There are eight major hidden agendas. As you read about them in the descriptions that follow, notice which ones may apply to you.

“I’m Good”

You are the hero of all your stories. Each anecdote highlights the attributes you value most. If you want people to know about your wealth or power, your stories tell them. If you want the word out about your strength or generosity, your stories do that for you. A frequently encoun¬tered “I’m good” agenda is the caring and sensitive person. This role is played as if you were on the stage—you create an undeniably fine character, but not your authentic self. You have to prove your caring constantly by a gesture, a recollection, a sensitive remark.

Here are some typical “I’m good” messages:

• “I’m honest.” “I’m successful.”
• “I’m hardworking.” “I’m powerful.”
• “I’m courageous.” “I’m strong.”
• I’m loyal.” “I’m wealthy.”
• “I’m generous.” “I’m self-sacrificing.”
• “I’m ambitious.” “I’m adventurous.”

Everyone is a little phony, but the “I’m good” agenda is more than that. It’s a life’s work. It’s a way of distorting yourself so that only very selected parts get seen. It means you don’t trust anyone with the parts of yourself that are less than wonderful.

There are two big disadvantages to the “I’m good” agenda. It’s hard to get close to people because they only know you through your “I’m good” stories. And people get bored. They get tired of seeing the same mask, hearing the same theme over and over. They listen for a while, then go away.

“I’m Good (But You’re Not)”

In this agenda, you prove that you’re all right by showing how bad everyone else is: “Everyone’s stupid, incompetent, selfish, unreasonable, lazy, frightened, or insensitive but me.” Every story is a variation on this theme. You’re always the one who does it right, who reasons clearly, who really cares. One nurse often complained, “I’m always willing to stop and answer a light even if it’s not my patient. I’ll help another nurse lift someone who’s heavy, but do you think I can get anyone to help me? Not on your life.”

There are several versions of “I’m good (but you’re not).” One is the implied criticism. You point out how hard you’ve worked or how much you’ve compromised—with the implication that the other person is lazy or rigid. Another version of this agenda is a game that Eric Berne (1985) calls Courtroom. This involves spouses who are each trying to prove how awful the other is. The courtroom judge is usually played by a next-door neighbor, a therapist, or one of the children. Berne (1985) has also iden¬tified If It Weren’t for You, a game for spouses who blame each other for restricted, joyless lives.

“I’m good (but you’re not)” can give a boost to your self-esteem, but you pay a price. Your family and friends feel threatened and put down by you, and they soon begin defensive maneuvers of their own.

“You’re Good (But I’m Not)”

The simplest version of this agenda is flattery. More complex forms involve a kind of worship of smart, beautiful, or strong people. The worship often means putting yourself down by comparison: “You do that so well; I’m all thumbs.” “I wish I had your gumption and guts; I’m too afraid of blowing it.” “I’ve never had a head for business; I look at what you’ve done and think how clever you are.” This one-down position is sometimes used to extract favors or strokes. “You’re good (but I’m not)” can be a token to buy inferior relationships. Sometimes it’s a strategy to ward off anger and rejection. After all, how can you really get angry at someone who’s already down on themselves? The agenda is also useful to block uncomfortable demands and expectations. Nobody’s going to expect much of an incompetent. “You’re good (but I’m not)” can be the agenda of the depressed person. The basic statement is “I’m wrong, bad, damaged, stupid, boring, or unlovable. Take pity on me.” The alcoholic, the chronic gambler, and the philandering spouse may also emphasize an “I’m no good” position as a way to head off rejection and also as an excuse not to change.

“I’m Helpless, I Suffer”

This is the agenda of the victim. The stories focus on misfortune, injustice, or abuse. The stories are about someone who’s stuck, who tries but can’t escape, who endures without hope of remedy. The person implicitly says, “Don’t ask me to do anything about all this pain; I’m not responsible.”

Berne (1985) has described several games that depend on the “I’m helpless” agenda. ?Ain’t It Awful is played by people who want to com¬plain about their spouses; the injustices they suffer always seem beyond solution. Why Don’t You… Yes But is ideal for maintaining helplessness. This is a game for two. The other person makes a series of suggestions that the helpless person shoots down, one after another. The helpless person is vindicated in the end by proving nothing will work, that the suffering is beyond his or her ability to control.

