Beyond Us and Them: Finding the Third in a Divided America

In the therapy room, one of the most challenging dynamics a couple can face is polarization. Each partner becomes entrenched in their perspective, convinced the other is wrong, or worse, that the other is dangerous. They stop seeing each other and start seeing symbols. Battles over dishes or discipline become proxies for deeper existential threats. It becomes you or me. Someone has to win. Someone has to lose. This is the “us vs. them” trap. And right now, America is caught in it too.

Whether it’s political parties, racial identities, gender dynamics, or social class, we are explicitly and implicitly being told to divide the world into opposing camps. You’re either for or against. Woke or asleep. Patriot or traitor. Citizen or stranger. There is no space for nuance, no room for complexity. No one gets to be uncertain, evolving, or contradictory. And in this binary, empathy dies.

But there are different ways to understand conflict than just binary. When a couple is gridlocked in an all blame and no curiosity split, what we look for is the third.

The third isn’t a person. It’s a space. A possibility. A perspective that arises between the two and because of the two. It’s the “us” that can hold both “me” and “you.” It is not compromise, but a transformative process of witnessing, imagining, and integrating. The third doesn’t mean agreement. It means recognition. It’s the space between, or in other words, a heart big enough to hold difference without annihilation.

In a marriage, cultivating the third means slowing down, asking questions, tolerating discomfort, and recognizing how each partner’s position might be protecting something deeply vulnerable. In a country, it might look like listening to someone’s story without needing to immediately agree or dismantle it. It might look like being curious about the fear underneath the rage, or naming the pain that gets masked by righteousness. Or even allowing yourself to see the humanity, or pieces of you, in the other.

The third is hard to hold when you’ve been hurt, threatened, or marginalized. It’s not about false equivalency or forced unity. It doesn’t mean we excuse harm or pretend everyone’s reality is the same. But it does mean we challenge ourselves to see more than caricatures. To resist the pull toward totalizing narratives that keep us locked in cycles of retaliation and dehumanization.

Right now, the U.S. is in a psychological splitting. And in that splitting, we lose not only each other, we also lose parts of ourselves. The third reminds us that we are more than this fight. That every “them” is a person with a story. That democracy, like a relationship, requires the capacity to hold competing truths without collapsing.

It’s not easy. The pull to simplify, to divide, to scapegoat, is seductive. Especially in times of fear. But if we want to build something different, we have to reclaim the third.

Not just tolerance. Not just opposition.

But the radical, difficult work of metallization and relational imagination.

That’s where healing begins.

The Ache to Be Alike: When the Threat of Differences Show Up in a Couple's Therapy Room

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, barely looking at each other.

He crossed his arms. She looked out the window.

I had asked a simple question, something about what made them feel safe with each other when things were good. She didn’t answer right away. He spoke first.

“I just want us to be on the same page, just like we used to be. We liked the same music, wanted the same things. Now everything’s a debate.”

She sighed. Not an eye-roll exactly, but the kind of sigh that carries years of trying to explain something that doesn’t translate.

“We weren’t the same,” she said quietly. “You just never noticed I was editing myself.”

That’s when I knew we weren’t just talking about conflict. We were brushing against something deeper… twinship.

He wasn’t trying to dominate her. In fact, he was tender in his own way, eager to repair, to fix, to understand. But underneath that urgency was a fear I could feel in the room. “If we’re different, maybe we’re not okay.”

And for her, that sameness he longed for didn’t feel like connection. It felt like annihilation.

Like being asked to disappear in order to stay loved.

In the language of self psychology, twinship lives in the ache to feel “like” someone else. Not similar in tastes or politics or morning routines, but in essence. In one’s emotional makeup. In what it means to be a person moving through this world.

When that need goes unmet in early life, we carry it with us. Some people try to recreate it in adult relationships. Not consciously, not manipulatively. But with a quiet desperation, “If you and I are the same, then I know I belong. Then I know I’m real.”

But when the other person starts to individuate, to assert difference, it stirs up something ancient. Panic. Threat.

Over time, he began to realize he wasn’t asking her to agree with him, he was asking her to make him feel safe.

And she began to see that underneath his need for sameness wasn’t entitlement, but vulnerability.

That shifted things.

He said one day, “I didn’t know that asking you to see things my way was really me asking, do you still see me at all?”

And she cried. Because she finally heard him, not as someone trying to control her, but as someone trying to not disappear.

This is what twinship does in couples, it whispers the lie that we have to be the same to be close. That if you are different from me, I might vanish.

And so often, that whisper is coming from an early wound, the child part of us that never quite felt mirrored, never quite felt like we belonged.

But in the therapy room, when we can name that fear, when a partner can say, “I don’t need you to be me, I just need to know you see me and you’re not leaving,” it creates room for a deeper kind of intimacy.

Not built on sameness, but on recognition. Recognition that different is not a threat. Different is simply different.

Now, they still don’t agree on everything. They still bump into difference. But something’s changed.

Less fear, more curiosity. Less performance, more presence. Less defensiveness, more openness.

And maybe that’s the gift of therapy, not to erase the differences between us, but to help us hold the differences in each of us, without feeling like we’re losing ourselves.

Because sometimes, the most healing thing in the world isn’t to be the same.

It’s to be seen as different, and loved anyway.

What is Trauma? Part 3 Healing

Healing isn’t about forcing yourself to remember, or to “move on,” or to “ignore it.” In fact, those attempts often keep the wound from healing. Your past traumatic experiences are something to tend to, to be with, to listen to.

