Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Why Choosing Kindness Over Being Right Changes Everything | Still Standing
Transcript
- You know that sharp, electric feeling when you have the perfect comeback ready? The one that would settle the argument and leave them speechless? Don’t say it. Please, just hold it in your hand like a hot coal. Take a breath with me. Just one slow inhale, and let it out longer than you brought it in. I want to talk about something that happens in our living rooms, in our offices, and even in our own heads late at night. It’s that moment when someone says something that feels wrong. Maybe they misremembered a date, or dismissed an idea you worked hard on, or said something insensitive about your family. In that split second, your brain lights up. It’s not anger exactly; it’s correction. It’s the desire to set the record straight because if we don’t, the truth gets lost, and the lie wins. But here is what I’ve learned after years of trying to be the smartest person in every room: being right is incredibly lonely. And it costs us more than we realize. When we choose to win the argument, we often lose the connection. We trade warmth for accuracy. We trade intimacy for superiority. And I’m not saying that truth doesn’t matter. Truth matters deeply. But there is a difference between holding onto facts and holding onto power. There is a difference between wanting to be understood and wanting to be admired for how clearly you see things. Let’s sit in that for a second. Think about the last time you insisted on being right. What did that cost you? Not just in terms of the other person’s feelings, but in terms of your own peace. Did you sleep well that night? Or were you replaying the scene, rehearsing better lines, wondering why they didn’t just agree with you? We live in a culture that rewards the loudest voice and the sharpest retort. We scroll through feeds filled with people proving each other wrong. It feels safe to be right because if you are right, then you are safe. You are in control. You haven’t made a mistake. But resilience isn’t about controlling the narrative; it’s about surviving the emotional weather without losing yourself. When we prioritize kindness over correctness, we aren’t being weak. We are actually exercising a tremendous amount of strength. It takes muscle to swallow the pride. It takes courage to let a small injustice slide so that a larger relationship can breathe. I remember a meeting early in my corporate career. I had spent weeks preparing a proposal. My boss, a man who valued speed over nuance, interrupted me mid-sentence to correct a minor data point. He wasn’t listening to the story I was telling; he was hunting for errors. The old me would have snapped back. I would have listed the sources, pulled up the spreadsheet, and proved him wrong in front of everyone. I would have won that round. But something inside me had already shifted, slowly, quietly. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the tension in his shoulders. I saw that he was scared of looking incompetent to the executives in the room. Instead of defending my data, I softened my tone. I said, 'You’re right to check the numbers. Let’s take a minute to verify this together.' The room exhaled. The tension broke. We finished the presentation with less friction than usual. I didn’t get the glory of being right, but I got something better: I got trust. I got a colleague who felt seen rather than attacked. That is the hidden economy of kindness. You invest in relationships, not victories. When you choose kindness over being right, the entire dynamic of the room changes. It’s almost magical. People lower their shields. They stop performing and start connecting. Think about the energy in a space where everyone is trying to prove they are the most intelligent, the most moral, the most correct. It’s cold. It’s exhausting. It’s a battlefield disguised as a conversation. Now imagine a space where mistakes are allowed. Where 'I might be missing something' is a common phrase. Where someone can say, 'Wait, tell me more about why you think that,' instead of, 'Actually, you’re wrong.' This doesn’t mean you abandon your boundaries. It doesn’t mean you tolerate abuse or allow harmful ideas to stand unchallenged. But it does mean you distinguish between a genuine threat and a mere inconvenience to your ego. Most of our arguments fall into the latter category. They are petty squabbles over preferences, memories, or interpretations. And in those moments, kindness is the olive branch that stops the war before it begins. I want to ask you again: What did that cost you? Every time you bite your tongue to preserve harmony, ask yourself if it was worth it. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes we need to speak up. But usually, the cost of being right is higher than we think. It’s the erosion of intimacy. It’s the slow buildup of resentment. It’s the friend who stops sharing their real thoughts with you because they know you’ll correct them. It’s the partner who feels like they’re walking on eggshells. Resilience is not about enduring conflict; it’s about transforming it. When we drop the need to be right, we make room for curiosity. We become interested in the other person’s perspective, not because we agree with it, but because we value them. This shifts the focus from 'me versus you' to 'us versus the problem.' It’s a subtle but profound change. It turns opponents into allies. It turns debates into dialogues. And honestly, it’s much more fun to have a dialogue. You learn things. You grow. You feel less alone. So how do we do this? How do we catch ourselves in the act of wanting to be right? It starts with a pause. A literal, physical pause. When you feel that heat rising in your chest, that urge to interrupt, stop. Take three seconds. Ask yourself: Is this important enough to risk the relationship for? Is this about truth, or is it about control? If it’s just about control, let it go. Try replacing 'You’re wrong' with 'Help me understand.' Try swapping 'That’s not how it happened' with 'My memory of that is different.' These small linguistic shifts invite collaboration instead of combat. They signal that you are open to learning, not just defending. It feels awkward at first. Your ego will scream at you. It will tell you that you’re being a pushover. But notice what happens next. Notice the relief in the other person’s face. Notice how quickly the conversation deepens. You are building a life where connection is prioritized over competition. And that is a foundation for a truly resilient life. I’m not saying you’ll never slip up. You will. You’ll snap. You’ll bring up the past. You’ll prove them right by being defensive. That’s okay. Perfection is not the goal. Connection is. Forgive yourself when you fail. Apologize if you hurt someone. Then try again tomorrow. This practice of choosing kindness is a daily discipline, just like showing up for yourself when the world gets heavy. It’s quiet work. It doesn’t get applause. No one hands you a trophy for swallowing your pride. But you feel it. You feel lighter. You feel closer to the people you love. And remember, you are not alone in this struggle. We are all fighting our own egos. We are all trying to figure out how to be strong without being hard. How to be clear without being cruel. It’s a journey. And I’m glad you’re walking it with me. Let’s keep choosing kindness. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s brave. Because it takes a big heart to let go of the need to be right. And that kind of heart changes everything. Take care of yourself today. Be gentle with your mind. And remember, you don’t have to win every battle to be standing tall. I’m Marissa, and I’ll be here next week. Until then, breathe easy.