You see all kinds of people at the beach.

Families hauling coolers and umbrellas and babies. Teenagers tossing footballs. Retirees slowly walking at the edge of the water.

All kinds of humanity. Every age. Every energy level.

But one person I don’t normally see. And now I have.

He’s a man, maybe in his early thirties, strolling along with a guitar.

Not performing. Not singing. Just strumming. Sort of.

I’m not sure he knows how to play. He brushes the strings with confidence for a few moments, but the sounds aren’t quite harmonious.

Then he stops and stares at the water for a minute. Sometimes he steps toward the waves, then back away again, as if he’s negotiating with them.

I saw him again the next day.

Same clothes. Same wandering. Same guitar.

At one point I watched him point toward the ocean, almost like he was daring the waves to come closer. Then he lifted his hand as if to say, “Here and no farther.”

I don’t know his story. I don’t know whether he has people who check on him or wait for him to come home at night or worry when he doesn’t.

But I do know this: at one point, he had a mama.

Someone once carried him, fed him, watched him sleep, wondered who he would become.

And if she’s still alive—whether she’s still in his life or not—I imagine she still wonders sometimes where her boy is and how he’s doing.

Watching him on the beach, I’m wondering too.

And also aching in my heart, not only for him, but also for her.

I hope they’re both okay.

Have you ever seen a stranger and wondered about the people who love them?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

The Longing for Something Else

Our friend has been wanting to move for a long time.

She’s been unhappy in her neighborhood. Restless. Disturbed. Ready for something quieter, greener, and more spacious. But her options have been limited.

So when she told us last December that a perfect opportunity had opened up, we were excited for her. A friend had offered her an empty room in the country with a beautiful view and calm surroundings.

She was thrilled.

And we were happy for her.

But also heartbroken for ourselves. Because we knew what it likely meant: we would probably never see her again.

The Goodbye That Wasn’t

A few weeks ago, on a Monday afternoon, we said our teary goodbyes. It felt heavy and final. We were grateful for our years-long friendship but already grieving the loss to come.

Then the next Monday, when we went back to her apartment complex, our friend was still there.

And the next Monday.

And the next.

Of course we were thrilled for ourselves. But also confused.

She didn’t offer many details. Just that she was waiting. Making sure. Trying to discern whether it was truly the right move.

And that’s when the real work began for us.

The Hard Work of Staying Quiet

The hard work is not prodding her, encouraging her to make the “right” decision to move while she can.

It would be so easy to:

• Say what we would do
• Point out the obvious benefits
• Tell her she’d be crazy not to take the opportunity

It takes discernment to know when to speak up and when to be quiet. Sometimes our advice is sound and proper to offer.

But in this case, with this friend, our advice is not what she needs. It’s our respect.

She is older than we are. Wiser. A survivor of trials we don’t even know about. She knows her own mind and is fully capable of making her own decisions.

Our advice wouldn’t actually help her.

It would only help us feel helpful.

When Helping Means Stepping Back

Sometimes helping means stepping back.

Sometimes love looks like keeping your two cents in your own pocket.

Sometimes the most generous thing you can offer another person is trust.

Trust that they don’t need your fixing.
Trust that their timing is not yours to control.
Trust that they know what is right for themselves.

I recently came across these words that Parker Palmer published ten years ago. But the sentiments are evergreen:

“Here’s the deal. The human soul doesn’t want to be advised or fixed or saved. It simply wants to be witnessed — to be seen, heard and companioned exactly as it is.

   When we make that kind of deep bow to the soul of a suffering person, our respect reinforces the soul’s healing resources, the only resources that can help the sufferer make it through.”

– Parker Palmer, The Gift of Presence, The Perils of Advice

Witnessing. Not advising.

Therein lies our gift.

If She’s Still There on Monday

So next Monday, when we return to our friend’s neighborhood, if she is still there—still waiting, still discerning, still undecided—I hope we’ll simply be glad to see her again.

No hinting.
No nudging.
No advising, even out of concern.

Just presence. And delight. And the gift of saying, without words, “We trust you.”

And big hugs all around.

A Question for You:

Sometimes our advice is welcomed and needed. Other times, we need to keep our two cents in our own pocket. How do you discern the difference?

