Reunification Therapy Isn’t About Determining Who Is Right

How understanding different experiences matters more than settling the argument

When families enter reunification or relationship reconciliation therapy, they often bring very different explanations for how the relationship became disconnected.

A child may say:

Dad never listened to me.

The parent may say:

I tried to listen, but everything I said was taken the wrong way.

One parent may say:

She stopped showing up for our child.

The other may say:

I was being pushed out.

The child may believe the parent chose a new spouse or family over them.

The parent may believe they were trying desperately to maintain the relationship.

Everyone may have stories, examples, text messages, emails, and memories that support how they understand what happened.

It can be tempting to think the therapist’s job is to sort through all of that and determine:

Who is right?

That is not my job.

My job is to understand how the relationship became disconnected, what each person has experienced, what is keeping the relationship stuck, and what may need to happen differently for repair to become possible.

Determining who is right and understanding what needs to change are not the same task.

Families Can Experience the Same Events Very Differently

Two people can participate in the same interaction and leave with very different understandings of what happened.

A parent remembers trying to explain.

The child remembers being lectured.

A parent remembers setting a reasonable limit.

The child remembers feeling controlled.

A parent remembers repeatedly reaching out.

The child remembers feeling pressured.

A child remembers a parent not being there.

The parent remembers being prevented from being there.

These differences don’t automatically mean someone is lying.

Memory is not a recording of an event that we simply retrieve and replay. It is reconstructive. Each time we remember an experience, we rebuild that memory from pieces of what happened, what we noticed at the time, what the experience meant to us, and what we have learned or experienced since. Sometimes details from other experiences can even become woven into how we remember a particular event. Over time, two people can develop genuinely different memories of the same interaction without either person intentionally distorting what happened.

This is especially important in families. A parent and child experienced the original event from different positions to begin with. They noticed different things, understood them differently, and may have revisited those memories many times in the months or years since. Their memories may be sincerely held and still not be identical accounts of what occurred.

Once a parent-child relationship has become strained, those different memories and meanings can also shape how each person interprets what happens next.

Understanding Is Different From Agreeing

This distinction runs throughout my work in R/RRT.

Understanding someone’s experience does not require agreeing that their interpretation is the only correct explanation of what happened.

This is also how I talk with families about empathy. Empathy is a form of understanding. It means trying to see an experience from another person’s perspective. Having empathy does not mean agreeing.

I sometimes explain the distinction using the Golden Rule and what has been called the Platinum Rule.

The Golden Rule tells us to treat others as we would want to be treated. That’s a valuable principle, but it still begins with me: What would I want if I were in this situation?

The Platinum Rule shifts the perspective: Treat others as they would want to be treated.

I think of the difference as similar to the distinction between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy often begins with imagining how I would feel in your situation. Empathy asks me to work harder to understand how you experience the situation—even when your experience is very different from what mine would be.

That difference matters enormously in disconnected parent-child relationships.

A parent may think:

If I were upset with someone, I would want them to explain what happened.

But the child may need the parent to stop explaining and listen.

Or:

If I were hurt, I would want someone to reassure me that they love me.

But the child may need space rather than reassurance.

The parent is offering what would feel helpful to the parent.

Empathy asks a different question:

What does my child need from me—even if it isn’t what I would need from them?

That does not require the parent to agree with everything the child believes. It requires enough curiosity to try to understand the child’s experience from the child’s position rather than interpreting it primarily through the parent’s.

I can listen carefully to a child who says:

My dad didn’t care about me.

without deciding that Dad did not care.

I can also listen to Dad say:

I never stopped caring about my child.

without concluding that the child’s experience of feeling uncared for was therefore invalid.

I can have empathy for both experiences without having to decide that either person’s explanation is the complete story.

Both statements tell me something important.

One tells me about the parent’s intention and experience.

The other tells me about the child’s experience of the relationship.

If the goal is repair, I need to understand both.

