Anyone who knows me knows I’m a little bit obsessed with Bank of America’s call center. I’m always struck by how calm and compassionate the folks there are whenever I lose my credit card (and yes, it’s happened more than once). I get connected to them, and what they say is simple yet profound. And—stay with me here—I think we could all use their incredible technique in our everyday lives with our loved ones.

It goes something like this: I explain the situation, and they respond not with judgment—“ABBY!?! You lost it again?”—but with empathy: “I’m sorry.”  Then comes containment and curiosity: “Tell me what happened?”  And finally, the most important part exploring with action: “How can we help? Do you want us to close down this card and order you a new one, or were you just calling to let us know?”

It’s always the same rhythm:

• I’m so sorry that happened.

• Tell me everything.

• How can I help, or did you just want to let us know?

  
  

There’s a quiet dignity in that kind of service. No blame, no defense, no frustration—just presence, patience, and help. It’s so simple. Yet when we’re talking to the people we love most—our parents, partners, children, friends—we often default to justification, defense, anger, or blame. Those three BoA sentences can sometimes feel impossible, and I get it. The person pulling up my file might see that I’ve called before (maybe more than once) and could easily be frustrated—why can’t I just seem to hold on to my card? But in that moment, when I’m calling, I’m the one who needs an ear. I’m stressed, worried about theft, and most likely already in a shame spiral. What I need is someone to listen without judgment. Does any of this sound familiar?

When our people come to us with a problem, complaint, something hard to share, remember the Bank of America call center folks and their excellent customer service. May we all feel so held in our difficult conversations.