The Universe must be trying to tell me something. While I am adept at using both head and heart in working with clients, I’ve failed miserably with my family. After the second blow-up with a family member in less than 24 hours, my husband said:

"You seem to get along with your clients, but when it comes to family, it’s another story."

Oh, my. Yes, oh, my.  When I’m with family, my head seems to take precedence over my heart. You would think it would be the other way around. But that’s not how I’m wired, nor is it how I was raised. (And you expected something different from engineers?)

Two cases in point. The first with my husband, who is forever getting his feelings hurt by my "logic trumps all" mindset. Doctor and dentist appointments are the domain of my husband. He makes them for our sons and takes them to their appointments. Before school ended, I found a sheet of paper on the kitchen table, outlining new immunizations required for 10th graders before they can start school in the fall.

My mind immediately sounds the alarm. Ding, ding, ding! Red alert! My husband has stacks of papers where the important stuff waits patiently until it rises to the top of the pile. Would this particular sheet of paper make it to the top in time to get an appointment at the pediatrician before the start of school? I gave it a 25% chance. So I tell my husband, "Hey, Casey needs to get an immunization before school starts or they won’t let him in school. Can you make an appointment for him?"

To my ears, it makes perfect sense. No need to pussyfoot about whose job it is or whether I’ve approached this collaboratively. To my husband, it’s the boss telling the direct report, "You need to take action on this."  Which makes him NOT want to do it. It gets even worse when I ask a week later whether it’s been done. That’s another story for another time.

The point is, I have forgotten to use my heart. For those of you who have trouble seeing what that would look like (yes, I needed some coaching from my husband on this), it would look like this: "Wow, I just found out that Casey needs to have an immunization before school starts.  And I’m concerned that he won’t be able to get an appointment in time. How should we handle this?"

Second case in point. One of my siblings called me last night to see if I could pick her up from an outpatient surgery that she was having this week at a large hospital. It’s a minor procedure that required less than an hour. (Can you hear my head taking precedence?) Another family member was able to drop her off but she needed a ride home. She asked for time from 9am-10am. Technically, I was free–after a call with a client and before needing to leave to take my son and his friends to a "fun center" for his birthday. (Four hours of laser tag, miniature golf, pizza, cake, and a video arcade. It’s where you go when you are too old for Chuck E Cheese’s and too young for Dave and Buster’s.) After figuring out the logistics, ("fifteen minutes there, five minutes to find my sister, fifteen minutes back"), I said what was true for me.

"It would be a bit hectic. Have you asked Mary?"

The ensuing outburst and drama took me by surprise. No need to go further other than to say that I had forgotten to listen to my heart, that my sibling was asking for something that meant a lot to her, and to which I had been oblivious.

When I told my husband what had happened, he replied, "I can understand how she would feel like nobody cares. When I came home yesterday with injuries to my foot from the baseball game, I felt like no one cared." I remember asking him if he needed anything, but that obviously wasn’t the point. My head was in the game, but my heart wasn’t. He felt it. Just like my sibling felt it.

One of my lessons in life has been knowing the right balance of head and heart for the moment at hand. Sometimes we need one more than the other. I often err on the side of the head and I’ve seen others err on the side of the heart. We need both.

To my husband’s credit, he has figured out that while my intentions are not unkind, they aren’t always kind either. Efficiency and execution aren’t about kindness. And he’s willing to live with that. I lucked out in having a husband who tries to teach an old dog new tricks and is willing to wait an eternity for those new habits to take hold. I’ll keep trying.