The Search for “The Truth” Can Keep Families Stuck

Sometimes families have spent years trying to establish the correct version of events.

Who started it?

Who said what?

Who canceled the visit?

Who refused the phone call?

Who misunderstood whom?

Who influenced the child?

Who tried harder?

Some of those facts may matter a great deal, particularly when there are concerns about abuse, violence, neglect, substance use, or other issues affecting safety.

But in many relationship conflicts, proving one version correct does not necessarily create a path forward.

In fact, the search for “the truth” can become another version of the conflict itself.

The parent thinks:

If my child would just understand what really happened, everything would be different.

The child thinks:

If my parent would finally admit what really happened, maybe I could trust them.

Each person becomes invested in having the other accept their version of “the truth” before the relationship can move forward.

And the relationship remains stuck.

“But That’s Not What Happened”

This is one of the most common obstacles to accountability.

A child describes an event.

The parent hears inaccuracies.

And the parent’s immediate impulse is to correct them.

That’s not what happened.

You’re leaving out half the story.

Your mother told you that.

That’s not what I said.

Sometimes the parent may be factually correct.

But correcting the facts too quickly can cause the parent to miss the more important information:

What did the child experience?

Suppose a child says:

You never came to my games.

The parent remembers attending several games and immediately responds:

That’s ridiculous. I came whenever I was allowed to.

Now they are arguing about attendance.

But perhaps what the child is actually communicating is:

I remember looking into the stands and wishing you were there.

Those are different conversations.

The first is about proving what happened.

The second is about understanding what the experience meant.

This Doesn’t Mean Facts Don’t Matter

R/RRT should not become an exercise in pretending that every account is equally accurate.

Sometimes facts can be established.

Sometimes a child has incomplete information.

Sometimes a parent has misunderstood what happened.

Sometimes one parent has contributed to the child’s negative perception of the other.

Sometimes the estranged parent has behaved in ways that understandably damaged the relationship.

And sometimes there are legitimate safety concerns that must be carefully assessed rather than reframed as simply another perspective.

The goal is not to erase those distinctions.

It is to avoid assuming that resolving every factual disagreement is a prerequisite for relationship repair.

We can take facts seriously without turning therapy into a courtroom.

The Therapist Doesn’t Have to Become the Judge

Court-involved families can make this particularly challenging.

Parents may arrive accustomed to presenting evidence and defending positions. They may want the therapist to confirm:

See? I was right.

Or:

Now you understand what the other parent has been doing.

There is also a common misconception about what happens in family court. Parents sometimes imagine that a custody hearing will finally provide an opportunity for a judge to hear everything, determine exactly what happened, and establish who has been telling “the truth.”

That isn’t really how family court works either.

Courts certainly make findings of fact when necessary, and facts can have enormous legal significance. But in custody matters, the larger task is generally not to write the definitive history of the family. The court must make decisions about custody, parenting time, and other issues based on the applicable law and what serves the child’s best interests going forward. American Bar Association That may require the court to make findings about past events, but the ultimate task is deciding what should happen next—not resolving every disagreement about the family’s past.

A judge can therefore make a decision about what should happen without resolving every disagreement the parents have about what happened in the past.

R/RRT is even further removed from that task.

I am not a judge, and R/RRT is not a custody evaluation.

I am not determining which parent should have custody, what the parenting schedule should be, or which person’s account should become the family’s official version of events. Parents make decisions about parental responsibilities when they can agree, and when they cannot, the court may need to make those decisions.

My role in R/RRT is different.

I am trying to understand what has happened in the relationship, how each person has experienced it, what is maintaining the disconnection, and what might need to change for repair to become possible.

I also tell families that one of my goals is to improve the child’s relationship with the estranged parent enough that the child can communicate directly and honestly with both parents. Ideally, the child should be able to tell Mom and Dad the same things about what they want, what they don’t want, what concerns them, and how they are experiencing what is happening in the family.

