Being Accountable Is the Highest Form of Love

Being okay with being wrong is a skill for a life well lived.

When I work with couples and families, one of the biggest barriers to connection is a preoccupation with being right. One person's version of an event standing off against another person's version of the same event. Dialectically, of course both perspectives can exist and neither is "right" or "wrong." But when it's your conflict, your family, your wound, you betcha it matters.

Lately I see the same standoff everywhere, not just in my office. We are living in a culture of misinformation and black-and-white certainty. Everyone has a take. Every feed rewards the most confident and exacting voice in the room. It's difficult to have nuance in a meaningful way and actually say anything. Being unsure reads as weakness. Changing your mind reads as losing. But getting okay with being wrong is how we make it right. Without this skill we are destined for disconnection, more estrangement, and hurt feelings. What if we were more comfortable with nuance and uncertainty, and with the human experience being one that is fluid and imperfect and even clumsy sometimes?

Meanwhile, optimization culture, an unhealthy obsession with health, has turned our relationships into renovation projects, especially the one we have with ourselves. The most meaningful relationship we have can't only be about fixing ourselves. Track the sleep, fix the attachment style, regulate the nervous system, optimize the morning routine, heal the inner child. Self-improvement is not the problem. The problem is when fixing becomes the only way we relate to ourselves. Life is messy, being human is messy, and getting it wrong sometimes is part of it.

Okay, but hear me out: if I never admit to being wrong, am I even wrong, though?

Being accountable isn't the same as blaming yourself

I come from a long line of fault-finders. First things first: "Whose fault is this?" I spent much of my early adult life trying to be right, know things, and be the most competent person in the room so I could never be blamed for being at fault. I learned two very important lessons from that campaign.

It is SO lonely.

It doesn't fucking matter.

I sit across from estranged families and say over and over, "This estrangement is the result of the belief that the worst thing you could be is wrong." Being wrong is part of it. Being able to acknowledge it gracefully and swiftly is how we stay connected and flexible in life and relationships. Oops. I messed up. Can we try that again? Can I start over? Can I have a do-over?

Brené Brown, who has spent years researching shame and vulnerability, describes perfectionism as armor: the belief that if we look perfect, live perfect, and work perfect, we can avoid criticism, blame, and ridicule. That armor makes sense. If being wrong means you are defective or less lovable, of course you would protect yourself from it. But armor is heavy, and it keeps out the people who love you along with the people who judge you.

I started moving through the world with the belief that accountability is the highest form of love, and that accountability isn't the same as blame.

Acceptance and change are not opposites

The core dialectic in DBT is acceptance and change. Not acceptance or change. Not "accept yourself once you've fixed everything." Both, at the same time. You can be working on something and also be okay as you are right now. I am doing the best I can, and I need to do more.

The research on self-compassion is strong: being kind to ourselves when we mess up is how we move toward accountability and change. Shame and self-criticism are not the engine of change we think they are. They often get in the way of seeing ourselves clearly or being able to effectively move toward behavior changes. Modeling accountability and consistent, predictable repair is the foundation of safe, meaningful relationships and connection. Living in a world where we have unbridled access without predictable safety or connection is a big source of isolation and loneliness.

Being wrong gracefully

Remain teachable. "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's mind there are few." Shunryu Suzuki. Assume everyone has something to teach you, including the version of you who got it wrong yesterday.

Lead with curiosity. In leadership, in parenting, in partnership, we can't get curious when we are defending ourselves. Curiosity is what certainty can't do: it lets new information in.

Own it out loud. "Oops, I was wrong." "I completely missed this." "I thought more about it and I was moving us in the wrong direction." Great. Now we can actually solve the problem, together.

Fall on your own sword. Instead of doubling down, let it go, and be happy for fuck's sake. Nobody wants a tombstone that reads, "Here lies Meghan, she was always right. Always won."

When right, be humble. Wear being right like a loose-fitting garment, too. It's nice. It is not who you are. The less tightly you hold your rightness, the less dreadful being wrong becomes. You win some, you lose some. Plus, what if we weren't always competing with each other (?!?!)

Be flexible with your own experience. Not every hard feeling is a problem to solve. Some anxiety is just anxiety. Some grief is just grief. Some days you'll be reactive and tired and less skillful than you wanted to be. That's not a failure of your healing journey; that's being human on a Tuesday. That's part of it. Notice it, name it, repair what needs repairing, and then keep it moving.

Be vulnerable and human. "I'm sorry I took that out on you." "I'm scared, and it isn't fair to put that pressure on you." "I wish I could do that over again. Here is what I would do differently..." Then see what happens next. It is remarkable what vulnerability makes room for.

We are all wrong sometimes. And the best part is how much room that gives other people to be human alongside us. What if being wrong didn't carry shame? What if it was just a thing that happens sometimes, like being right? Sometimes we make mistakes, sometimes we crush it, and there is a whole lot of everything in between.

In a world that keeps asking us to pick a side and prove it, being humble with the human experience, yours and everyone else's, is not passive. It's one of the most skillful things you can do.

"Here lies Meghan, she was brave, generous, and really went for it with her whole fucking heart." I prefer the sound of that legacy.

Keep fighting the good fight.

xx Meghan

More skills, less suffering. Better therapy.