I’ve been writing a novel, and it’s forcing me to confront a truth I see in every mediation:

Every character thinks they’re right.

That’s one of the first things you learn when writing fiction. If a character sees themselves as the villain, the story doesn’t work. The tension only holds when each person believes their actions make sense.

That principle applies just as much in real-life conflict.

In mediation, I rarely sit across from someone who thinks, “I’m the problem.” Each person can walk me through a clear explanation of how things went wrong—and why the other person caused it. Most of the time, they’re not being difficult; they’re being consistent with their own experience.

For example, I mediated a case this week where the plaintiff claimed her former partner owed her money. She laid out the details clearly. The defendant didn’t dispute the specific transaction but explained that, over time, he had covered other expenses for her that had never been repaid. From his perspective, the numbers told a different story.

If that case were decided strictly on competing narratives, it would go nowhere. Each side could continue building a stronger argument for their version of events. That’s the legal instinct—organize the facts, support your claim, defend your position.

But mediation requires something different.

When both sides are focused on proving they’re right, the conversation narrows. People repeat the same points, often with more volume and less patience. It feels productive because everyone is talking, but nothing changes.

Writing has made me more precise about what’s happening in those moments.

When I’m working through a scene, I have to understand each character’s reasoning well enough that their choices feel inevitable. Even when those choices lead somewhere messy, they still have to make sense from that character’s point of view.

That discipline carries over to my mediation work.

Instead of asking who is right, I’m listening for how each person got there. Questions like:

What led you to see it this way?
What feels unfair about how this played out?
What do you think the other person is missing?
What would need to be acknowledged for this to feel resolved?
Once those answers start to surface, the conversation begins to move because they begin to see that the other person isn’t operating randomly or maliciously. There’s a logic to it, even if they don’t like it.

That recognition is usually the first real turning point in moving the conversation out of a dead end and into something more useful.

There’s a concern that acknowledging the other person’s perspective weakens their position. In practice, the opposite tends to happen. When people feel understood, they stop trying so hard to prove their case.

So what happens when one party refuses to consider the other perspective?  I narrow the focus. I ask for specifics instead of generalizations: “What happens if this doesn’t get resolved?” I reframe positions into decisions: “Given that, what do you want to do next?” Sometimes I ask them to explain the other side’s position as I’ve heard it, not to agree, but to confirm accuracy. Progress tends to follow clarity.

Both in writing and in mediation, I’m reminded of the same thing: conflict isn’t driven by bad people. It’s driven by competing narratives that make sense to the people telling them.

If you want to test this, try a simple exercise: Take a current disagreement and write out the other person’s position as if you had to defend it. Not a caricature. A version they would recognize as fair.

Then ask yourself: What are they trying to protect? What would they say I’m missing? Where might their version of the story hold up?

If you want to go one step further, ask them directly: “What do you want me to understand about your position that I’m not getting yet?” Then listen for the answer without interrupting or correcting.

You don’t have to agree with any of it.

But you may find that once you understand the story they’re telling, the path forward looks different.

Because most conflicts don’t resolve when someone proves they’re right. They resolve when both sides understand enough to decide what happens next.

Sarah Hannah-Spurlock is a Florida Supreme Court–certified circuit civil, family, and county mediator and the founder of Sage Mediation and Consulting. With more than 25 years of experience, she brings a practical, real-world approach to conflict resolution, helping individuals, families, and organizations work through disputes and reach workable solutions. She is known for her clear communication, steady presence, and ability to move conversations forward when they’ve stalled. When she’s not mediating, she’s writing a novel—where, it turns out, the same rules about conflict still apply.