Why Defensiveness Is Ruining Your Conversations—and How to Change It

"When you said that in front of everyone, it really hurt me."

"You're taking it the wrong way."

"I'm telling you how it felt."

"But that's not what I meant."

"Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Every time I tell you something hurt me, somehow we end up talking about you."

"Because you're making me sound like I'm this terrible person!"

"I never said that."

"You don't have to."

"See? This is exactly why I don't bring things up anymore."

"Seriously? You don't bring things up? What about last week? Or the week before that?"

"Because you never listen!"

"I don't listen? I listen all the time!"

"No... you defend yourself all the time."

"Because you're always attacking me!"

"I'm attacking you? Forget it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Silence.

Before You Explain

Have you ever found yourself in a conversation like this?
Maybe not with these exact words...
But with the same ending.

It began with one hurt.

One partner trying to say,

"This hurt me."

A few minutes later,
the conversation had become something else.
You were no longer talking about the hurt.
Instead, you were talking about intentions, tone, memory,
who always does this,
who never listens,
the argument from last week,
or the disappointment from last year.

Somewhere along the way,
the original conversation quietly disappeared.

By the end,
neither of you remembered how it started.

You only remembered
how alone you felt.

And neither of you understood
how you got there.

The Conversation You Thought You Were Having

This is one of the most common moments
I witness in couples therapy.

Not because couples don't love each other.

Not because they don't care.

But because, without realizing it,
they begin answering
two completely different questions.

One partner is asking,

"Can you understand what happened to me?"

The other is answering,

"Can you understand that I didn't mean to hurt you?"

Both questions matter.

Both deserve to be answered.

They just don't belong
in the same moment.

When someone tells us we've hurt them,
our nervous system reacts almost instantly.
We don't just hear their pain.
We hear criticism.
We hear blame.
We hear the possibility
that we've failed someone we love.

So we do
what most human beings naturally do.

We defend.

We explain.

We clarify.

We reassure.

From our perspective,
we're trying to repair the relationship.

From our partner's perspective,
we've quietly stepped away
from the very thing
they were asking us to understand.

The conversation
they were trying to have...

and the conversation
we thought we were having...

are no longer
the same conversation.

When the Hurt Goes Unheard

When our explanations don't help,
something else often happens.

Our partner tries again.

They search for different words.

They offer another example.

Then another.

Not because they're trying
to build a case against us.

Not because they're trying
to win the argument.

But because the hurt never got understood.

Think about it.

If someone doesn't understand
what happened to you
the first time,
what do you naturally do?

You explain it again.

If they still don't understand,
you try a different example.
You add more context.
You become more emotional.

Not because you're trying
to overwhelm them.

But because you're trying
to reach them.

Before long,
the conversation has become
much bigger
than either of you intended.

The forgotten anniversary.

The sarcastic comment.

The unanswered text.

The vacation
that ended
in disappointment.

The argument
from three months ago.

In couples therapy,
we call this kitchen sinking—
bringing up past hurts and disappointments
because the original hurt
still doesn't feel understood.

From the outside,
it can look like
someone is keeping score.

But that's rarely
what's happening.

Your partner isn't trying
to prove you're a bad person.

They're trying to answer
a question
that still feels unanswered.

"Do you understand
why this hurt me?"

Until that question
is answered,
the nervous system
keeps searching.

It keeps reaching.

It keeps bringing up
more examples.

Not because
it wants a conviction.

Because it wants
understanding.

Meanwhile,
the other partner
feels increasingly overwhelmed.

Now it really does
feel like an attack.

So they defend harder.

Explain more.

Correct the facts.

Challenge the examples.

One partner
is trying desperately
to be understood.

The other
is trying desperately
not to be misunderstood.

Both are protecting
something precious.

One is protecting
their pain.

The other is protecting
their character.

And both lose sight
of the relationship
they're trying to protect.

So What Do You Do Instead?

One of the most helpful ideas I use in my work
comes from Anatol Rapoport,
a mathematician turned psychologist
who spent much of his career studying conflict,
cooperation,
and how people move
from opposition
toward understanding.

