When we learn an approach like Motivational Interviewing, we become comfortable asking “How ready is this person for change?” But how often do we stop and ask ourselves “How ready am I for this person?” 

So often we are trying to have meaningful conversations with a head full of distractions. What we plan to say next, our fears, our hopes, the ongoing assessment of risk. The last appointment, the next appointment, our manager asking us to “pop into their office when we have a minute’. The targets, the documenting, the awareness that any or all of this could end up in a court case. The lack of sleep, the argument we just had with our partner, the sick parent. The lack of housing, the discontinuation of that support program, global crises. It can all take us away from being truly present.

It helps to have strategies for when we catch ourselves drifting. Reorient into our body and senses. Remember our intention. Reconnect with the human in front of us. Acknowledge the lapse and rewind the conversation a moment. 

And perhaps it is what we do in the five minutes before the conversation starts that might really make a difference. In the gym we warm up before our workout. We start our piano practice with scales. We wash or chop the ingredients before we start to cook. The preparation helps us to be ready to move into more complex skills. 

Losing focus is normal, it’s human, it will happen. We can also make room for the other person to be distracted by their own world of competing priorities and pressures. And drawing on the wisdom of Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, we can simply try to “smile, breathe and go slowly.” 

Conversations about change take many unexpected turns, including what seem like dead ends or uncertainty about where to go next. The ability to be present, hold the space and truly partner with the other person as a co-pilot supports us to navigate these moments.

It also helps to know our back-up dancers – solid, generalisable, open questions that can be dropped into a wide range of conversations, without feeling forced or derailing the other person’s train of thought. They’re also a good alternative when we are burning to dive into advice or problem-solving.

Go to questions can help us structure common situations. For example, when we first meet someone, we can ask “What’s your understanding of what’s happening?” or “How do you feel about coming in here?”

Stepping stone questions allow us to follow a thread. For example, if the person gives us a reason for change, we can ask “And why does that matter to you?” And keep going. So exercise might be about having more energy, more energy might be about being there for family, and being there for family might be about connection. Now exercise is not simply sensible, it’s about love.

Check in questions do a broad sweep to locate where we are and recalibrate as needed. For example, if we’re wondering if it’s time to move on, we can ask “What have we missed?” or “What haven’t I asked that might also be important here?”

One of my favourite back-up dancers is the hypothetical question. It’s a lovely way to open up possibility without pressure. For example, “Let’s say it’s a year’s time and you’ve made this change. What might feel good about that?” Or “What’s most likely to have made you decide to make the change?” Or “How are you most likely to have been successful?”

Different roles and different conversations will suit different back-up dancers. But if you know who’s waiting in the wings, it’s easier to invite them into the arena when they would be most helpful.

We live in a culture that glorifies big – big news, big achievements, big reactions alongside the big houses, cars, salaries and titles. Whispers come back from those who achieve the biggest things that maybe it didn’t change that much for them but the drive for more rolls on. And if you’re in a helping role, chances are the big things are not that common. Problems aren’t perfectly resolved, housing isn’t suddenly affordable and your own bank balance is still looking pretty lean.

If we’re too focused on the big, we can miss the small for both ourselves and others. Yet the small is where the real depth often lies. They are the individual beats and notes that make the music of our lives.

It might be a sensation – the sight of a playful puppy, the first smell of spring, a wholehearted hug, a friend’s laughter, an apricot that tastes like an apricot. Or an emotion that fills us from within like an overflowing cup. Or a moment of connection – of seeing and being seen, a comfortable silence, a shared hope. Or a memory that lets us relive that experience all over again.

When we tune into these moments, the spaces between the big things becomes a richer landscape. And when we support others to do the same, we reinforce the safety net the holds and replenishes them as they navigate the challenges of their lives.

One of the problems with funding models is that they can turn everything into a flowchart. We want systematic service delivery, with clear observable steps, key performance indicators and accountability built in. The tax payer deserves to know what their money is being spent on after all.

The trouble is that neither change, nor conversations about change, tend to follow the course outlined in those tidy pathways. It tends to be more fluid, more iterative and a whole lot messier.

Sometimes change is a plodding grind, tiny step after tiny step. Sometimes it leaps and crashes like a manic ballerina, or false starts like a unreliable lawnmower. Or darts in all directions like a hamster on amphetamines or slips on and off the path like a drunken snake. It might come in the form of a proud march toward victory or seemingly nothing before all the work beneath the surface pays off in a sudden, unexpected and dramatic transformation. Or a combination of some or all of the above or something entirely different.

Flowcharts are like the picture of a frozen meal on the outside of the cardboard box, an idealised representation, unlikely to be what you see when you open the lid. Luckily the nature of change is far more fascinating than that meal is likely to be. And if we can tune into this particular person’s rhythm, it might be easier to join them on their pathway.

We get into this work because we want to see people experience change for the better. Let’s face it, we love it. It might be when someone recovers from life-threatening illness or secures housing, when they take a risk to look after themselves better or pursue a dream, when they feel less tormented, more resourced, more supported or accept themselves that little bit more.

