Too Busy for Your Own Good (35 page)

If the unresponsive person would rather leave than talk with you, you can very casually and firmly say or do the following:

“No, not now, I still have a few things on my mind.”

Wait them out until the time limit you set earlier. “I have twenty minutes to discuss this with you, so I'll wait while you gather your thoughts.”

Pay attention to out-the-door comments. Therapists know the last ten minutes of a therapeutic hour is when all the good stuff comes out.

Reschedule the conversation, “It seems like we can't go anywhere with this right now. Let's pick up tomorrow between 10 and 11. Let me know if this is
not
a good time.”

After several attempts, tell them what you're going to do. “I am going to write a report as to what I believe is happening and what can be done. If you don't respond, I'll assume you agree, and we will meet in one month to check on progress.”

My horse-training mentor has a favorite saying: “Get your go and get your whoa.” When you get control of the horse's “go” and “stop,” you'll be in charge and stay out of danger. Even after millions of years of evolution, being a prey animal, the horse runs first and asks questions later. Due to its
size and power, a horse's “stop” needs to be absolute and unquestioned.

My American Quarter Horse mare, Maggie, is so young and fit that all I have to do is gently squeeze her with my calves like a toothpaste tube for her to go. The “stop” needed work. If she is “spooked,” she can go from zero to forty in a split second. I like speed as much as the next cowgirl, but this may be leading us right
into
danger. Once she's bolting, forget about yelling “whoa,” sitting deep in the saddle, or pulling on the reins—I need an emergency hand brake! The only way to stop a four-legged, half-ton crackhead from killing both of us is to disengage the motor.

The power in a horse is the hind end, and quarter horses have the biggest butts of all the breeds. My skinny little arms are no match for all that muscle—but my brain is. I was taught to grab one rein as close to her mouth as possible and pull steadily toward where the side seam of my jeans meets the waistband. She responds by disengaging her back end (the motor), turning, and slowing to a stop.

When I was learning this maneuver, I put duct tape at the ultimate spot on each rein so that I could program my brain. I practiced
hundreds
of times in many different situations until it was an ingrained response. Now, in that split second between her panicked intake of breath and the missile launch, I automatically reach and pull.

My friend Jim Grigsby reminds me of a crucial step
after
you deal with a difficult person, the post-battle analysis. Jim suggests asking yourself these key questions.

Did I cause the problem? (by not knowing enough about the other person)

Did I create the environment that allowed it to flourish? (by ignoring the problem, hoping it would go away)

What was the cause of the crisis? (a lack of communication, bad information)

How did I respond to each event or stage? (learning when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em)

Can this situation be prevented in the future? (learn a new skill and practice before the crisis)

What can I learn from this experience? (you are able to take care of yourself and stay out of danger)