I've been coaching couples for over thirty years. I've heard it all. The affairs. The betrayals. The addiction spirals. The slow erosion of trust over decades.

But you know what takes up more of my time than any of that?

The thermostat.

I'm not kidding. I have watched grown adults, educated professionals, people who run businesses and raise children and function in society like normal human beings, nearly blow up their marriages over three degrees of temperature difference.

And honestly? I get it. Because those three degrees aren't about temperature. They're never about temperature.

Let me walk you through some of the dumbest fights couples have, and then let me tell you what's actually happening underneath. Because once you see it, you can't unsee it. And it might just save your relationship.

The Thermostat War

She's cold. He's hot. She bumps it up to 72. He drops it to 68. She puts on a blanket and gives him the look. He pretends not to notice the look. She bumps it back up. He bumps it back down. Repeat forever.

On the surface, this is about comfort. Two people with different body temperatures trying to coexist in the same house.

But here's what I hear when I dig deeper.

She's saying: "My comfort matters. Do you care that I'm uncomfortable?"

He's saying: "I should get a say in my own home. Stop overriding my preferences."

Nobody is saying either of those things out loud, of course. They're just passive-aggressively adjusting a dial on the wall and keeping score.

The thermostat is never the thermostat.

The Dishwasher Debate

This one is a personal favorite. Because apparently there is a RIGHT way to load a dishwasher, and every married person on earth is convinced their spouse doesn't know it.

"You can't put the big plates there."

"The cups go face down, not sideways."

"Why would you put a wooden spoon in the dishwasher? It says hand wash."

"You're wasting space. Look at all that empty room on the bottom rack."

I've watched couples demonstrate their dishwasher loading technique to me like they're presenting evidence in court. Full hand gestures. Diagrams. The whole thing.

Here's what's really going on.

The person reloading the dishwasher after their spouse already loaded it is saying: "The way I do things is the right way, and you can't even get this simple thing right."

The person whose loading job just got rearranged is hearing: "You're incompetent. You can't even do a basic household task correctly."

One person is trying to maintain order. The other person is feeling criticized for trying to help. And now nobody wants to do the dishes at all, which is a whole new problem.

The dishwasher is never the dishwasher.

"What Do You Want for Dinner?"

This is the fight that has no winner. It's been happening since the beginning of time, and it will continue long after we're all gone.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't care, whatever you want."

"Okay, how about tacos?"

"No, not tacos."

"You said whatever I want!"

"I said I don't care, but I don't want tacos."

This goes on for forty-five minutes until someone gets frustrated, someone gets hangry, and you end up eating cereal in silence at 9 PM.

But here's the thing. This fight isn't about food. It's about decision fatigue and emotional labor. One person is exhausted from making choices all day and wants their partner to just pick something. The other person is afraid of picking wrong and getting blamed for it. So they say "I don't care" as a way of avoiding the risk of being wrong.

Both people are trying to protect themselves. Nobody is actually talking about what they need.

Dinner is never dinner.

"I'm Fine"

Two of the most dangerous words in any relationship.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Narrator voice: They were not fine.

Everyone knows "I'm fine" doesn't mean fine. The person saying it knows it doesn't mean fine. The person hearing it knows it doesn't mean fine. And yet we keep saying it and we keep pretending to believe it.

"I'm fine" is usually code for one of these:

"I'm hurt but I don't feel safe telling you why."

"I'm angry but I don't want to start a fight."

"I've told you what's wrong before and nothing changed, so why bother?"

"I need you to try harder than one question."

The person saying "I'm fine" is withdrawing. The person hearing "I'm fine" either feels relieved (dodged a bullet) or frustrated (here we go again). Either way, the real conversation never happens.

Fine is never fine.

The Driving Directions Standoff

"You should've turned back there."

"I know where I'm going."

"The GPS says turn left."

"The GPS is wrong."

"How can the GPS be wrong? It's a satellite."

"I've driven this route a hundred times."

"Then why are we lost?"