A classic “I’m helpless, I suffer” game is Why Does This Always Happen to Me? One man who’d gotten a little break from his ulcer symptoms complained of a reoccurrence after he got stuck in traffic without his antacids: “This always happens. I feel a little better, and then some crazy thing comes up to set me back. Somebody puts pepper on my salad, or sales take a plunge at work. It never fails.” The “I’m helpless, I suffer” agenda is ideal for avoiding scary new solutions or putting off the need for a major life decision. “I’m ugly,” “I’m ill,” or “I’m too nervous” will often help put off change indefinitely.

A past-tense version of this agenda can dominate the early phase of courtship. Horror stories are traded back and forth about the previous spouse or lover. A bond of sympathy is built on the old hurts, the former years of immobility and pain.

“I’m Blameless”

This is the agenda of choice when things go wrong. You’ve heard people with a thousand excuses for their failures. You’ve watched them cast about for something or someone to blame. The basic position is “I didn’t do it.” Painful marriages often breed “I’m blameless” agendas. Each spouse looks for proof that the fault lies elsewhere: “She didn’t give enough.” “He never was home.” “The children took all our time.” “If we hadn’t moved to Long Island.” “It was different after she quit her job.”

One of the games played from the “I’m blameless” position is See What You Made Me Do. You ask for suggestions or advice, follow the advice, and then blame your advisor for everything that went wrong. It’s like taking out a kind of psychological insurance that you’ll never have to be responsible for anything.

“I’m Fragile”

The basic statement from the “I’m fragile” position is “Don’t hurt me.” The statement is made by telling stories about how you have been betrayed and wounded in the past. You make it clear that you need protection, that you cannot hear the whole truth. You speak in a soft voice, and your vulnerability is often quite attractive: “How did you do at school today? Oh. You know, it really upsets me when I hear about you playing alone without any friends.” “Everything that goes on with you is important to me, dear. But why do you have to tell me things that upset me?” “Please don’t cry. I’m getting another one of my headaches.” “My parents always fought about money. Let’s not get into that.”

“I’m Tough”

You muscle your way through life, both psychologically and physi¬cally. You are a student who carries forty units during freshman year and holds down a full-time job. You are a superwoman who works forty hours a week, raises four kids, bakes bread, does all the clean¬ing and cooking, and heads up the March of Dimes campaign in the neighborhood. You are the workaholic man who has a high-paying, stressful job and spends twelve-hour days on the weekend replacing all the plumbing by himself.

With this agenda, a typical communication is often a harried listing of things you have done or are in the process of doing. You recite your schedule and overwhelm the other person with news of where you’ve been, details of your current labors, and a litany of all the places you have to rush off to as soon as the conversation is done. Your underlying message is that you are stronger and work harder, faster, and longer than anyone else. The payoff is admiration and assurance that you won’t be criticized. People won’t ask you for much because you are so busy. You are in control, in charge, and, most importantly, above reproach. With this agenda, you don’t slow down; you collapse.

“I’m tough” is also the position of the hard, the dangerous, and the sometimes violent. In this posture, gesture and speech combine to create a studied invulnerability. “Don’t attack me, or I’ll cut you up” is the message. For some people, “I’m tough” is an ideal. But the sole purpose of the agenda is to ward off hurt and protect a fragile self-esteem. The only thing that is really hidden is the vulnerability of those who use it. Inside the wall of defenses is a person who’s afraid of rejection and unsure of his or her worth.

“I Know It All”

This is the agenda of the endlessly lecturing dinner guest described at the beginning of the chapter. The purpose of the communication is not to inform or entertain but to prove how much you know. “I know it all” can take the form of moralizing or teaching. You are the perpetual instructor, comfortable only behind the imaginary lectern. People don’t get too close. This agenda works best with younger people, who may be impressed or intimidated. But peers soon learn that they can’t be heard or appreciated, except as an audience. The real function of “I know it all” is to prevent you from reencountering early experiences of shame at not knowing and not feeling adequate.

excerpt from Messages-The Communication Skills Book by Matthew McKay Ph.D., Martha Davis Ph.D., Patrick Fanning