Understanding why you need to be right is the beginning of letting it go.
This is the first post in a series.
Every week, couples want me to play referee in their relationships. Their hope is that I will decide which one of them is “right,” to make the official call on whose version of reality is what really happened, whose feelings, experience, and truth are evidence-based and therefore valid.
When I listen to couples share their experience (with each other), it often sounds like they’re on a witness stand in a court of law, presenting their case before a judge and jury. Each presents evidence to support their truth, to defend the reasons why they have the right to feel what they feel, to be upset by what’s upsetting them and hurt by what’s hurt them. And then they wait for me to confirm that they’re entitled to their truth and, consequently, that their partner should be willing to listen to it. Questions like “What evidence do you have to support that?” and “Do the facts corroborate that?” are not uncommon.
We spend an enormous amount of time and energy trying to get our partners to affirm our version of reality, arguing for our version of what happened and why it happened until hopefully they relent and agree with us that, yes, that is what happened, awarding it with an official stamp of truth that makes it real.
When I listen to partners describe the same event, often almost nothing they describe is the same. I frequently hear about a shared date night, and yet, other than the name of the movie or restaurant, absolutely nothing in their re-tell, what each says “happened” that evening, is the same or even similar. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they were actually on the same date.
We think there’s one world, one reality that we’re all living and sharing, but in fact, 8.2 billion worlds are being lived simultaneously on this one planet. Every consciousness has its own internal world, its own version of truth. Everyone walking around on this planet has a different movie playing in their head, the story they believe is happening and why. Other than whether or not it’s raining and these sorts of questions, what’s “happening” and why depends entirely on who you’re asking, whose head you’re inside, and whose movie you’re watching. Our conditioning, memories, beliefs, traumas, history, and every moment we’ve ever lived create our version of reality and shape what we see, experience, and feel. It’s startling, really, one world, 8.2 billion realities.
This wouldn’t be so problematic if we didn’t wholeheartedly believe that our version of reality is reality, fundamentally True—for everyone, not just us. As we see it (and our thoughts tell us), our movie is the real movie, the one going on—what is. As keepers of this universal Truth, it’s our responsibility (and burden) to make sure that everyone else also understands and concurs with The Truth.
I’ve often wondered what makes winning the fight for rightness so critical, worth fighting to the death for, and often worth destroying a relationship over. What are we really fighting for when we’re fighting to be right?
At its core, fighting to be right is about fighting to be heard, known, and understood, what we’re all longing for. If we can prove we’re right, that what happened in our inner world is what happened in the outer world and everyone else’s world, if it can be confirmed as correct, then our experience is valid, and most importantly, we’re allowed to feel what we feel.
In fact, we already feel what we feel, but with the official seal of rightness bestowed on us, we get permission to feel those feelings; they’re valid, which means that our partner should be willing to hear them. Simply put, if we’re right then our experience matters and our truth counts. So too, if we can get everyone else to sign off on and agree with our version of the truth, then we have permission to trust and claim our own truth. At the end of the day, rightness earns us the care and attention we need—the right to receive empathy for what we’re living. On the flip side, if we lose the battle for rightness and can’t get our partner to agree with our version of reality, then our experience is wrong, our feelings are invalid, and our truth is irrelevant.
When couples are locked in a fight for who’s right, they’re really fighting for the most basic component of love: the right to have their experience matter. The fight is for the right to be heard and understood—the fight, ultimately, is for love.
In the next post of this series, I’ll explore ways to unhook from the right fight, to pull out of the tangle right when you’re in the thick of it. For now, start by simply noticing that you’re fighting for rightness, to have your reality confirmed. Stop for a moment, place your hand on your heart or abdomen or both, and take three deep breaths. Ask yourself, what am I really fighting for here? Why is it so important that I get my partner to tell me my experience is correct? If I win this fight and am deemed right, what will I get to feel then? And finally, “What do I really need right now, from myself?” If you can, offer yourself just that.
Start there and stay tuned…