This one makes me laugh because it's so predictable. One person is trying to help. The other person hears the "help" as criticism. The helper gets frustrated because their perfectly good advice is being ignored. The driver gets frustrated because they feel micromanaged.

And underneath all of it? One person needs to feel competent. The other person needs to feel heard. Both are valid needs. Neither person is expressing them. They're just arguing about whether to take the highway or side streets.

The directions are never the directions.

So What's Actually Happening?

Here's what thirty years of coaching has taught me. Every one of these fights, no matter how dumb they look on the surface, follows the same pattern underneath.

I call it the Fear Dance.

It works like this. Every person walks into a relationship carrying core fears. Fear of being controlled. Fear of being inadequate. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being invisible. Fear of failure. Fear of not measuring up.

When your spouse does something that touches one of those fears (even accidentally, even over a thermostat), your brain doesn't think "this is a minor household disagreement." Your brain thinks "this is a threat." And you react accordingly.

One of you pursues. You push harder, talk more, follow them from room to room, send the long text, need to resolve it NOW. You're not trying to be annoying. You're terrified of disconnection. Your fear is telling you "if we don't fix this right now, we're in trouble."

The other one avoids. You shut down, go quiet, leave the room, give one-word answers, stare at your phone. You're not trying to be cold. You're overwhelmed. Your fear is telling you "nothing I do is going to be good enough, so I might as well stop trying."

The pursuer pushes. The avoider retreats. The pursuer pushes harder. The avoider retreats further. And round and round you go, dancing the same dance over the thermostat, the dishwasher, the dinner question, and every other "dumb" fight you've ever had.

The dance is always the same. Only the music changes.

How to Stop the Dance

The first step is honestly just seeing it. Most couples have no idea they're doing this. They think each fight is a separate, isolated event. "We fought about the dishwasher on Monday and directions on Thursday." No, you didn't. You had the same fight twice. You just changed the topic.

Once you see the pattern, you can start interrupting it.

If you're the pursuer, the bravest thing you can do is pause. I know everything in you is screaming to chase them down and fix it. But your pursuit is activating their fear. Give them space. Let them come to you. It feels counterintuitive, but it works.

If you're the avoider, the bravest thing you can do is stay. I know everything in you is screaming to leave the room, check out, or give a one-word answer. But your withdrawal is activating their fear. You don't have to have the perfect response. You just have to stay present. Even saying "I need a minute but I'm not going anywhere" changes the whole dynamic.

And for both of you? Start naming what's actually happening. Instead of "Why did you change the thermostat again?" try "I think I'm feeling like my comfort doesn't matter to you." Instead of "Fine, whatever" try "I'm shutting down because I feel like I can't win."

It feels awkward. It feels vulnerable. It feels like way too much emotion for a conversation about dishwasher racks.

But that's exactly the point. The emotion was always there. You were just putting it on the wrong thing.

The Good News

Here's what I love about these dumb fights. They're actually a gift.

I mean it. Every thermostat war, every dishwasher debate, every "I'm fine" standoff is your relationship trying to tell you something. It's showing you where the real needs are. It's pointing to the fears underneath the surface. It's giving you a chance to actually connect instead of just coexist.

The couples who learn to see through the surface fight and into the real conversation? Those are the couples who make it. Not because they stop fighting. They don't. But because they start fighting about the right things. The real things. The things that actually matter.

So the next time you find yourself in a heated debate about which direction the forks should face in the silverware tray, take a breath. And ask yourself: what am I really upset about?

The answer might surprise you. And it might change everything.

Ready to learn your dance and start changing the pattern?

Join Smalley Sojourners, a community for people who want to stop having the same fight on repeat and start actually connecting.

• ✅ Twice-weekly live coaching with me (Tues/Fri 7-8am CST)
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Stop dancing. Start talking.

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You can also text me at (303) 435-2630 or email [email protected].

What's the dumbest thing you and your partner have ever fought about? And what was it REALLY about? I'd love to hear your stories in the comments. No judgment. I've heard it all.