Stop the Shouting

Dads’ survival guide: partnering — our relationships

The cricket is back. In our house. And he’s mad.

His TRILLLLLLL is loud. Super loud. And relentless. All-day long relentless. Loud. Relentless. And incredibly annoying. Worst of all, he’s invisible. Nobody can find this cricket. Not for lack of trying. We’ve searched. EVERYWHERE.

Maybe the Hurricane warnings spooked him. Perhaps the cricket had unfinished business. With us. So, he’s been chirping away. First, downstairs. Then the living room. The kitchen. This is one bold, outrageous orthopteran.

In our household, cricket’s not the only loud one. There’s plenty of chirping among the Smith kids. More like yelling. Shouting. Hollering. From us parents, as well. At the kids. Or occasionally, one another.

I don’t want to raise my voice. But I find myself doing so. A lot. Too much. Guessing I’m not the only Dad with this issue.

Shouting feels necessary. To get my message across. Because nobody’s listening to me. And therein, lies the bugaboo. Desperate to get our message across, Dads start barking. Bellowing. In harsh, angry tones. That can be hurtful. Harmful. Lasting. For our kids. And especially our wives.

Lots of Yelling

Seems like yelling is commonplace, nowadays. People hollering. At one another. Loud. Relentless. Dialogs have become dissertations. Conversations, confrontations.

National politics. State govt. Local School Boards. Company Town Halls. Vax, no vax. Masks, no masks. Health mandates. Curriculum choices. Workplace rules.

Not just the volume. The intensity. The heated nature. Red-faced, visceral scream-fests. As if the stakes are fatal. For everything. Dismissive, disdainful discourse. With neither party hearing one another. Or for that matter, bothering to listen.

How did we get to this point? Why do people feel compelled to yell? At one another. When the yelling doesn’t work.

Confidence

First, we’re overconfident.

According to Robert Greene in his landmark book The Laws of Human Nature, we all think we’re better than most. More intelligent. Logical. Rational. Objective. Enlightened. Moral. Yep, all of us. Dads included. Believing we’re above average. On so many dimensions. Not tops. But, high on the curve. Which is great. And of course, a statistical impossibility.

This feeling of superiority impacts our perspectives. Our position on situations. All situations. A sense that we’re right. Mostly. And others are wrong. Mostly. Which is no surprise when we consider ourselves smarter, more principled, and totally unbiased.

Dads demonstrate this overconfidence at work. The ballfields. Fantasy football. And the home front. Especially, the home front. Ask our wives.

Conversely, we’re underconfident about influencing others.

In her book You Have More Influence than You Think, Cornell’s Dr. Vanessa Bohns notes a number of studies, “Have revealed people’s tendency toward underconfidence in the social domain.”

Research shows that we underestimate our social abilities with family, friends, or strangers. Connecting. Building bonds. Coaxing. Cajoling. Persuading. Gaining trust. Insecurity about communicating our point of view in a meaningful and impactful way.

Overconfident in our positions. Underconfident in our ability to influence.

According to Dr. Bohns, “Together, these two seemingly contradictory, but actually complementary, sets of findings create a perfect storm that leads to shouting.”

The Shouting Storm

Because of our perceived lack of influence, we overcompensate. With overly assertive language. Shouting. When we feel others are not listening. Or more likely, not complying.

We take on an authoritative tone. Commanding. Directing. Telling others what to do. And how to do it. Especially when the stakes are high. When Dads believe the stakes are high. Which at home, is most of the time.

Except, shouting doesn’t work.

“We know from research on persuasion,” writes Dr. Bohns, “That [shouting] is the exact wrong thing to do if you want to persuade someone.”

Dads, raising our voices. To sway others. Convince them. Persuade. By yelling. Shouting.

The exact wrong thing to do. Ask our wives.

No Need to Shout

Dads are yelling for the wrong reasons. And yelling doesn’t work. Okay, simple solution. Stop yelling.

If only life was that easy. Bad habits are hard to break. Better for us Dads to go a step at a time.

First, consider our roles as Fathers. If we want to build better relationships with our wives and kids, Dads need to get off our high horse. Adopt some humility.

We’re not always right. Nor do we have all the answers. For every home-front situation. Additionally, Dads don’t always hold the moral high ground. Knowing our rap sheet of sins and transgressions, we should realize we’re on equal footing with others. Especially our wives.

With a modicum of modesty, Dads can address the other side of the coin. Patience.

According to Dr. Bohns, ”Our arguments, advice, and appeals would actually be more effective if we made them a little gentler.”

Hey Dads, our words are not falling on deaf ears. People hear us. Even when they don’t seem like they’re listening. They’re absorbing what we had to say. Processing our message. Pondering. Contemplating.

So, there’s no need to repeat ourselves. Again. And again. Or raise our voice. Louder. And louder. Which only distracts from what we’re trying to convey.

Instead, just say what we have to say. In a calm, gentle, reasonable tone. Then be patient.

Humility. And patience. Two basics. For better engagement with our kids. And our wives. Particularly with our wives. Part of loving our family. And Dads are aces at that.

Go, Dads. Go.

PS: We found the cricket. My youngest spotted him. And to everyone’s astonishment, the super loud, relentless cricket was the size of an ant. No kidding. The loudest cricket on the planet was tiny. Teeny, tiny. Hard to believe something so small could be sooooo noisy. And disruptive.

We were happy to see the cricket go. But not before he snuck in a friend. Ugggh.