Emotional Realities Part 4: Two Realities
Why sharing a moment doesn’t mean sharing a reality
Photo by Murtaza Hamid
Let’s play a game. Imagine I’m standing in line for a rollercoaster. My stomach flutters, my heart races, and my palms are a little sweaty.
What emotion am I feeling?
Excitement? Dread? Anticipation?
It’s a trick question. The answer depends entirely on whether I like rollercoasters. The sensations are the same—but the emotion I experience depends on what those sensations mean to me.
As it happens, I do like roller coasters, so I feel excited. I didn’t like them, I’d feel dread.
That’s the core idea.
This series has explored how emotions aren’t fixed truths. They’re constructed: built from bodily signals (interoception), a general feeling tone (affect), and meaning (concepts).
In Part 1, we looked at how the brain constructs our reality from the inside out. What feels like perception is mainly prediction.
In Part 2, we explored how deeply our feelings shapes our experience of reality. Feeling doesn’t just color our conceptions of the world, it drives them.
In Part 3, we learned how to step outside of emotionally driven, simulated realities by observing their construction in real time.
Now, in Part 4, we bring that work into our relationships.
What We’re Working With
Before we get practical, let’s ground ourselves in one key idea that changes how we understand communication under stress.
Emotions are constructed.
Neuroscience has updated its view: emotions aren’t hardwired or universal. They’re constructed in real time from bodily signals, past experience, and cultural norms. That’s why anger, for example, won’t always look or feel the same for different people or even within the same person over time.
Our experience of emotion is based on three key components:
· Interoception: bodily sensations caused by the brain’s reallocation of energy resources
· Affect: a general feeling tone emerging from interoception—pleasant or unpleasant, high or low arousal
· Concepts: the mental framework that give interoception and affect an emotional identity
When these three ingredients come together—bodily sensation, affective tone, and meaning—we experience an emotion. As neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett puts it, “An emotion is your brain’s creation of what your bodily sensations mean, in relation to what’s going on around you and in your past experience.”1
Because this process happens so quickly, it feels like we’re just having emotions that already exist in response to a situation. But in fact, our brain is generating a virtual emotional state, assembled on the fly from sensation, affect, and meaning.
This doesn’t make emotions less real. But it does mean we can relate to them with more curiosity, and more choice.
Affective Realism: We See What We Feel
Emotions don’t just color how we feel: they shape what we perceive. If we feel anxious, the world looks dangerous. If we feel depressed, the world looks bleak, even if nothing’s changed but our internal state. What we’re seeing isn’t the world itself. It’s a reflection shaped by memory, mood, and prediction, but we rarely notice this happening.
Here’s how it plays out in a relationship.
Let’s say our partner forgets an important date.
The external problem is simple: they forgot. But the internal problem, the one that hurts, is how it lands. Maybe we feel dismissed. Or unimportant. Or unloved. And our partner, meanwhile, might feel ashamed, defensive, or unsure why it’s such a big deal.
Because the same external event can generate two different versions of reality, depending on how each of us interprets what’s happening, things can go sideways fast.
In the Gottman framework, we say there isn’t one shared reality in a relationship, there are two. And when emotions run high, our goal can easily become winning the argument or proving what’s real, rather than staying in the conversation long enough to find out what our partner’s reality is made of
How Conflict Distorts Perception
When emotions run high, we rarely perceive our partner neutrally. Instead, our brain creates a simulation of them shaped more by our emotional state than external facts. We don’t just hear what our partner says: we impute their intent. We hear a tone. We project a motive. We sense a threat. And the more upset we are, the more likely that the simulated partner in our mind will diverge strongly from the one standing in front of us.
When this happens to both people, conflict can easily become a contest of simulations: I see your defensiveness. You see my criticism. Each of us is reacting to something that feels real, but may not accurately reflect what the other did or intended.
What started as a problem to solve becomes a fight about what’s real.
Gaslighting vs. Simulation
Quick sidebar. Sometimes, when two people remember a moment completely differently, or interpret the same behavior in opposite ways, one partner might say, “You’re gaslighting me.”
But not all conflicting perceptions are manipulative. Often, they’re simply the result of the two-reality problem: each person’s brain is constructing a different reality, shaped by their body state, past experience, and context.
That doesn’t mean the hurt isn’t real. But before we assume deception or malice, it’s worth asking: Could we both be reacting to different versions of the same moment—and each believing ours is the truth?
