We’ve all heard, and have likely used, the expression, “There are three sides to every story.” This, of course, refers to person one’s side, person two’s side, and the actual truth.

On the surface, it sounds wise. It encourages us to stay open-minded and avoid jumping to conclusions. Or, depending on the context, it can feel a little accusatory, as though we don’t fully believe either person is telling the truth.

But through a nervous system lens, I don’t think that’s quite what’s happening.

When two people experience the same interaction differently, we tend to assume there must be an objective version of events sitting somewhere in the middle. If we gather enough information, compare enough perspectives, or replay the conversation enough times, eventually we’ll uncover what really happened.

The problem is that, when it comes to human interactions, we don’t experience the world like video cameras. We experience it through our nervous systems. That means there’s rarely an objective truth to uncover in the first place.

The Pen Was Never the Problem

Imagine Kim and I are meeting about a project. At some point in the conversation, I put my pen down on the table.

Kim immediately looks at me and says, “Why did you slam your pen down?”

“I didn’t slam it,” I reply. “I just put it down.”

Now we’re both convinced we’re right.

Kim is wondering why I’m denying something she clearly saw. I’m wondering why I’m being accused of something I know I didn’t do.

Let’s imagine our manager somehow has a video recording of the meeting and decides to settle the disagreement once and for all.

The video plays.

At exactly the same moment, Kim says, “See? You slammed your pen down.”

And I say, “See? I just put the pen down.”

Sound ridiculous? Maybe.

Sound familiar? Probably.

Because most workplace conflict doesn’t begin with people intentionally hurting each other. It begins with two nervous systems assigning completely different meaning to the same moment.

Our Nervous Systems Are Meaning-Makers

When something happens around us, our nervous system isn’t simply asking, What happened?

It’s asking questions like:

• Am I safe?
• Am I respected?
• Am I being dismissed?
• Do I still belong here?

Those questions happen instantly and largely just below the level of consciousness.

Kim’s nervous system may have interpreted the sound of the pen as frustration or irritation directed toward her. Mine may have registered nothing at all beyond, I’m finished making that note.

Neither of us is necessarily lying. Neither of us is necessarily trying to be difficult. We’re simply experiencing the same event through different histories, different patterns of protection, different thresholds for threat, and different expectations about what interactions with other people mean.

That’s why two honest people can leave the same meeting with completely different stories.

Why Leaders Get Stuck

When a disagreement lands on a leader’s desk, the instinct is usually to become the detective.

Who interrupted first?

Who raised their voice?

What exactly was said?

Who misunderstood whom?

Those questions feel productive because they promise certainty. But certainty doesn’t necessarily rebuild trust.

I’ve seen leaders spend hours trying to determine whose version of an interaction is “correct,” only to discover that everyone leaves feeling just as unheard as when they arrived.

That feeling has nothing to do with failing to uncover the facts. Each person already believes they know what happened. They leave feeling unheard because the meaning their nervous system attached to those facts was never addressed.

That doesn’t mean facts don’t matter. There are absolutely situations where establishing what happened is critically important. But when we’re talking about the everyday misunderstandings that slowly erode trust on a team, the path forward often begins somewhere else.

Instead of asking:

• “Who’s right?”
• “What actually happened?”

We might ask:

• “What did that moment communicate to you?”
• “What happened inside you when that occurred?”
• “What would help restore trust now?”

These kinds of questions don’t ignore reality. They simply acknowledge that relationships are built on lived experience, not objective playback.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether the pen was placed on the table or slammed onto it. What matters to the relationship is that Kim’s nervous system detected a threat that led her to feel less safe in our conversation.

That may have had everything to do with me and how I showed up, or it may have had nothing to do with me at all and instead been shaped by experiences from her past.

Either way, if our goal is to repair the relationship, that’s the conversation that matters.

Why This Matters for Leaders

When we’re leading a team, we rarely have the luxury of sitting with uncertainty. Projects are moving. Clients are waiting. People want answers. Everyone is looking to us to fix the situation.

Under that kind of pressure, it’s completely understandable that our minds start looking for the fastest route to resolution.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Who started it?”

“What actually went on here?”

If we can establish the facts, surely we can solve the problem.

Except that’s often where we accidentally get stuck.

While we’re busy trying to determine whose version of events is “correct,” the thing that actually damaged trust usually goes untouched.

The Leadership Challenge

The leaders we admire aren’t necessarily the ones who resolve conflict the fastest. They’re the ones who stay grounded enough to remain curious while everyone else is reaching for certainty. They’re the ones who make people feel heard, which helps them feel valued and reminds them that they matter.

This, of course, is much easier said than done.

Pressure narrows our thinking. It pulls us toward certainty, efficiency, and immediate solutions. Those instincts aren’t character flaws. They’re part of being human and of having very human nervous systems ourselves.

The challenge is that our responses under pressure can also pull us away from the very qualities that help people feel heard, understood, and safe.

And that’s the heart of effective leadership.

It’s not about avoiding pressure, becoming endlessly patient, or getting every conversation right.

It’s about learning how to remain the leader you want to be because the pressure has increased, not only when it’s absent.

For decades, emotional intelligence has helped leaders better understand themselves and the people around them. I believe the next evolution of emotional intelligence is adding a nervous system lens that explains why those skills become harder to access under pressure and, more importantly, what helps make them available again when they matter most.

The leader you want to be doesn’t disappear when things get hard. Curiosity, empathy, patience, and clear thinking don’t suddenly vanish. They simply become more difficult to access as your nervous system responds to stress and pressure.

The next evolution of emotional intelligence isn’t about learning more skills. It’s understanding what makes those skills available when they matter most.

Leadership isn’t measured by who we are on our easiest days. It’s shaped by how we find our way back to ourselves on the hardest ones.

If this perspective resonates with you, you’ll probably enjoy exploring more of our work on nervous system-aware leadership, psychological safety, and collaborative communication. Together, they’re helping leaders build workplaces where trust grows, difficult conversations become more productive, and people feel safe enough to do their best work.

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