Stay Connected
Sign up to receive our newsletter straight to your mailbox.
Thank you! Your submission has been received!
Oops! Something went wrong while submitting the form.
(Ed. Note: This post brings our first co-author aboard, Chris Cowan. Find out more about him at the end of this article.)
Every relationship runs on expectations no one explicitly agreed to. You might expect your partner to tell you when something's bothering them. Or you assume your perspective will be heard before a colleague makes a decision that affects you.
These implicit expectations usually work well enough that we hardly notice them. But when they don't, one person may feel let down while the other feels blindsided: "I didn't realize that mattered so much to you." We only see the gap between our expectations when one of us falls into it.
How do we respond when this happens? Maybe we stew and judge. Or we drop a hint and hope it's picked up how we intended. Or perhaps we silently lower our expectations in defeat.
There's another possibility, though it may sound strange for something so personal: make a rule together. After all, you can't fairly hold anyone to an expectation that stays in your head. Actually say what you each want, then agree on what you'll do the next time the situation comes up. That's the difference between an expectation and a relational agreement.
A relational agreement, as we mean it here, is an explicit, ongoing commitment between two or more people about how they'll interact: specific things each will do, or hold off doing, under conditions you've made clear.
That may seem absurdly mechanical for a minor disappointment, but here is an example from my marriage (this is Chris speaking) that shows what an agreement can do that a hint or a grudge can't.
When I first started dating my wife, we had busy schedules and little time to connect during the day. When I asked "How was your day?" she'd often say things like "Oh, fine," or "Good." I had the same habit. When I was asked, I usually assumed the other person was being polite and so I gave a polite one-word answer back. Courteous, but no real contact.
But that's not what I wanted with her. I actually wanted to hear about her day. So when she'd say "It was fine," I started saying things like, "Glad to hear it! Do you have any details you can share, or do you not want to get into it right now?" That worked OK, but I got tired of asking for more details every time.
Then it occurred to me: what if we just made an agreement like, "When asked about your day, you can't reply with just 'Fine' or 'Good.' Either give some details, or say you don't want to talk about it right now." If we had that kind of agreement, I reasoned, it would make requesting elaboration easier, and I would also feel more welcome to share.
So we talked about it, I explained my reasoning, and she agreed. And as simple as it sounds, it's been great.
Of course we forget the rule sometimes. That's part of the point. The agreement makes it easy to remind each other, playfully: "Nope, try again. You can't just say fine." No awkwardness, no wondering whether I'm being pushy.
This changed more than just how we answered. It changed what the relationship could hold, because we could be more direct with each other once the terms were settled.
The specifics really matter given how unique everyone is, but potential agreements like this are everywhere once you look. For example:
Three roommates each agree to wash their own dishes.
Parents and children agree to say "please" to each other when asking for things.
Hans agrees that when Lorraine gets home from work, he closes his laptop for twenty minutes and they catch up.
These don't need to be weighty or elaborate. Each simply replaces a recurring friction with something everyone involved can count on explicitly.
Some agreements, of course, work better than others. The good ones tend to have some things in common.
It names behavior, not an abstract quality. "I'd like you to be more considerate" may be a fine starting point, but it isn't an agreement; it's a wish aimed at an ideal. How would either of you know whether it was kept? An agreement specifies something a person can do, and that both of you can see was done or not.
For example, asking someone to "take a deep breath" is clearer than asking them to "calm down." Or requesting that the other person "respond to my suggestions, even if you disagree" is more specific than "respect my opinions." The first of each pair describes a behavior, and the second something more abstract. Notions like principles or values make poor agreements, because two people who agree, in principle, might put it into practice in opposite-looking ways, both sincerely.
Feelings make poor agreements too. "I'll never get upset when you're late" depends on a feeling the person may not control. "If I'm upset, I'll tell you instead of pretending everything's fine" gives them an action to take.
