Addicted To Being Right
Ego can lie with posture too. When I soften the body and let the truth stand on its own, the need to win loses its appetite.
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I’ve argued in empty kitchens.
Fork in my hand like a pointer.
No one there. Just me, piling evidence.
I built a courtroom out of plates.
Cross-examined the air.
Proved every point.
Slept on the couch anyway.
In the morning my chest felt tight.
Not from losing.
From winning a fight that cost the day.
Peace knocked once.
I told it to wait until I finished being right.
“Ego doesn’t care if you’re miserable as long as you’re right.”
I learned early that control felt safer than connection. When you grow up scanning faces for changes in weather, you get good at predicting storms and terrible at letting the sun touch your skin. That habit followed me into adulthood. In conflict, I chased proof. I treated closeness like a debate stage. If I could nail the argument, I thought my nervous system would settle. It never did. The body doesn’t regulate from victory. It regulates from safety.
You probably know the loop. Voice gets tight. Shoulders climb. Breath turns shallow. The mind stacks receipts while the room goes colder. This is ego running the board. It works like a survival response. Certainty becomes a sedative. Meanwhile the cost adds up: distance, resentment, a house that sounds like a museum after closing. I’m not against truth. I just know that truth without containment becomes a weapon. My younger self thought that being correct would protect me. It kept me armed and alone.
These days I watch different signals. My tells are simple. The pace of my breathing. Whether my jaw locks. If I can still feel my feet on the floor while I speak. When those go offline, I pause. Not to surrender the point. To rebuild enough safety that the truth can land. I ask for five minutes. I walk. I drink water. I name the need instead of the verdict. The conversation changes when the body steadies. Repair gets possible when the goal shifts from winning to understanding what the system needs to stand down.
I still slip. Old training surfaces fast. When I notice it, I circle back. I own the tone. I restate the need. I let accuracy serve connection rather than replace it. The argument I’m learning to win is the one between my pride and my peace. Pride can shout all night. Peace wants a room it can stay in.
I’ve poured everything into this. Healing Thoughts II: 33 Poems and Meditations for Emotional Renewal is up for order now. These pages carry the deepest, sharpest work I’ve done, and I can’t wait for them to be in your hands.
Before you move on, consider this:
What part of you reaches for certainty when what you actually need is safety?
If you’re peeling back wounds like this one,
the 365-Day Shadow Work Journals were made for moments like these.
They speak the same language you do. Truth before comfort.
Explore the journals →
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“The words are purposes. The words are maps.” — Adrienne Rich, Integrity (1978)