There are parts of ourselves, our anger, grief, sadness, tenderness, even joy, that might get pushed down and out of awareness because at some point, those felt too dangerous or scary, or unsafe to express. Healing is about safely and authentically reconnecting to those parts of yourself that had to go into hiding. It’s about being seen by someone who can hold your story without judgement. Its about learning that you and your feelings aren’t bad or wrong even if you were once told otherwise.

Here are 5 ways you can begin to take steps toward healing.

1. Listening inward with curiosity, not judgement.

Instead of asking “What’s wrong with me?” Try asking “What happened to me?” or “What am I carrying?”

2. Notice your body’s language.

Trauma often lives in the body. You might start to notice:

When do I tense up, shut down, or feel numb?

What does safety feel like, and when/what/how do I feel like I lose it?

You don’t have to interpret everything. Just start noticing.

3. Find one safe relationship.

We heal from trauma in relationship not in isolation. If there is someone you trust, even just a little, try being a little more open with them about how you’re feeling.

4. Let go of any timelines.

Healing doesn’t move in a straight line. Some days will feel like progress, others will feel like taking a few steps backwards. Take a breath and trust that this is part of the process.

5. Remind yourself you deserve to heal.

Trauma isn’t about how bad the thing was. Its about how alone you felt. If it hurt, if it shaped you, if its still echoing inside you… IT MATTERS.

If something resonated with you while reading this, I want you to know, that part of you deserves care.

You don’t have to figure everything out at once. You don’t have to be ready to dive into the whole story. You just have to be willing to listen to the parts of you that have been hidden.

Sometimes healing begins not with a grand decision, but with a “I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

If you ever feel ready, reaching out to someone like a therapist or a trusted person can be the beginning of not erasing your story but the weaving of a new one where all of you gets to exist.

How do I know if I have Trauma? Part 2 Signs of Trauma

Dr. Gabor Moté said it well, “Trauma is not just what happened to you. It’s what happened inside you as a result of what happened to you.”

Trauma doesn’t always shout, sometimes it whispers through our bodies, our emotions, and our relationships. And unlike a physical wound that can easily be seen, the psychological and emotional wounds we sustain can be harder to recognize, because our wounds often hide in the adaptations we made to survive.

How we adapted at a young age such as, shutting down, pleasing others, being acutely aware of other people’s emotions, highly skilled at reading body language, over working or achieving, etc, is how we stayed connected with others in order to survive.

So what are some of the more common signs of trauma?

• Feeling like you have to stay “on” all the time, even when you are exhausted.

• Finding yourself disconnected from others, from your own feelings, and even from your own body.

• Having difficulty trusting others, or feeling safe in relationships.

• Blaming yourself when things go wrong even when it’s not your fault. Or being perfectionistic.

• Being drawn to people or situations that hurt, with or without fully understanding why.

• Wanting closeness, but pulling away when you find you are getting close.

• Living with a deep, almost invisible loneliness, even when you are surrounded by others.

• Constantly feeling like you are not good enough, or lovable. Or feeling like you are too much for people.

• Having negative self talk.

• Carrying a shame based view of yourself, or deep sense that something is wrong with you.

If any of this resonates with you, it’s ok. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean you’re “making a big deal out of nothing.” It means you found creative ways to protect yourself.

And now, maybe, there is a part of you that is ready for something different.

Therapy: Is it worth it?

I remember one of the first times I went surfing during a big swell, the waves were suppose to be 7-9 feet with an occasional 11-foot wave. I decided I would go to one of my favorite local spots. As I made the mile trek across the warm sand, I was feeling both excited and anxious, because often those two go hand-in-hand. So many unknowns bouncing around in my head… Will I be able to paddle out in such large surf? Will I have enough energy to catch a wave if I do get out? What if I get held under, or pummeled by a huge wave? 

It reminded me of when I decided to see a therapist. There was an excitement to be able to work through some things, to grow, to heal. AND there were so many unknowns going into the first few sessions. Will this therapist understand me? Will they be able to help? Will I feel comfortable opening up to them? 

I started the long, 100-yard paddle to where the waves were breaking. About half way there my arms felt like noodles from diving under so many powerful waves. I was huffing and puffing, trying to catch my breath as I fought the rushing whitewater of every crashing wave. I felt like I was never going to make it to where the waves were forming. I found my self-talk saying, “just keep paddling. Don’t look back, just keep looking forward to where you want to go. You WILL get there.” With every stroke and breath these words became like a mantra or meditation for me. I knew if I looked back I would be discouraged at where I was and then I would have to fight the desire to give up.

In that moment, I realized this is like the process of therapy. It can be difficult, painful, and scary, with so many unknowns going into it. These are the moments that often bring the growth and healing. It’s not easy, AND that doesn’t mean its not good. 

As I got closer to the lineup, I could see the big dark bumps way out toward the horizon, which generally means set waves (waves that come in larger than the current waves) are coming. I kept my eyes on the set waves, and with each wave that came in I was barely able to dive under the wave before it crashed on me. There were 4 set waves that came through with one rogue wave. They are often called rogue waves because they are the biggest set waves, they seem to come out of no where, and will often take everyone out in its path. 

Life seems to throw rouge waves at us from time to time doesn’t it? Maybe everyday feels like you are being pummeled and pushed back. They feel like set backs, like all the work and progress we have done to move forward and find healing is lost. It can be so defeating. This is the process of deep growth. Often times we take a couple of steps forward and then get pushed back, and if we keep going and trust the process of therapy, over time, we will look back and see just how far we have come. 

After all the hard work of getting out to the line up, I finally caught one of those bigger waves. I will never forget the joy, and the feeling of riding a wave like that. It was worth every moment of the fight to get there.  Life can become joyful again. You will find healing. You will grow and really thrive in life. You are worth every moment of the fight to get there!