I’d love to hear your wisdom in the comments.

The Moment My Heart Starts Racing

I feel my heart pump faster.
He really just said that?
He actually believes that lie?
Seriously?

An hour earlier, everything had begun beautifully. It was a gorgeous Saturday morning with a surprising number of like-minded people gathering in our small town to celebrate freedom. I came with a few friends and met up with a couple others once we arrived. We were among “our people” and it felt good.

And then he walks up.

We’d been chatting with strangers all morning, but this one feels . . . different.

My energy shifts as I read the message on his T-shirt. Uh-oh. I immediately think he and I believe different facts.

Nonetheless—because I want to be open-minded—a few of us engage when he starts asking questions.

It’s not long before the disagreements surface. He makes a statement; we counter. He doubles down; we counter that.

Back and forth it goes.

It’s not ugly, per se. It’s definitely not violent. From the outside it might even appear civil.

But I find myself getting riled up anyway with Mr. T-Shirt Man. I feel exhausted. I walk away for a few minutes. Others in our group carry on the conversation. They appear calmer than I am.

I can’t stay away for long though. I’m too curious.

The conversation becomes more strained. Eventually, we encourage him to move along because we’re getting nowhere together.

He agrees to leave. I don’t know where he goes next.

But I know where I go . . . .

Finding My Way to Braver Angels

A few weeks later on another Saturday morning, I find myself seated around round tables in a different city.

I’m attending a workshop hosted by Braver Angels, a national cross-partisan organization that specializes in “taking a stand against toxic politics.”

It’s where I need to be now.
(And where I wish I’d been a month earlier before I met Mr. T-Shirt Man.)

Our topic of the day is “Skills for Disagreeing Better.”

Our facilitator guides us through a workbook. He tells us it is possible to have healthy conversations over disagreeable topics.

I want to believe him.

Practicing the Skills: Learning to LAPP

Then comes the role-playing. We practice one-on-one conversations. Taking opposite sides. Turning off our inner debaters.

We try out LAPP:

1. Listen.

Focus on hearing the other person’s view instead of preparing your rebuttal.

2. Acknowledge.

Reflect back what you heard so they know you understood (and are continuing to try to).

3. Pivot.

Ask if they’re open to hearing your perspective, then wait for a verbal yes.

4. Perspective.

Share your view using tools like:

• Using I-statements
• Naming your sources
• Telling a personal story
• Avoiding negative labels
• Mentioning something you agree with

Some of the skills come easily to us; others are difficult.

Better Equipped—and Better Intentioned

By the end of the session, I do feel better equipped. But more importantly, I feel better intentioned.

I don’t want my goal in difficult conversations to be to win, to change someone’s mind to my way of thinking. I’d rather connect—to really see the fellow human being in front of me instead of only noticing the stereotype, regardless of the message they’re wearing outwardly.

Will I ever run into Mr. T-Shirt Man again? Probably not. But if do, I hope the LAPP skills I practiced with Braver Angels will ripple into our conversation.

Maybe next time I could engage with him a little longer. Hear his words a little clearer. And connect with his humanity a little stronger.

Or . . maybe not.

We don’t get to control the outcomes. But we do get to work on our process.
To be better, do better.
One small ripple at a time.

Is it hard for you to have conversations with people on the “other side” of your political position? I’d love to hear in the comments.

If you’re curious about Braver Angels, here is the link to their free e-courses.

Read more:

• Is Politics Hopeless? 5 Ways to Practice Hope in Politics
  Politics can feel hopeless. But here are 5 commitments to make for practicing hope, even in politics. The choice is yours.
• What Your Most Unlikely Friendship Can Teach You
  Loving Violet taught me that compassion means little if it stays only in the heart—it must move through the body, too.
• Are You Listening With Both Your Ears?
  If you want clearer depth perception, including in your relationships, listen in stereo.

Years before my mother died, she wrote letters to each of her children. To be read after she died. I didn’t wait.

But she also left other writings behind. Last week, I finished reading the final page that I have of my mother’s journals, mostly centered in 1991. She knew her thoughts might be read one day, so she began with a disclaimer: these were simply her unfiltered thoughts, written to help her survive a difficult season.