It says what you'll do, or what you won't. Some agreements commit you to an action: "If I have suggestions, I'll check whether you want to hear them first." Some commit you to hold off: "If you say you don't want suggestions, I won't ask again." Both are commitments, one to do something and one to refrain.
It says who. Your part and theirs don't need to be identical. "When I want to vent without getting advice, I'll say so" and "When you tell me that, I'll listen without offering suggestions" give each person a part. What matters is that it's clear who does, or doesn't do, what.
It says when. "When you come home from work." "During meetings." "If we disagree." The condition does two jobs. It makes the agreement checkable, and it keeps the agreement from swallowing the whole relationship. A particular condition works better than "always" or "never." Absolutes make an agreement easier to break and usually more restrictive than anyone actually needs.
If an agreement only works when someone remembers at exactly the right moment, it may need a better design.
It's as specific as necessary, and no more. "Each roommate cleans up" leaves everyone wondering what counts as up. "Each roommate cleans their own plates, silverware, cups, and mugs" might invite conflict over pots and pans. "Each roommate cleans their own dishes" is enough for three people to agree to, and to notice when it slips. The right level of detail is just what the people involved need in order to say yes and mean it.
You sense the possibility for an agreement when you notice a recurring pattern: "this again?" Like when an expectation keeps going unmet in a way that matters. Hinting hasn't worked. This familiar experience could be telling you it's time to rethink the situation in terms of an agreement. The question isn't whether this is the normal way to handle the situation. It's whether it addresses the difficulty you're actually having.
You can start by making room for the conversation: "There's something I'd like to work out with you; do you have a few minutes?" Then explain what you've noticed and what you'd like to be different. You might propose an agreement saying, "Could we agree to…?" Treat what you say next as a starting point, not a finished solution that only needs their sign-off.
That's partly because the other person may see the situation differently. It's also because their yes only means something if they can say no. You can be disappointed by a no. But if you'd hold a no against them, you're making a demand followed by a question mark. You may get compliance without getting an agreement the other person intends to keep.
Getting a no to your proposal doesn’t necessarily mean they’re unwilling to work something out. "I can't promise to put my phone away the whole time, but I'll put it face down and leave it there until we're done" tells you what the other person can offer. Then you can see whether their offer addresses what mattered to you and respond.
The same honesty matters when you're the one being asked. Don't say yes just to be nice or to escape an awkward conversation. Ask yourself whether you could keep the agreement on a day when you're tired and busy. If not, offer something more workable. Saying "sure, fine" just to end the conversation isn't consent, even if it sounds like it. Only commit to what you expect yourself to keep.
The agreement exists from the moment each of you has explicitly said yes. Before that, what you've got is a draft proposal.
Sometimes the conversation resolves the difficulty without producing an agreement at all. Perhaps the other person hadn't realized what was bothering you, or you learn something that changes how you see the situation. If the tension is gone, there's no need to manufacture a rule.
But if you do arrive at something you can each say yes to, write it somewhere you can both refer to it. Two lines in a shared note is plenty. Our memories are fallible, and a written line settles "what did we actually agree to?" before that becomes an additional source of conflict.
The other person's yes is one way to distinguish an agreement from a boundary.
A boundary is a commitment to yourself that doesn't require anyone else's consent: "My phone is off after nine, and I don't respond to messages until the next morning." You can tell someone about it, but you don't need them to agree before you do it.
If you want them to play an active part, though, you need to ask. You might ask them not to text after nine. Or you might be fine with texts arriving, provided they don't complain when you answer in the morning. The boundary is yours to hold. Once they've said yes, the two of you are keeping an agreement together.
An agreement stays in force until one of you says otherwise. That's its main value: nobody has to bring it up each time it applies. You can count on what you decided together.
But that also means you shouldn't quietly stop doing your part. Either of you can end an agreement without the other's permission. Still, the other person needs to know when something they've been counting on is about to change. "I'm going to stop doing the twenty-minute catch-up; can we talk about what to replace it with?" is a renegotiation. Simply not showing up for the catch-up without notice is a broken agreement.
