Dear Diary—
If I hear “yeah, but” one more time, I might lose it.
From my kids.
From my husband.
From friends.
From couples sitting across from me in my office.
There is something about that phrase that instantly tightens my chest. “Yeah, but” rarely means, I’m trying to understand you. It usually means, I heard you… now let me explain why you’re wrong.
Because it can feel like “everything before ‘but’ is bullshit.”
And in relationships, that stings.
On the surface, it’s frustrating.
Just under that, it’s hurtful.
At its deepest level, it’s isolating.
You start to feel unseen in your own experience. Or worse — like your experience is being dismissed as crazy.
When Good Intentions Miss the Mark
There was a season in my couples work when I decided to outlaw the word “but.” I would gently call clients out because everything before it gets canceled out.
My intention was good. I wanted people to stop invalidating each other.
And then I realized I had created a new problem.
If we eliminate “but” entirely, we risk swinging the pendulum the other way. Now the first statement is sacred and anything that follows doesn’t matter. One perspective wins. The other disappears.
That isn’t connection either.
It was humbling to recognize that even my well-intentioned intervention was still operating from an either/or framework — albeit a subtle one.
The deeper truth was sitting there all along:
Both can be true.
The Real Work of Couples Therapy
In my work with couples, this is often the entire task.
“It hurt me.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Both are true.
“It feels like you don’t care.” (dismissed / alone)
“I’m doing my best.” (overwhelmed / defeated)
Both are true.
One partner is trying to get their pain acknowledged.
The other is trying to defend their character.
And underneath it all is the same longing:
Please see me.
Please understand me.
Please tell me I’m not crazy.
Please see my heart in this.
When couples are stuck, they are usually trying to determine who is right. They wouldn’t necessarily say it that explicitly, but that’s what it becomes. Whose feelings take precedence? Whose interpretation wins?
My job is never to decide that.
My job is to help them hold both — so they not only see each other, but feel each other.
Emotional maturity isn’t about choosing sides. It’s about holding space even in tension. It’s about widening our perspective enough to let two seemingly opposite truths coexist.
That’s the only way deep, genuine connection works.
That process, however, is uncomfortable — and transformative.
Movement vs. Stillness
I see this dynamic play out in my own home all the time.
Movement versus stillness.
My husband functions best in motion. You’ll find him standing in the back at any conference or talk. His back aches if he sits too long. He thinks more clearly when he’s moving. None of that is a flaw. It’s how his system regulates and what feels best for his body.
I, on the other hand, crave stillness. My mind carries a lot. Responsibilities stack quickly. When I get quiet and still, I can feel my nervous system settle. It’s in stillness that I can hear my own thoughts clearly. It’s where I can hear God more clearly. It’s also where my body feels safest, given some physical limitations I navigate.
It would be easy to side with one of us.
It would be easy to defend one and dismiss the other.
He’s restless.
She’s rigid.
But if you zoom out, both make sense.
Movement keeps us engaged with life.
Stillness keeps us centered within it.
Too much movement can disconnect us.
Too much stillness can stall us.
Both have gifts.
Both have shadows.
And in our marriage, we are continually learning not to cancel each other out.
Truth be told, we haven’t mastered this. It still causes conflict.
We’ve just gotten better at naming it and working with it.
We Can Both Be Right
The phrase we’ve started using is simple:
“We can both be right.”
Not in a competitive way. Not in a scorekeeping way. But in a way that allows us to soften instead of defend.
“Yes, and.”
Yes, it hurt.
And I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Yes, you need movement.
And I need stillness.
When we replace “yeah, but” with “yes, and,” something shifts. Curiosity replaces defensiveness. The nervous system relaxes. The goal changes from winning to understanding.
That is genuine connection.
Holding Tension Instead of Forcing It Into Boxes
I’m becoming more convinced that one of the hallmarks of a grounded, content human is the ability to hold tension without rushing to resolve it.
To resist the urge to sort life into neat boxes of right or wrong.
To trust that two experiences can coexist — even when they seem as compatible as oil and water.
Not every situation has two equally healthy options. Boundaries matter. Harm is real. But in my experience, that is the exception rather than the rule. Most everyday relational conflict isn’t about good versus evil.
It’s about perspective versus perspective.
And perspective expands when we allow room for more than one truth.
This is something you can’t unsee once you notice it.
Start small.
Notice when you feel the urge to say, “yeah, but.”
Pause.
What would it look like to try, “yes, and”?
You might be surprised at how much that alone softens hearts and builds connection.
Sincerely,
A therapist — who’s human too.
Reflections:
Is there someone in your life whose perspective feels hard to understand?
What might it look like to try “yes, and” with them?