As I turned those last few pages, I was surprised by the sadness that overcame me. Reading her thoughts had brought back a piece of her—she’s been gone since 2010—and renewed a conversation (albeit only one direction) that death had interrupted but not fully erased.

Words In Time

Because I was reading her journals, I started wondering about my own journals.

I’ve kept journals off and on my whole life. They’ve always been private—a secluded space to process life. But as I read my mother’s reflections, I couldn’t help wondering: if my own daughters read my journals one day, what story would they hear? What kind of ripples am I leaving behind?

So, I’ve decided to take a year and at least glance through my old journals, if not read them thoroughly. It’s an undertaking I may or may not get through, but here I go.

To start, I randomly pulled one from my shelf. On the first page, I saw the date: 1991.
The same year I had just finished reading about in my mother’s journals.

Two women, two generations, living side by side in time on the pages.

Same Year, Different Worlds

In 1991, my mom was struggling as a daughter herself to care for her aging father, my granddaddy, while balancing her other roles of wife, mother, and grandmother.

That same year, I was a newly single mom, caring for my toddler, and trying to figure out how to create a new life that was totally different than what I’d imagined it would be.

We were both hurting in our own worlds.

And even though we loved each other deeply and talked to each other often about many things in our lives, our private journals revealed an unspoken truth: we were protecting each other from the full weight of each other’s pain.

Me with my daughter, mother, great-grandmother, and grandfather

The Quiet Legacy of Ripples

As I read through my mom’s pages, I saw things that were both familiar and strange. I recognized the basic outline—I had known back then when she was traveling and what had been hard or easy each week—but I hadn’t known how much agony she was experiencing through the decisions she was having to make. (I would feel that same agony years later when we had to make similar decisions about her care.)

In my own pages, I’m reading things I both remember and have forgotten. Some things cause me to laugh out loud; other things make me cringe (I’ve ripped up and thrown out several pages already that I definitely don’t want my daughters to read).

Reading both journals at once is shifting the way I think about legacy.

Not the grand, headline-making kind that we often hear about—“Create your own legacy!”—but the quieter, more ordinary, and maybe more human kind.

We each create tiny ripples every day—through our words, choices, and even our silences about the heartaches and joys we share, and the ones we keep close.

Lessons from the Ripples

Here’s what I’m learning from reading both my mother’s and my own words:

• Our words matter, even the unspoken ones.
  Not all words have to be spoken—sometimes writing the words gives us power enough to uncover complex truths, things we may not verbalize, but things that make a difference nonetheless.
• We are both senders and receivers of ripples.
  My mom couldn’t have known that her scribbles from 34 years ago in 1991 would one day help me see both of us more clearly in 2025.
• Pain can be a bridge of connection.
  Even though the specifics of my mom’s struggles and my own were different, the ache running through our stories was similar and universal.
• The past voice can comfort the present self—and vice versa.
  Hearing my mom’s voice and rereading my own has shown me the progress I’ve made in some areas, but also revealed how some things remain just the same. I can be compassionate toward each of those selves.

The Work of Words

I wish I could, but I can’t go back in time and be more aware of my mother’s hardest days, or be kinder to the fragile woman I was myself in those years.

But I can honor both of them now.

I can thank them—the woman she was, and the woman she raised—for doing their best with what they knew then.

Without realizing it, we were both rippling through time—catching old waves and creating new ones. Offering grace, making memories, and spreading love in the ways we knew how.

The Ripples Continue

Whether words in a journal are ever read again or quietly fade away through time, we can trust they’ve done their work.

They’ve met their purpose—helping shape who we are, who we’re becoming, and what we’re sending out into the world.

One sentence at a time, they continue to ripple throughout time, whispering:
We were here. And we mattered.

Who has rippled the most into your life—and who do you want to ripple into? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more:

• Before you box up the past, ask yourself this one question first
• Letters from Mama

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
— Arthur Ashe

Remember the Connections

I’ve missing my quirky friend Violet. Last month marked one year since she died. A couple Fridays ago would have been her 57th birthday.