So renegotiate before you deviate. An agreement that made sense when you created it may not work quite as you expected. Treat agreements like the rules of a game you are both playing and designing with each other. It's only by playing that you discover what a rule does. Some agreements work from the start; others need to be refined before they do what you made them for.
And some work so well that the behaviors have become a habit. You may eventually decide together that you no longer need the agreement to maintain them.
Expect it. Habits are strong, attention lapses, and life gets busy. What matters is what you do with the break, and three practices handle most of it.
Own up to it. If you notice that you've broken an agreement, don't wait for the other person to bring it up. Tell them what happened and find out what, if anything, you need to do to make it right.
Bring it up. If you think the other person broke an agreement, don't let it fester. Bring it as an inquiry rather than an accusation: "I thought we'd agreed to put our phones away during dinner. Did you understand it differently?" They may have understood either the agreement or the event differently. Find out before deciding what the break means. An apology given under pressure doesn't actually do the work of a sincere one. Don't try to coerce them.
Be willing to look. If someone brings a possible break to you, take it seriously. If you broke the agreement, acknowledge it and make it right. If you don't see it that way, explain what happened from your perspective and ask about theirs. You may need to clarify what happened, or you may discover that the agreement itself wasn't as clear as you thought.
The response can be as small as the break. Sometimes "Nope, try again" is enough of a playful nudge. But when a broken agreement has caused harm, the way back is a repair conversation, and those can take time to get right.
A broken agreement costs something, and pretending it doesn't is how trust erodes. Handle it well, and soon, and trust grows instead. It can also help you learn something about how to refine the agreement so it works better. An agreement that has been broken, mended, and adjusted when needed is usually sturdier than one that's never been tested.
These agreements aren't limited to personal relationships. But at work, we need to distinguish them from expectations that come with the job.
"Document your client calls by the end of the day" is a job expectation, and the job description is where it belongs. Required standards of conduct can also sound like relational agreements, but they have a different basis: they're conditions of employment, they apply whether or not two colleagues agree to them, and there's usually a process for handling violations.
Other difficulties arise simply because people have to share a workplace. A colleague leaves the microwave filthy. Another takes calls at a volume the whole floor can hear. Neither is about the quality of their work, but each affects what it's like to work alongside them. This is the kind of situation relational agreements are made for.
For readers whose organization runs on Holacracy, where relational agreements have a formal definition, I (Chris) have written about how they fit the constitution.
Relational agreements don't replace roles or policies; they complement them. Roles say what the organization expects in terms of the processes and products of our work. Agreements say how we, as people, treat each other in the midst of doing our jobs.
Why go to the trouble of making an agreement about something that might seem small? Because small things can add up. Chris and his wife didn't just change how they answer "How was your day?" They shared an experience of successfully clarifying expectations they could reference when faced with different situations in the future.
Most of the time we think about a relationship in terms of the individuals in it. But a relationship is also a thing with a history of its own. Making agreements, mending them when broken, and refining them as needed are ways to care for it directly. This is how a relationship develops memory, structure, and the capacity to handle the various situations life can bring.
None of this means formalizing everything. Most of what a good relationship runs on stays unspoken, and should. An agreement is for the thing that isn't working that way: an expectation that isn't satisfied, or the conversation you're tired of rehashing. Instead of hinting and hoping, discuss it plainly. Once you get to yes, write it down, and then go enjoy the relationship. That's what the agreement was for.
Chris Cowan is a consultant, expert in Holacracy and peer-to-peer collaboration, and author of the substack Making Rules Matter. His earlier article Understanding Relational Agreements covers how relational agreements work within the context of organizations who have adopted the Holacracy Constitution v5. This collaborative article was conceived in part as a complement to his, but for a more general audience.