For example:
One partner says, “You snapped at me in front of everyone.”
The other looks confused: “What are you talking about? I was joking.”
In that moment, the first partner might feel dismissed, even a little crazy. Like their reality isn’t valid. But the second partner genuinely doesn’t remember sounding harsh. They were in different internal states, experiencing the same moment through a different lens.
Becoming a Better Feeler: Building Emotional Awareness
When I was in grad school, training in cognitive-behavioral therapy, one of my supervisors said something that’s been with me ever since:
“Our goal isn’t to make people feel better—it’s to make them better feelers.”
That idea sits at the heart of exposure work and emotional resilience. When clients learn to turn toward their feelings instead of avoiding them, something paradoxical happens: distress softens. They begin to relate to their internal experience differently. And as we explored in Part 3, dissolving a negative state of mind often begins not by changing our thoughts, but by relaxing into our feelings.
Most of us didn’t grow up with much training in that. We might know when we’re “mad” or “upset,” but we don’t always have the language to name what we’re feeling: the sting of disappointment, the edge of irritation, the ache of shame, the twist of envy, the throb of hurt.
Naming our emotions doesn’t harden them; it softens them. It helps us see more directly what our brain is trying to show us, and that gives us a better chance of communicating it clearly to someone else.
This is where emotional granularity comes in.
Take Mira and Devon.2 When they came into therapy, they both described feeling “frustrated all the time.” That was the word they used again and again: frustrated. But as we slowed down and unpacked what was happening in those moments—when Mira shut down mid-conversation, or when Devon got snappy about minor things—a different emotional picture emerged.
Mira wasn’t just frustrated; she was feeling dismissed and unimportant.
Devon wasn’t just frustrated; he was overwhelmed, and quietly ashamed of what he couldn’t seem to get right.
The more granular their emotional vocabulary became, the more they could really see each other’s experience. That didn’t make the pain vanish, but it made the conflict more solvable. Like they were finally having the right conversation.
Emotional Granularity: Why It Matters
Emotional granularity is the ability to identify and articulate a wide range of emotions. People with high granularity can distinguish between frustration, irritation, and resentment, while others might lump them all under “angry” or even just “bad.”
This isn’t just a communication upgrade. Research shows that greater emotional granularity is linked to better emotion regulation, physical health, and psychological resilience.3 4 When we can name what we’re feeling more precisely, we’re less likely to get overwhelmed, and more likely to communicate in ways that bring us closer together.
Instead of saying, “I’m upset,” we might say, “I feel hurt because I was hoping you’d remember our anniversary.” That shift invites empathy. It helps our partner understand what’s happening inside us—our internal model of the moment—rather than reacting to a vague or accusatory comment.
Granularity helps us step out of simulation.
When we can name what we’re feeling with more precision, we’re less likely to confuse that feeling with external reality.
But there’s a subtle trap here, too. Granularity isn’t about locking in a story (“I feel abandoned, so that’s what’s happening”). It’s about learning to describe our internal state so we can investigate it more clearly. Specific emotion words help us notice patterns, slow down our reactivity, and ask better questions—not just prove we’re right.
Granularity grows from practice, not perfection.
It’s not about using emotional jargon—it’s about clarity and precision. The more clearly we can name what we feel, the more clearly we can understand and communicate it.
Here are a few ways to build that skill:
· Learn new emotion words. Explore lists of emotions or look into other cultures’ feeling terms (like the German schadenfreude; or the Japanese amae, a feeling of hopeful dependency). New words help us notice new experiences.
· Label your emotions in real time. Throughout the day, pause and ask: What am I feeling right now? What triggered it? Try to go beyond “good” or “bad.”
· Reflect on your stories. Ask: What’s the situation? What’s the story my brain is telling me? What emotion is that story generating?
· Talk about emotions with your partner. Not just in conflict—practice naming how you feel during ordinary moments, too. This helps normalize emotional language in your relationship.
One of the most common mistakes we make in a conflict is confusing feelings with facts.
For example:
Feeling: “I’m angry because you’re ignoring me.”
Fact: “You didn’t respond to my text for three hours.”
Feelings are real and worth honoring, but they don’t always reflect objective reality. That is, a version of reality our partner will recognize. That’s why we can validate an emotion without agreeing with the story behind it. It’s a signal, not a fact.
