhere near your words.

Being honest is not the same as saying whatever you think. Honesty is a blunt instrument which bloodies more than it cuts. Earn the right to say the hard thing by listening first, then say it in a way that serves them and not just you.

And say it in your own words. A script is a stranger's words in your mouth, and people can tell.

This is why I will not write it for you.

• The one with your dad you have been meaning to have for two years.
• Your son answers in one word now, and you cannot remember when that started.
• The friend you drifted from, where enough time has passed that reaching out feels like it needs an explanation.
• Telling your sister that the comments about your job actually land, without turning Christmas into a thing.
• Asking for the promotion without sounding like you are demanding it.
• Telling someone on your team their work is not good enough, when you like them.

You usually know what you want to say. That is not the problem.

You tell Abe what is going on. In your own words, however messy.

Then it asks about you. What state you are in, what you are afraid of, what you are protecting. This is the part people find annoying at first, because you came here to work out what to say and it is asking how you feel.

It matters because whatever you are carrying walks in with you. Braced, resentful, apologetic in advance. They will feel it before you finish your first sentence, whatever words you picked.

Then it asks about them. Not to be strategic. Because you might be wrong about what they want or what they are afraid of, and it is better to find that out now than halfway through.

Only then do you get to the words. By that point you usually already know them.

It will not write it for you. You can ask. It will not. A script in someone else's words sounds like someone else's words, and people can tell. What you get is your own sentence, worked out properly.

It will not tell you the other person is wrong. It only ever heard your side. Anyone who confidently characterises someone they have never met is guessing.

It will not tell you to have the conversation. Sometimes the right answer is not now, or not at all. That is your call.

It is not therapy. It is not a crisis service. If something is bigger than a conversation, it will say so rather than coach you through it.

Most hard conversations are not one conversation. The thing with your sister is the fourth attempt in eight months. The one with your dad you have started twice and changed the subject.

So Abe keeps the situations you are working on. When you come back, it knows what you decided last time and can ask how it went. Over enough of them it starts to notice things you would not, like the same worry showing up with your manager, your sister and your landlord, in almost the same words.

That is the part that takes a while. It is also the part that changes anything.