Coraline, frowning, in front of an investigation board covered in photos of the blond man linked by red threads, where every statement contradicts the one before — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, practical guide Write down the proof

He contradicts himself and you can’t prove it?

Write down the proof

Write down the date and his words, and you’ll be sure of yourself. You won’t convince him.

The net closes in

On Monday he says white, with solid, well-structured arguments, in a calm, confident tone. You take his word for it. On Tuesday he says black, and insists with a straight face that he’s always thought black. On Wednesday he says grey. On Thursday green. And by Friday you’re seeing red. So you look for the explanation on your side. He speaks five languages fluently, you translate English like Manuel from Fawlty Towers. It must be a misunderstanding.

Extract from chapter 25 — Advice Against

Trap

Instead of questioning what he said, you doubt your own memory. You start your sentences with “maybe I misunderstood”, and he lets you believe it.

— “I’d rather be free than be right.”

Stop trying to convince him. You don’t need to be right any more. Stop fighting in his arena. It’s pointless. It isn’t yours.

Are you going mad?

No, you’re perfectly sane. You understood correctly: he said one thing and its opposite. But what makes you doubt is that spoken words fly away. So it’s better to write them down.

How do you write down what he says?

2 columns, and nothing else. Write it down with the meticulous neutrality of a Swiss court clerk.

  1. The date. Day and time.
  2. His words. Word for word if you can. Not your summary, not your interpretation, no comments, no emotion. You record, you don’t judge.

After two weeks, you read it back, and you see that on the same subject, he says everything and its opposite. You no longer have anything to prove to anyone: you know.

Should you show him your notes?

Understand that he isn’t looking for the truth, he’s looking to be right. So don’t try to prove to him that he contradicts himself, you won’t manage it. He isn’t the one who needs convincing, you’re the one who needs reassuring.

So don’t fall back into the trap of wanting to convince him. Don’t pull out your notes in the middle of a row. This proof is not a weapon to be turned against you. This proof is there to help you make your decision without being swayed, to believe what you wrote down, not what he tells you.

Why does it hurt so much when he contradicts himself?

He says everything and its opposite, as long as it serves his interest. It isn’t true, but it suits him.

You look for consistency, you think he does too. Wrong. That’s how he’s got you.

If you believe what he tells you, word for word, then his contradictions send you on an emotional rollercoaster. You’re happy, then sad, then angry. And that’s what wears you out.

Remember

One written proof is worth a thousand words.

Write down for yourself what he says, with the date. And see that he really did say everything and its opposite: you’ve got the proof in black and white.
Now that you’ve understood it, make your decision, and move on.
Stop arguing, stop doubting yourself.

“Verdict: acquitted. And I refuse any appeal.”

Practical guide 04 — Write down the proof
“My pen is my NO.”
The novel The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, by Karine Baridon.

Watch the hummingbirds

Watching the hummingbirds means changing your point of view.
Seeing things from every angle.
Accepting every part of ourselves. And of other people.
And laughing about it.

A hummingbird has every colour. So do we. Our shadows and our light.
You take one step to the side: green turns pink. Then gold.
Nothing has moved, except you.

What a practical guide is for

Trying out a tool.
Changing your point of view.
Laughing at something that weighed on you this morning.

What it isn’t

It isn’t therapy.
It isn’t a diagnosis.
It isn’t a courtroom: nobody’s looking for a culprit.
It isn’t a rulebook for good behaviour. You do what you like.

What it’s for

Accepting that we’re human. And fallible.
Our shadows. Our light.
Taking the drama out, to melt the resistance.
Not judging ourselves. Not judging others.
Laughing about it. It works better, and it’s more fun.

Nobody gets judged here. Least of all you.
We don’t know anything you don’t. We just wrote some tools.

Where these guides come from

Nobody made them up. They came out of a novel, chapter by chapter — in the order I learnt them. Not in logical order: in the order life threw them at me.

What you get, end to end:
Not getting stuck in the middle.
Not having to prove your worth.
Understanding the other person without carrying what’s theirs.
Spotting what keeps repeating.
Setting the limit, and holding it.
Naming the manoeuvre, which is enough to defuse it.
Getting out when the judges are also the accusers.
Listening to the body, which answers before we do.
Sorting out what we keep.
And finally: choosing where we’re heading.

I only saw the logic afterwards, reading it back. That’s why it holds: nobody drew it up in advance.

If something feels too big for you, see a professional. A guide is a tool, not a doctor.