His work later influenced
Dr. John Gottman,
whose decades of research
transformed the way we understand
healthy relationships.

Rapoport proposed
a simple,
but demanding,
discipline:

You have to postpone persuasion and problem-solving until both people can state their partner's position, feelings, and needs... to their partner's satisfaction.

Read that again.

Not until you think you've understood.

Not until you've repeated back
what you heard.

Not until you've said,

"Okay... I get it."

Until your partner says,

"Yes."

"That's exactly what I was trying to tell you."

That's a much higher standard
than simply hearing your partner.

It means you don't begin persuading.

You don't begin explaining.

You don't begin problem-solving.

Until your partner
feels accurately understood.

And they have to be able
to do the same for you.

Notice what Rapoport
is not saying.

He isn't saying
you have to agree.

He isn't saying
your partner is right.

He isn't saying
your perspective
doesn't matter.

He's asking you
to postpone persuasion
and problem-solving...

until both of you
can accurately describe
the other's experience.

Only then...

do you begin
problem-solving.

Only then...

do you offer
your explanation.

Only then...

do you ask your partner
to step into
your experience.

Curiosity Makes It Possible

If you're reading this
and thinking,

"That sounds incredibly difficult
to do
in the middle of an argument,"

you're right.

It is.

This is where
Dr. John Gottman's contribution
becomes so helpful.

Gottman adopted
Rapoport's blueprint.

But he added
something important.

Curiosity.

He observed
that it's much easier
to listen
when we approach our partner
with what he called

"What's this?"

instead of

"What the hell is this?"

One prepares us
to understand.

The other prepares us
to defend.

One keeps us curious.

The other keeps us busy
preparing our rebuttal.

Before you can summarize
your partner's position,

you first have to prepare yourself
to listen. 

1. Postpone your own agenda.

Before you explain yourself...
before you defend yourself...
before you solve the problem...

decide that your first job
is simply to understand.

2. Tune into your partner's world.

Hear your partner's pain,
even if you don't agree
with every detail.

Try to understand
your partner's world
from their perspective,
not your own. 

Stay curious.

3. Ask questions before making statements.

"Tell me more."

"Help me understand
what that was like."

"What was happening
inside you?"

"What did you need from me
in that moment?"

Curiosity almost always
asks questions
before it gives answers.

4. Reflect back what you heard.

Summarize your partner's position
in your own words.

Reflect back
their feelings.

Validate
what makes sense
about their experience.

Then ask,

"Did I get it?"

"Is there anything else
you need me
to understand?"

Keep listening
until your partner says,

"Yes."

"That's exactly
what I was trying
to tell you."

5. Only then... share your perspective.

Only then
is it time
to explain your intention.

Only then
is it time
to think about solutions.

And even then,

don't assume
your partner
is ready.

Invite them.

"Would you like
to hear
what was happening
for me?"

"Would you like
to know
what I intended?"

"Would now
be a good time
for us to think together
about what we can do
differently next time?"

That small invitation
changes everything.

Your explanation
no longer interrupts
your partner's pain.

It becomes
an invitation
into your world.

Understanding Comes First

One of the greatest misconceptions about difficult conversations
is that we have to choose
between understanding our partner
and being understood ourselves.

We don't.

We simply have to choose
the order.

Your explanation matters.

Your intentions matter.

Your perspective matters.

But your partner cannot receive
your explanation
while they're still fighting
to have their pain understood.

That's why Rapoport asked us
to postpone persuasion.

That's why Gottman asked us
to stay curious.

Not because your story doesn't matter.

But because your partner's nervous system
cannot make room for your story
until they feel
that you've first made room
for theirs.

The irony is that the very thing
we're fighting for—

to be seen...

to be known...

to be understood—

is often found
the moment
we offer it first.

Maybe that's what love asks of us.

Not that we become less honest.

Not that we stop telling our story.

But that we become curious enough
to understand our partner's story...

before asking them
to understand ours.

If you find yourselves having conversations like these and need help having them differently, I'd be honored to help.