The Lie Between Us

There are moments in my relationship with Craig when I have to laugh at myself and not because I am oh so funny, although sometime I am…but because once we finally untangle the conversation, I realize I wasn’t even living in the same reality as he was.

A look across the room or a slight change in his tone.

Even a simple question.

Somewhere inside me, my mind quietly begins filling in the blanks. Before I know it, I’ve assigned motives to his words, attached meaning to his expression, and written an entire story that exists nowhere except inside my own head. Then I’ll stop, take a breath, and say something like, “Okay… this is what I heard, this is what I think you meant, and this is what I’m feeling. Can you help me understand if I’m completely off base?”

I wish I could tell you that happens once in a blue moon. It doesn’t though, it’s pretty damn frequent.

I have what I often call marriage trauma. Relationship trauma. Childhood wounds that left their fingerprints on the way I interpret people. Those old experiences taught my nervous system to stay alert, to anticipate disappointment, rejection, criticism, or abandonment before they ever arrived. Healing has changed me in countless ways, but I still have moments when those old pathways light up before wisdom has a chance to catch up.

The difference today is that I recognize them much faster than I used to. That awareness has saved me from creating problems that never actually existed. At least most of the time.

One of my favorite questions has become, “Is that true?”

Not, “Does it feel true?”

Not, “Can I make a convincing case for it?”

Simply, “Is it actually true?”

That one question has dismantled more arguments than I can count.

A while back I was listening to Father Chad Ripperger speak about spiritual warfare within the family. One observation stayed with me long after the talk ended. He described how one of the enemy’s most effective strategies isn’t necessarily getting two people to hate each other overnight. It begins much earlier by slowly distorting the way they perceive one another. A husband hears criticism where none was intended. A wife hears rejection in an ordinary question. Two people who genuinely love each other slowly become strangers because they are reacting to meanings that were never spoken.

Whether someone views that through the lens of spiritual warfare, psychology, or a combination of both, I think most of us have lived some version of it.

The words themselves are often harmless.

It’s the story we attach to them that becomes dangerous.

Scripture repeatedly warns us that deception is one of the enemy’s oldest tools. Jesus said of the devil, “When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). I don’t believe every misunderstanding is the result of demonic influence. We are human beings with histories, insecurities, personalities, and imperfect communication skills. Yet I also believe that lies have a remarkable way of finding fertile ground in places that have not fully healed.

Those lies rarely announce themselves like fireworks in the night sky on the 4th of July. More often than not, they sound like our own thoughts.

“He doesn’t respect you.”

“She’s disappointed in you.”

“You’re about to be rejected.”

“They’re pulling away.”

The frightening part is not that the thoughts appear it’s how quickly they can begin to feel like facts.

Psychologist Aaron Beck, one of the pioneers of cognitive therapy, wrote, “The meanings people attach to events determine their emotional responses.” I have seen that play out in my own life and in the lives of countless clients. Two people can experience the exact same conversation and walk away with completely different conclusions because each person’s interpretation is filtered through old experiences, beliefs, and expectations.

Trauma has a way of turning ordinary moments into perceived threats. The nervous system doesn’t ask whether something is happening again. It asks whether this feels familiar.

That is why healing isn’t simply learning to think positive thoughts. It is learning to recognize when an old wound has quietly picked up the microphone.

Carl Jung once observed, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

I think about that quote often.

How many marriages have slowly unraveled because two people kept reacting to stories they never stopped to examine? How many friendships have ended over assumptions? How many families drifted apart because no one paused long enough to ask, “Can you tell me what you meant by that?”

Some of the healthiest conversations Craig and I have ever had begin with my willingness to admit that I may have misunderstood him.

I don’t enjoy those moments.

My ego/pride certainly doesn’t.

Yet I have lost count of the number of times he has looked at me with complete confusion after hearing the conclusion I reached. More often than not, he says some version of, “I have no idea how you got there because that’s not even remotely close to what I meant.”

Not close.

Not even in the same zip code.

Years ago, I probably would have defended my interpretation. Today, I am much more interested in understanding than being right.

That shift has changed our relationship.

The Apostle Paul offered a simple instruction that has become surprisingly practical in my everyday life: “Take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5).

I’ve come to think of that as an invitation to pause before agreeing with every thought that enters my mind. Not every thought deserves my trust. Not every feeling deserves the final word. Thoughts can be examined. Feelings can be explored. Assumptions can be questioned.

Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is slow down long enough to ask where a thought came from before building an entire reality around it.

Awareness has become one of the greatest gifts in my healing journey, and not because I get it right every time. No, I fall down often.

There are still days when old fears speak louder than present reality. There are still moments when I catch myself assuming the worst. There are still conversations that begin with my own distorted interpretation before they arrive at the truth.

The difference is that I no longer automatically believe the first story my mind tells me.

Instead, I become curious.

I ask questions.

I do my best to stay present.

I invite clarity instead of creating distance, even when I am feeling like running away from the moment.

That simple practice has protected far more than my peace. It has protected the people I love from carrying the weight of accusations they never deserved.

Relationships are rarely destroyed by a single sentence.

More often they erode one misunderstanding at a time, one assumption layered upon another, until two people begin defending themselves against an enemy that was never sitting across the room in the first place.

Sometimes the greatest lie between us isn’t what was said.

It’s the meaning we quietly attached to it before giving the other person a chance to tell us the truth.

→Have you ever realized that you were reacting to an old wound instead of the moment right in front of you?

I’d love to hear your experience. Share your thoughts in the comments, and if this spoke to you, save it for the next time your mind starts telling a story your heart needs to question.

As always loving and praying for you and our world,

Rene Schooler

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This post was previously published on medium.com.