Coraline holds up a mirror to the Viking, who looks at himself in it — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, practical guide
Hummingbird, the icon of the practical guides of The Hammock and the Hummingbirds

What do I say to someone who tells me what I think?

He projects, I feel

Two different mechanisms. Only one of them ever questions itself, and it isn’t his.

The keyYou don’t have to prove what you feel. Go back to the facts and stop there.

“I’m not responsible for your interpretations.”

Chapter 40 — The Sun King

When it happens to you

He tells you what you think, what you feel, what you meant to do. And he’s certain of it. After 20 minutes, you start doubting your own version — even though you were there.

Why you end up doubting yourself

He projects, you feel: these aren’t two versions of the same fact, they’re two different mechanisms. Only one of them ever questions itself. As long as you try to correct his, you’re handing him yours to examine.

Rule

What he projects isn’t what I feel. And I don’t have to play the rescuer to prove it.

How to stick to your version, in 4 steps

  1. He tells you: “You’re too sensitive” · “you got it wrong” · “you’re making it up” · “you push me to the limit” · “you belittle the magnitude of what I’m going through”. Recognise that he’s invalidating you, and stop correcting yourself.
  2. Go back to the facts, not the intentions. “I’m sticking to the facts.” · “What you’re saying has changed since yesterday.”
  3. Hold your ground. “I see it differently, and I’m entitled to.” · “That’s not my intention, it’s your interpretation.”
  4. 3 seconds’ pause every time he changes his version. You breathe, you take note, and you don’t answer straight away.

⚠ Never play the rescuer with someone who’s on fire

This is the rule that costs the most when you forget it. You don’t put him out: you catch fire. You can take in his glow, listen to him, and keep your distance. Look at the sun, yes — never head-on, and never without sunglasses.

What it changes for you

You get out of the loop where you spend your evenings gathering proof of your good faith. Your feelings don’t need his approval to exist, and that’s what gives you back your sleep.

How to practise

For one week, just note down the phrases from the catalogue when they come. Don’t answer any more than usual. Simply recognising them already changes how you feel when you hear them.

Remember

He projects. I feel. It isn’t a crime, it’s my nature.

You may be wondering

And what if he’s right, and I really did get it wrong?

It happens. You can tell the difference by what comes next: someone sincere tries to understand with you. Invalidation isn’t looking for anything — it shuts the conversation down.

Is he doing it on purpose?

Most of the time, no. He’s certain of what he says. That’s exactly why convincing him doesn’t work, and why distance is your only lever.

What do I do if it’s my boss or my brother?

You don’t cut them off: you set the distance and the length. That’s guide 21, the deckchair and the sunglasses.

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.