Violet wasn’t always an easy friend. But she was an unforgettable one.

She lived with more than her fair share of challenges. Upon meeting her years ago (maybe 2004?), I immediately saw she had learning disabilities, a speech impediment, and a childlike naïveté about life.

2012 at Manna House

But she also had joy. None of her hardships stopped her from connecting with anyone, anywhere. If she met you today, in the first five minutes, you would find yourself telling her:

• Your birthday
• How old you are
• Your favorite music

And the next time she saw you? She’d remember those. (Not me—I struggle to just recall names.)

2016 at Kings’ Banquet

Violet loved birthdays and music. Especially Elvis Presley, whose birthday—she’d tell you—was January 8. I think she loved him because her mama loved him. And Violet loved her mama. She also loved Hall & Oates. Charley Pride. Any 70s and 80s pop band.

If an oldie came on the radio when we were together in the car, I could trust Violet to accurately tell me who was singing it. Sometimes I’d think,

There’s no way she can know that.

And I’d google the song. But sure enough, she was always right.

Violet also loved her brother, cheering for Auburn football (War Eagle, Violet! but no, we probably won’t beat Alabama this year), playing Candy Crush on her tablet, listening to Pandora on her phone, and eating Moose Tracks ice cream in her apartment.

What Friends Give You

Being around Violet often restored my faith in humanity. Why? Not only did she place an innocent trust in most people, I also saw most people respond to her with patience and gentleness.

I’ll never forget the kind bank clerk who helped us set up a new account. Violet wanted the clerk to understand—over and over—how many years that she and I had been friends. Violet would turn to me and ask,

“How long have we known each other? 12 years?”

And each time, I would reply,

“Actually it’s been about 20 years!”

Violet would repeat that to the clerk. Over and over and over. The exact conversation, sometimes just a minute apart.

Yet each time, the clerk showed appropriate amazement, as if she were hearing it for the first time.

That moment, among many others, reminded me that people can be quite generous when given the opportunity.

2024 at the eye doctor – she enjoyed talking to everyone but hated the exams

When Friendship Isn’t Easy

Not everything was smooth though. Sometimes we got on each other’s nerves. Like those days when she would call me 30, 40, maybe 50 times in a day. Mainly just to say that:

• Someone we knew had died (maybe last week or maybe 3 years ago)
• Or to tell me a storm was coming tomorrow
• Or to ask if I could get her some Reese’s Pieces the next time I was at the store

Because of Violet, I learned how to do things that I’d never done before. Like navigate food stamps. Track down missing Social Security checks. Fill out a Medicaid application.

And in Violet’s final months, I had to learn how to guide around a blind friend who couldn’t grasp what was happening (which is how I often felt myself).

2024, “Cheers!” on move-in day at her new home after she lost her sight

I did none of those things exactly right. I fumbled many times. And often had to call for help myself.

I felt overwhelmed by Violet’s conditions. And very sad. Yet also frustrated. I couldn’t convince her to try healthier foods or wash her socks or stretch the carton of ice cream over multiple nights instead of eating it all at one time.

But worse, I couldn’t keep Violet from dying.

2024, final photo I have of Violet, one week before she died, with our sweet friend Kay

Things You Can’t Fix

I innocently hoped that a single simple eye procedure would restore Violet’s vision. And with it, bring a brand new sparkling life for her—finally living where she could be taken care of, being served three good meals every day, and discovering a hallway full of new birthdays.

But after the first, then the second, and even the third surgery all failed to restore her vision—not even in the smallest way—she faded fast.

The good life I’d wanted for her future years here wasn’t possible after all. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Instead of getting to see Violet’s life change, it was my life that was changing.

• I became more aware of my ignorance of how people live with disabilities.
• I recognized how much privilege I had been born with.
• I learned that compassion means little if it stays in the heart—it must move through the body, stepping into spaces where love becomes action.

To quote the writer/artist Mary Anne Radmacher, I also learned that:

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’“

So thank you, Violet.

For loving me and letting me love you. For building more courage in me than I knew I had. For the days you gave me to try again tomorrow.

You taught me that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

Many people loved Violet powerfully. Many people continue to miss her today.

I am one of them.