When we treat emotions as facts rather than signals—whether we’re asserting our own or dismissing someone else’s—we’re more likely to escalate a conflict than resolve it. The shift is to approach emotions as information, not evidence. What am I feeling? What might this feeling be pointing to?
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Our brains are natural storytellers.
When something feels off, our brains don’t just observe; they explain. But those explanations aren’t objective. They’re assembled from fragments: past experiences, cultural scripts, emotional memory. If our partner seems distracted, our mind might leap to “they’re mad at me,” even if they’re just deep in thought. These stories come fast and feel true. And unless we’ve learned to slow down and question them, we’re likely to take them at face value.
To avoid unnecessary conflict, try gently interrogating your assumptions:
What evidence supports my interpretation?
Are there other possible explanations for what I’m seeing?
How might my emotional state be shaping what I’m perceiving?
The feelings aren’t the problem—the “facts” are.
Learning to pause and get curious isn’t about doubting our feelings. It’s about creating space between what we feel and the story our mind is building around it.
Take Luisa, for example. One evening, her husband walked in the door, quiet and distracted. Luisa immediately felt a wave of anxiety and irritation, convinced he was upset with her. She snapped, “What’s wrong now?”—only to learn he had just gotten bad news about a work project.
Her feeling was real. So was his. What changed for Luisa wasn’t her emotion, but her awareness that the story she built around it wasn’t the whole truth. And learning to notice that difference helped her shift, from reacting to a threat to reaching for connection.
It’s like temperature. One partner feels hot, the other cold. We could check the thermostat for an “objective” reading, but it won’t settle the question of whether it’s hot or cold in the room because that part is subjective. What matters isn’t whose perception is “correct,” but how we navigate the difference.
This is where non-defensive communication becomes essential. When we can stay grounded in our own experience while making room for our partner’s, connection becomes possible—even in moments of tension.
Practicing Non-Defensive Communication
Defensiveness feels protective in the moment, but it often shuts down the very connection we need.
Defensiveness is a natural response to feeling misunderstood, blamed, or criticized. But while it may protect us in the moment, it often escalates tension and shuts down connection. When we feel attacked, our brain shifts into self-protection mode and gets ready to defend, deflect, or counter-attack. And once we’re in that mode, it becomes much harder to listen, empathize, or respond thoughtfully.
Defensiveness can take many forms:
Justifying our actions
Blaming our partner
Minimizing their feelings
Counter-attacking with our own grievances
They make sense when we’re feeling cornered—but they rarely help us feel better, and they don’t solve the problem.
We can transform this situation by turning toward—not away from or against—our partner’s experience.
Instead of seeing our partner’s concern as a personal attack, we can try viewing it as an expression of their state of mind. Their feelings are real, even if their story doesn’t match ours. It’s just how they’re making sense of the moment.
This shift creates room for empathy. It lets us stay curious instead of reactive. Here’s a mantra that can help in the heat of the moment:
“This is their problem, but I can be part of the solution.”
This framing helps us remember that we’re not responsible for their feelings, but that we care about how they feel. This is an important distinction, and it allows us to stay in the conversation as a collaborator rather than a combatant.
Curiosity is the antidote to reactivity.
Here are some ways to practice non-defensive communication in real time:
Monitor your attention. Notice when your focus shifts from listening to planning your response.
Listen actively. Try to understand what your partner is feeling and hoping for—not just the words they’re using.
Delay judgment. You don’t have to agree in order to understand. Let their perspective breathe before you evaluate it.
Ask clarifying questions. Not as a trap, but as a bridge: “Can you help me understand what felt hurtful?”
Use “I” statements. Speak from your own experience instead of defending against theirs.
Offer solutions collaboratively. Look for ways to move forward together, even if you don’t fully see it the same way.
For example:
When Michelle told her wife, “You never back me up with the kids,” it landed as criticism. The kind that can easily trigger a defensive response. Lina’s first impulse was to push back: “That’s not true. I backed you up just last night.” But instead, she paused, took a breath, and said, “It sounds like you felt alone with them today. Can you tell me what happened?”
That simple shift—from defending her own track record to inviting Michelle to share more—changed the tone of the conversation. It turned a moment of criticism into a chance for repair and connection.
