The Fastest Way to Get What You Want

I’ve been doing a lot of in-the-moment crisis de-escalation lately. And what keeps standing out to me is how difficult it can be for us to articulate our needs, our wants, our fears, and our desires.

Desire, in particular, doesn’t come naturally to a lot of us. Complaints on the other hand, are easy flowing, on tap, ready to go anytime day or night. They spew out of us like firehoses pushing what we want further and further away.

I’m seeing this clearly in this news cycle. I’m seeing it in my own life. In strained relationships and misunderstandings. And what I know to be true underneath all of it is that we have far more in common than we have differences.

Our fundamental needs, our deepest desires for love, belonging, connection, and security, are the same.

That truth was made abundantly clear to me while working on the suicide crisis hotline. Call after call, the same themes surfaced: feelings of isolation, feelings of being a burden, feelings of despair, over and over again.

These are the same themes we see reflected in the news. The same themes that show up in our personal lives and in our most intimate conversations with the people we love.

And yet, so many of us were never really taught how to get our needs met. We weren’t taught how to articulate the pain we’re in or how to seek cooperation from one another in a way that actually creates connection.

What tends to happen instead is more corrosive.

When our needs go unmet for long enough, it hurts in ways we don’t always know how to name. It can feel like disconnection. Like you’re in relationship, but not really met there. Like you’re showing up, giving, trying, adjusting, and still something essential isn’t landing.

Sometimes that pain looks like being overlooked. Like your effort is invisible. Like your presence is optional. Like what you bring is expected but not truly valued.

And it doesn’t stay confined to our personal lives. It shows up in our work and in the marketplace, too—in the places where we exchange time, energy, and value. Feeling undervalued for what you contribute. Underpaid for what you carry. Taken advantage of because you’re capable, reliable, and willing.

Over time, this kind of chronic “not met” feeling does something to a person. It drains your sense of agency. It erodes your confidence. It quietly teaches you to expect less than you want, and to feel guilty for wanting more.

That pain is real. And it deserves to be taken seriously.

What’s tricky is that most of us do know what we want. We know we want more connection, more appreciation, more support, more fairness, more ease. We know when something feels off. We know when we’re tired of carrying more than our share.

The breakdown usually isn’t in awareness. It’s in execution.

Instead of asking for what we want, we criticize people for not already giving it to us.

We talk about what they aren’t doing.

We point out what’s missing.

We explain why it should be obvious.

We frame our disappointment as commentary instead of request.

It often feels justified in the moment. Even reasonable. After all, the need is real. The frustration didn’t come from nowhere.

But criticism is usually a workaround for something more vulnerable we don’t quite know how to say, or don’t feel safe enough to say.

So rather than naming the desire directly, we circle it. We hint. We complain. We hope the message lands without us having to expose the soft part underneath.

For a moment, it can even feel like we’re standing up for ourselves.

But what we’re actually doing is asking people to meet needs we’ve never clearly named, while holding them responsible for failing to do so.

And the result is almost always the same.

Instead of bringing people closer, criticism creates distance. Instead of increasing care or effort, it activates protection.

The moment criticism lands, the nervous system hears threat, not information. And when people feel threatened, they defend themselves.

They explain. They justify. They counter. Or they shut down altogether.

Not because they don’t care, but because criticism lights up shame, failure, or the sense that nothing they do will ever be enough.

This is the cruel irony. Criticism is usually offered in the hope of restoring balance or closeness, but it reliably produces the opposite outcome.

We end up with less of what we wanted, not more.

The research from the Gottman Institute helps explain why this pattern is so persistent. Criticism is the first of the Four Horsemen that predict relational breakdown.

Not because it’s the most severe, but because it sets everything else in motion: defensiveness, escalation, withdrawal.

Distance, dressed up as communication.

Once that dynamic takes hold, people stop listening for what’s being asked for and start listening for what they need to defend against.

You can see this most clearly in one of the most common conflicts I know: quality time.

One partner feels disconnected. They miss each other. They crave more intentional time together. They want to feel chosen again, not just accommodated in the margins of a busy life.

But instead of saying that, what comes out sounds like criticism.

“You never make time for us anymore.”

“You’re always distracted.”

“I’m clearly not a priority.”

From the outside, it looks like criticism. From the inside, it’s longing.

What they’re really trying to say is much softer and much riskier: I miss you. I want closeness. I want to feel important to you.

But that part never quite makes it out intact.

So the other person hears blame instead of desire. Failure instead of invitation

And almost immediately, they move into defense.

They explain how busy they’ve been. They list everything they are doing. Or they shut down because it feels like no matter what they say, it won’t be enough.

Now both people feel misunderstood.

The one who spoke feels even more unseen. The one who received it feels attacked.

And the space between them grows wider, even though closeness was the goal the whole time.

Nothing about this is malicious. It’s just two people trying to get a need met using a strategy that can’t deliver it.

What changes things is a much smaller shift than most people expect.

Instead of leading with criticism, we lead with a request.

Using the same example, imagine that instead of saying, “You never make time for us anymore,” the conversation sounds like this:

“I miss you. I want more intentional time together. Can we plan something that’s just for us?”

The desire hasn’t changed. The need hasn’t changed. What’s changed is the doorway it comes through.

A request names the want instead of the failure. It invites the other person into the experience rather than putting them on trial. It gives them something they can actually respond to.

And yes, it requires vulnerability.

Requests ask us to risk being seen wanting something. They ask us to risk hearing no. They ask us to stay present instead of armored.

But they also do something criticism never can.

They create a path forward.

Instead of triggering defense, a request invites choice. Instead of activating protection, it opens the possibility of collaboration. Instead of widening the gap, it gives both people a chance to move toward each other.

You don’t actually need the research to know whether this works.

You can feel it in your own body if you pause for a moment and imagine the difference.

Think about how you respond when someone criticizes you. Even if they’re right, something in you tightens. You brace. You start explaining yourself. Or you quietly pull away.

Now imagine the same person coming to you and saying, “This matters to me,” or “I want more closeness,” or “Here’s what would really help me right now.”

Most people soften. They listen differently. They want to respond.

Not because they’re being manipulated, but because they’re being trusted.

That’s the proof. Your own nervous system already knows the difference between accusation and invitation.

And still, even when this makes sense, something in us pushes back.

“I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“If they cared, they’d already know.”

“It should be obvious what I want.”

Underneath those objections is often a quieter fear: If I have to name it, it doesn’t count. Or If I name it and it’s not met, that tells me something I’m not ready to know.

Asking can feel exposing. Risky. Like stepping out without armor.

So we stay indirect. We criticize. We hint. We complain.

We call it being reasonable, when what we’re really doing is trying to avoid the discomfort of asking plainly.

But not asking doesn’t protect you from disappointment. It just guarantees confusion and distance instead.

Expecting people to read your mind isn’t a strategy, even when the want feels obvious to you.

And criticizing people for not meeting needs you’ve never named doesn’t make those needs go away. It just makes connection harder to reach.

Sometimes the truth is simpler than we want it to be.

If you want more of what you want, you have to ask for it.

Not as a demand.

Not as a test.

Just as an honest expression of desire.

Most of us don’t get stuck because we want too much.

We get stuck because we never learned how to ask.

So here’s the truth, stripped all the way down.

To get more of what you want, ask for it.

Not hint.

Not criticize.

Not hope someone figures it out eventually.

Ask.

That’s the shift. That’s the risk. That’s the practice.

-Sunny