Who in your life has taught you things you didn’t know you needed? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more friendship adventures here:

• Do You Need to Change the Channel?
  Need to change where you’re placing your attention? Be proactive: change the channel.
• One More Try to Go Home
  How will my friend view “home” if her surgery works? If it doesn’t? Amidst life’s uncertainties, home is our solace.
• The Unexpected Impact of a Short Friendship
  It was only a short friendship with a hospice nurse. But even brief encounters can make unexpected impacts on our lives.

Each November, I take a month to share the best of the nonfiction books I’ve been reading this year. I’m often surprised by the trends that emerge, and this year, one stands out: connecting within relationships.

My top nonfiction books reveal how vital our relationships are—both with ourselves and with others—to our life’s purpose. Relationships are where we find love, connection, and meaning. These 6 books below also happen to align with my One Word of the Year, Curiosity. Interactions between humans are definitely a curious and complex thing.

Top 3 Relationship Books

Here are my top 3 relationship-focused reads this year, each offering fresh insights on building stronger connections. I’ve learned so much from these, and I think you will, too.

1. How to Know a Person
The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen
by David Brooks

If you like to really know a person, this is the book for you. Brooks is so engaging and practical in his advice to better see other people and to allow yourself to be more seen.

[Read my thoughts here on How to Know a Person at “Share 4 Somethings”]

2. Fight Right
How Successful Couples Turn Conflict into Connection
by Julie Schwartz Gottman, John M. Gottman

This book is full of practical and insightful advice about how to have clearer and more productive discussions with your partner. The Gottmans have been doing scientific relationship research for years and years, and this book is fruit of that work. Very engaging.

One of the big takeaways for me is: stop assuming you can solve every disagreement. You can’t. Much of the time, simply understanding each other’s viewpoints is a win itself.

[Based on Fight Right, read “10 Myths (And Realities) About That Fight You Just Had With Your Partner”]

3. Forgive for Love
The Missing Ingredient for a Healthy and Lasting Relationship
by Fred Luskin

Highly recommend! Like Luskin’s first book Forgive for Good, this one—Forgive for Love—also lays a practical foundation for holding space for differences between humans. This one is centered around the steady flow of grace that partners in a relationship need to extend to each other on a daily basis, not just about their large issues but the smaller ones, too.

Top 3 Memoirs

I also read several great memoirs that show how relationships work in individual lives. These 3 memoirs stand out as beautifully honest reflections on love, identity, and self-discovery.

1. Lovely One: A Memoir
by Ketanji Brown Jackson

As the first Black woman on the Supreme Court, Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson knows about resiliency and relationships. This remarkable book traces her journey from a childhood shaped by educator parents to her historic role on the highest court in America. Her hope and integrity are so admirable to me.

2. Somehow
Thoughts on Love
by Anne Lamott

Oh, I love reading Anne Lamott books. Anne is wise, provocative, spiritual, funny. And honest. About herself and about her relationships. This book of essays and stories on love is as brilliant as her previous works. A must read.

3. Oath and Honor
A Memoir and a Warning
by Liz Cheney

Representative Liz Cheney goes into detail about gathering the facts around the insurrection at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, and about how the process affected her personal relationships. She writes even-handedly and cites multiple sources of credible witnesses leading up to the day, the day of, and the days following January 6.

Goals for Nonfiction November

What do I hope to get out of Nonfiction November this year? As usual, I want to find more exciting nonfiction books to read.

But as a bonus, I know I’ll also find new blogs to follow. I discovered some of my favorite blogs to follow through Nonfiction November series in the past.

So here’s to finding more treasures together again this year!

What nonfiction book would you recommend this year? Share in the comments.

Read more:

• 5 Ways to Get More from Nonfiction Books
• How One Small Habit Adds Up…And Reducing My Kindle Samples
• Do You Feel Guilty When You Read?

Link up about your year in nonfiction for Week 1 of Nonfiction November at Heather’s.

It’s Thursday morning, one day after V died. My phone dings. I see it’s Michael. I wonder what he’s going to say. He wasn’t the one who told me about V’s death last night, so I wonder why he’s texting.