Scenario: A Forgotten Anniversary
Imagine your partner forgets your anniversary. You feel hurt, and a story starts to form: They don’t care as much as I do. I always remember the important things, and they never do. You might feel tempted to withdraw, lash out, or even dismiss your own feelings entirely.
This is where emotional awareness becomes a real skill.
Try walking through the steps we’ve discussed:
Distinguish internal from external problems.
The external event: your partner forgot.
The internal reaction: hurt, maybe disappointment or anger. You can validate those feelings without assuming they tell the whole story.Increase emotional granularity.
Are you feeling sad? Angry? Invisible? Getting specific will help you communicate your experience more clearly. The more you understand yourself, the more likely your partner will too.Question your narrative.
What assumptions are you making? Could they have forgotten because they were stressed or distracted, not because they don’t care? Try to imagine two or three plausible alternatives.Communicate non-defensively.
Can you name your hurt without attacking? That’s what creates space for reconnection. A gentle start-up gives your partner a better chance of hearing you because they’re less likely to get defensive.
Here’s what that might sound like:
“I felt hurt that our anniversary slipped your mind. I want to talk about how we can honor this important day in the future because it really matters to me. But first, I’m wondering what was going on for you. What happened from your side?”
This kind of response honors the emotion, names the need, and invites collaboration.
A Second Perspective
Now flip the scenario. Imagine you forgot the anniversary—and your partner comes at you hard:
“I can’t believe you forgot. Do you even care about this relationship?”
In that moment, your brain might light up with shame, guilt, or defensiveness. You might want to explain, justify, or shut down. But what if you paused?
What if you said:
“You’re really upset. I get that this matters to you. And I want to understand what this brought up for you.”
That kind of response doesn’t erase your own experience. It creates space for theirs. And once the initial emotion has room to breathe, you can share yours, too. You might have to exercise some patience if your partner is really upset. It may take more than one round of listening for them to feel heard.
Maybe later in the conversation, once your partner feels heard, you could say something like:
“I’ve been thinking about why I don’t pay attention to anniversaries. When I was growing up, they were always a disaster. My parents didn’t forget them, they made a big deal out of them. There’d be drinking, then fights, tears, sometimes things breaking. So for me, ignoring anniversaries started to feel like the safer option. I’m not saying that’s right, but I want you to know where I’m coming from. And I’d really like to try to do it differently next year.”
That’s not an excuse. It’s context. It shifts the conversation from accusation to understanding. It lets your partner know that your forgetfulness wasn’t carelessness or rejection—it was shaped by pain you haven’t always known how to name.
This is what emotional awareness in conflict looks like: staying grounded in your own experience while making room for your partner’s, even when it’s hard.
Final Thoughts: The Power of Emotional Mastery
Emotions aren’t just background noise in a relationship. They shape what we perceive, how we respond, and what stories we tell about ourselves and each other.
When we learn to recognize our emotional patterns, separate internal experience from external reality, and communicate without defensiveness, we open the door to a different kind of connection.
Emotional mastery isn’t about controlling what we feel. It’s about learning to listen inwardly with precision, speak outwardly with care, and stay grounded when things get hard. It’s about becoming someone who can feel deeply without getting lost, and who can love openly because they know how to weather emotional storms.
With practice, these skills can shift our relationship style from reactive to resilient. Not by avoiding conflict—every relationship has that—but by engaging in it with clarity, empathy, and intention. This is the work of building a relationship that doesn’t just survive emotion, but thrives in it.
In Part 5, we’ll get hands-on. How do you train in emotional awareness and communication so those skills are available when you need them, whether in conflict or in everyday conversation? What are some concrete ways to build clarity, reduce reactivity, and deepen connection?
That’s what’s next: a companion guide to make these tools real in everyday life.
1 Barrett, L. F. (2017). How emotions are made: The secret life of the brain. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
2 These vignettes are drawn from real cases in my therapy practice. Names, demographics, and other identifying information have been changed to protect confidentiality.
3 Barrett, L. F., Gross, J., Christensen, T. C., & Benvenuto, M. (2001). Knowing what you're feeling and knowing what to do about it: Mapping the relation between emotion differentiation and emotion regulation. Cognition & Emotion, 15(6), 713-724.
4 Kashdan, T. B., Barrett, L. F., & McKnight, P. E. (2015). Unpacking emotion differentiation: Transforming unpleasant experience by perceiving distinctions in negativity. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 24(1), 10-16.