That does not mean the child gets to decide what happens. Children should have a voice, but they should not carry responsibility for making decisions about parental responsibilities. Those are adult decisions. Parents make them when they can agree, and when they cannot, the court may need to make them.

But there is an important difference between a child saying directly to a parent, “I don’t want to stay overnight yet,” and one parent reporting, “She says she doesn’t want to stay overnight with you.”

In the second situation, particularly in high-conflict families, the estranged parent may believe the residential parent is influencing the child, speaking for the child, or undermining the relationship. Whether or not that belief is accurate, it can become another part of the conflict.

If the relationship can improve enough for the child to speak honestly with both parents, the child no longer needs one parent to serve as the primary interpreter of their experience to the other.

The parents may still disagree about what should happen. The child may still be unhappy with the decision the adults ultimately make. But the child’s experience is less likely to become another disputed fact between the parents.

The goal is not to make the child the decision-maker. It is to make it increasingly possible for the child to have a relationship—and a voice—with both parents.

The More Useful Questions

Instead of asking:

Who is right?

I am more likely to ask:

What does the child believe happened?

What does the parent believe happened?

How did each person experience those events, and what meaning did they make of them?

What happens when they try to talk about those differences?

What does the parent need to understand about the child’s experience—even if they don’t completely agree with it?

What might the child not yet understand about the parent’s experience?

Can the child communicate honestly and directly with this parent about what they think, feel, and want?

What patterns keep repeating between them?

What does each person do that unintentionally keeps those patterns going?

What would need to happen differently for the relationship to become more workable?

Those questions don’t eliminate disagreement. They shift the focus from deciding whose account should prevail to understanding the relationship well enough to change what happens next.

Sometimes the Relationship Can Change Before the Story Does

This may be one of the most important ideas in R/RRT.

Parents sometimes believe that reconnection can happen only after the child understands the truth.

Children sometimes believe reconnection can happen only after the parent completely accepts their version of what happened.

But relationships don’t always require complete agreement about the past before something different can happen in the present.

A parent can say:

I remember that differently. But I understand that this is how you experienced it, and I can see why it hurt.

A child can remain uncertain about the parent’s explanation while noticing:

Dad listened this time instead of arguing.

A parent can believe the child has been influenced by someone else while still asking:

What is my child telling me about their experience of me?

That shift matters.

The goal isn’t necessarily to create one shared story.

The goal is to create a different interaction.

From Proving the Past to Changing the Pattern

Throughout this series, I have returned to the same basic idea.

Reconnection usually doesn’t come from one conversation.

It doesn’t come from simply requiring contact.

It doesn’t come from the perfect apology.

It doesn’t come from promises.

And, as I discussed in “I Love My Child”—So Why Isn’t That Enough?, it doesn’t come from proving that a parent has always loved the child.

Repair develops when people begin interacting differently.

The parent listens instead of immediately defending.

The child is allowed to describe an experience without being required to prove it.

The parent takes responsibility for what they can take responsibility for.

The child is not made responsible for initiating the repair.

The other parent leaves room for the relationship to develop without making reconnection a loyalty test.

And over time, new experiences begin to compete with the old expectations.

That is why I am less interested in getting everyone to agree on exactly what happened than in helping the family understand what keeps happening between them.

Because the most important question in R/RRT may not be:

Who is right?

It may be:

What needs to happen differently for this relationship to have a chance to change?

That question doesn’t erase the past.

It gives the family somewhere to go next.

More on R/RRT

Previous in the series: When a Child Says, “I Don’t Want to Go”

Start with: Does Reunification Therapy Work? A Guide for Parents

Also in this series: · Accountability Before Reconnection · When “I’m Sorry” Isn’t Enough · Trust Isn’t Rebuilt With Promises · What Should the Other Parent Do? · When a Child Refuses to See a Parent · Stop Trying So Hard to Reconnect · Reconnection Starts Before the First Session Together