Meeting Michael

I first met Michael, a hospice nurse, only weeks earlier. I had signed up V for hospice care after her brief stay in the hospital due to a UTI. The hospital staff, seeing her decline, asked me if I’d considered hospice for her. No, I hadn’t.

But now I would.

Two days later back at V’s facility, I introduced myself to Michael when he came to finalize the hospice paperwork and to meet V in person.

He was gentle with her. And kind to me. I noticed both. I appreciated both.

Michael explained to me how hospice would work. He or a fellow nurse would check on V every few days, as an extra layer of care above what she was already getting at her facility. As death became more imminent, they would make daily visits. Someone would inform me of her condition after each visit, or I could talk to them directly at the facility as they made their visit.

Life and Death Updates

True to his word, Michael regularly gave me a phone call or sent me a text after his visits with V. Even though our interchanges were typically brief, they were meaningful because of their content—life and death.

On one Wednesday morning, Michael texted me that V was unresponsive. But she was comfortable. I replied that I appreciated him watching over her. I had seen her a couple days earlier myself, and planned to visit again in a day or two.

But late that Wednesday night, everything changed.

Jeff and I were watching the news in bed. We had been under tornado warnings all night. And while the storms weren’t over yet, the worst seemed behind us—only thunderstorms remained—so we flicked off the TV to go to sleep.

Until my phone rang.

Middle-of-the-night phone calls rattle awake the body and soul. And usually for good reason. This was no exception.

The Final Call

This call was from a nurse I had not met, gently telling me that my friend V had just passed away. I was shocked, although I shouldn’t have been. I knew V’s time was short.

The nurse reassured me that V had not suffered, and that her passing was peaceful. She advised me to stay home and not venture into the bad weather; there was nothing I could do tonight.

I lay in bed as my mind raced through details I’d need to handle Thursday morning. Tell V’s brother. Finalize burial arrangements. Talk with staff at the nursing facility.

And grieve the loss of my friend.

An Unexpected Apology

It was mid-morning on Thursday when my phone dinged with the text from Michael. His message expressed condolences for my loss. And an apology.

“I’m sorry I did not give you more warning…I did not expect it so soon.”

I paused, taking in his words. I appreciated the apology, but it wasn’t necessary. I held no hard feelings for his lack of notice–who can accurately predict the exact moment of someone’s passing?

I typed out my reply. “Thank you, Michael. I appreciate your tenderness with V these past weeks. I’m glad she’s relieved of her body now.” And hit send.

He responded immediately with “Yes, I understand. Thank you. I wish peace for you also…”

And with that, our brief yet significant friend was completed. Michael had served his purpose in my life well, leaving a lasting impact despite our short acquaintance.

In life we occasionally cross paths with kind souls for only brief periods of time. From beginning to end, I’d only known Michael for a few weeks. Yet he left a mark on me more profound than some people I’ve known for years.

May we never underestimate the importance of fleeting exchanges, of short friendships. Even brief encounters can leave lasting impressions.

To those of you who have done end-of-life care, you are beautiful humans. Thank you for what you do. Share your thoughts in the comments.

Why is this happening to me?

Something has gone terribly wrong. Tears are falling now. Doesn’t he realize how painful this is?

It was a weekday morning, post-retirement. My husband Jeff was piddling around the house when he got a grand idea: he would clean out the toy closet today.

It sounded like a wonderful idea. We’d talked for weeks about the need for it.

But an hour later, why were we arguing about it? Why was I now crying about it?

How You Fight

Like many fights between long-term partners, the fight wasn’t really about the problem at hand.

As Julie and John Gottman write about in their excellent new book, Fight Right, a classic fight between partners is often about . . . almost nothing.

Every relationship has conflict. That’s normal. Humans are going to get angry with each other. (If you never have conflict in a relationship? It might be a sign you’re not close.)

What matters isn’t that you fight. What matters is how you fight.

Top 10 Myths About Conflict

In Fight Right: How Successful Couples Turn Conflict Into Connection, the Gottmans lay out their top ten myths about conflict.

Here are the 10 myths in brief. They go into much more detail in the book.

See if you recognize your latest fight in one of these.