But the change we want to see starts with us. After all, we’re the only person in this equation that we have control over, and that control can feel tenuous at the best of times. It might be one thing we do that’s not fully aligned with our values. Perhaps we don’t feel as skilled as we could be in a certain area or a shortcut we know we often make. Maybe there is an area of knowledge we have skated over with superficial understanding, hoping it’s enough.

If we’re not careful, however, the list begins with a thoughtful observation and finishes with a tsunami of desired improvements that can overwhelm us or leave us feeling like we just don’t measure up. And then we try to tackle too many things at once or become paralysed by how much work we feel we need to do.

We want to keep growing at a sustainable pace, like a garden in rhythm with the seasons. Sometimes the changes may be hard to perceive from one day to the next. Other times we might have bursts of growth when we’re nourished and rested. Most of the time we just need one small step that moves us forward. And we can decide on the next step after that.

If we take on too much or try to grow in too many directions, we can use a lot of energy without getting all that much back for it. So we try again. Or try harder. Or try something else. Or stop trying.

It can help to take a step back from the specifics to clarify the essence of our intention. When we distill a current priority down to one word, it can become an anchor for a year, for a month, for today or just ‘for now’.

It might be a skill you want to practice – to listen, ask or reflect. Or a quality you want to embody – curiosity, respect or acceptance. Or the kind of relationship you want to foster with yourself and others – gentle, honest or brave. Or a habit you want to cultivate – to take action, say no or say yes. Or an aspiration you want to cultivate – adventure, connection or joy. Or perhaps it’s a word that gently brings you back to earth when it all feels a bit much – sufficient, messy or human.

We often talk about the importance of holding space in this work. That it’s often not so much what we do, but how we create the environment where the other person can do what they need to do. With support, with guidance, with instruction if needed.

We talk less about what we are holding in that space. Trauma, yes. Suffering, of course. Optimism and hope, absolutely. But we also hold things that contradict and fight each other. Things that wriggle and resist and refuse to sit still. Things that are heavy and light, pulsing with energy, screaming with rage and stone cold silent.

We hold opposites and truths that cannot coexist and yet here we are, balancing them together. We hold the impossible, the unknown and the things that could never ever change. Until they do.

We need to learn to rest in this space, this place of transformation. And we need to take the time to rest away from it. To recover, to hold nothing, so we are ready to hold the next universe of stories and contradictions.

Sometimes we just don’t have the time, energy or need for deeper work. It can also be good to have rhythms within the work where the pauses and small moments become just as valuable as the big ones.

Perhaps it’s a moment of reconnecting with intention, or with the other person, or with ourselves. Perhaps a moment of lightness or humour, or a moment of faith we’re on a meaningful path. It may be a moment of stepping back and appreciating how far we have come or marvelling at the absurdities of life. Or it just may be a moment to be.

One of the best investments we can ever make is in people. Their role doesn’t matter so much – client, coworker, manager, student – because that changes. But the layer beneath, the more enduring heartbeat of who they are as humans, that’s something. Really something.

The best way to invest isn’t praise, or advice, or advocacy, or even encouragement, even though we may do some or all of those from time to time. It doesn’t come from a place of wise knowing or superiority. We have not been ordained the host at the party making sure everyone is being looked after and we’re not the mother duck shepherding the ducklings across the busy street. Because those roles make us separate, unequal, and ultimately more alone.

Rather, it’s about how we see people and how people feel seen. It’s about paying attention, noticing what people are made of, looking past the immediate situation to discover their hopes, their values and the ways they make a difference.

Perhaps your version is brimming with energy and consensual hugs. Perhaps you’re more aloof, but your succinct insights are remembered for years. Perhaps you share your observations more through actions than words. Perhaps you’re eloquent or goofy, solemn or playful, speaking from the head of the table or from a quiet corner.

And to truly see someone, we also need to allow ourselves to be seen. It’s a two-way process because their capacity to notice and invest and build up the people around them is part of who they are too.

When we enter helping professions, one thing we’re often not ready for is that clients aren’t always ready for us. We’ve worked hard to learn knowledge and techniques only to find they fall flat in the gap between where the person is at and where they could be.

Perhaps they agree there is a problem but aren’t ready for the hard work of making change. Or someone else thinks they have a problem but they’re not sure or don’t think it’s under their control. And it doesn’t help that what we’re suggesting is often the equivalent of telling people to take a pill five or twenty times a day, and that pill is the size of a watermelon, bitter and hard to chew. What we offer usually isn’t fun.

Some workers put this back on the clients – they’re not ready and there’s nothing I can do – or blame them – they’re resistant or non compliant. Some take the responsibility on to themselves – I’m incompetent or need to try harder. Some will blame the system – it’s unrealistic, underfunded or uncaring.

I’m often asked “How long should I hang in there when a client isn’t ready?” My honest answer is “I don’t know”. I never knew. But the best I could offer is “longer than you think and not so long that you create an allergy to helpers”.

We sometimes need to hold the optimism for the other person until they’re able to believe in it themselves. And if it isn’t the right time to make change – and sometimes it just isn’t – we want to give the person an experience of feeling heard, respected and valued so that, if they become more ready in the future, they would be willing to seek help again.