• Myth #1: Once we find a solution to the big fight we’re having right now, we’ll be all set—no more fighting!
  Reality: Most conflicts are perpetual.
  ~
• Myth #2: If conflict exists in our relationship, we’re not supposed to be together.
  Reality: Conflict is unavoidable, even for the happiest of couples.
  ~
• Myth #3: A conflict is a problem to be solved.
  Reality: We manage most of our conflicts through continuing dialogue—we don’t resolve them.
  ~
• Myth #4: One of us is right, and one of us is wrong.
  Reality: Both partners’ experiences and points of view are valid.
  ~
• Myth #5: Men are more logical than women; women are more emotional than men.
  Reality: Logic and emotion do not have genders.
  ~
• Myth #6: The best conflict management is logical, rational, and unemotional.
  Reality: Neuropsychological research has shown that emotions and logical thinking are intertwined when it comes to problem-solving. One can’t problem-solve well without information derived from one’s emotions.
  ~
• Myth #7: Negative emotions are bad and should be avoided.
  Reality: There is nothing wrong with anger. What matters is how anger is expressed.
  ~
• Myth #8: Nobody can hurt you unless you let them.
  Reality: We can and do hurt each other.
  ~
• Myth #9: You have to love yourself before you can love somebody else.
  Reality: We all have enduring vulnerabilities—triggers, traumas, wounds that may never fully heal—and these vulnerabilities may lead us to not perfectly love ourselves.
  ~
• Myth #10: To be “allowed” to have needs, we have to justify or explain them.
  Reality: Human beings are pack animals; we are built to have needs, as our needs bind us together and help us thrive…together.
  – from Fight Right, by John and Julie Gottman

Start Softly

To fight right, the Gottmans say to start softly. In 97% of our fights, the first three minutes of a fight set the tone for the rest of the conversation. If we start harshly, we immediately put the other person on the defense, which is a horrible start.

Instead, start this way:

“I feel (emotion) about (situation/problem) and I need (your positive need).”

And if you’re the one on the listening side? They say your first job is to fully understand the complaint.

• Ask clarifying questions.
• Summarize what you hear.
• Make sure you understand.
• Avoid defending and rebutting.

Then as you continue the discussion:

• Stick to one issue at a time.
• Focus on this situation only.
• Be curious.
• Stay as positive as possible.
• Be the best version of yourself you can be.

Solve the Moment, Not the Whole Conflict

“During a fight, you don’t have to solve the whole conflict. In fact, you shouldn’t try. Instead, solve the moment.

“We can disagree and still be on each other’s side. In conflict, your mission is to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

“This is what ‘solving the moment’ is all about—reframing the goal at this stage of conflict so that your primary objective is to find out more about what your partner is thinking and feeling and needing, and express that yourself before trying to progress to persuasion and compromise.”

The Gottmans say we may need to recalibrate the goal for a fight:

“The goal is not to win. The goal is not to persuade your partner of something. The goal is not to come up with a solution to the problem. Right now, the goal is not even to find a compromise! (This is coming later.)

The goal is to fight with more positivity than negativity.“

And if you become overwhelmed in the middle of it all? Ask to take a break from each other—from 20 minutes to 24 hours. Just commit to returning to the conversation, and preferably with an open mind.

After the fight, the Gottmans list ways to make repairs. “It’s one of the main things that separates the masters of love from the disasters.” You’ll find them all in the book.

Closeness for the Win

With Jeff and me that morning, we finally figured out that our arguments weren’t really about where to store the Clue game, whether to donate the extra blocks or not, or how many puzzles to keep.

It wasn’t about those things at all.

Instead, it was about what the cleaning the toy closet represented to me, which was an immense loss and grief. With each toy, I associated a memory of good times past with our own daughters, and a sadness that not all my grandchildren are here now to play with the items.

Once I took responsibility for and exposed my vulnerable emotions, the arguing went away. We still didn’t agree on which shelf to keep the Play-Doh, but now we understood it didn’t really matter.

We felt close again.

We had solved the moment.

Have you read Fight Right? I highly recommend it!

Which myth do you need to stop believing? Share your thoughts in the comments.

My thanks to Netgalley and Rodale
for the review copy of Fight Right.