The need to win

I had an argument online this week.

Not a row. More of a debate. A registered psychotherapist posted something about men opting out of relationships, and I disagreed with the framing.

I pushed back. He pushed back. I held my ground.

And then he said something that surprised me, coming from a professional. He told me I was too self-sufficient to ever truly have a genuine loving connection.

Based on a comment thread.

A couple of years ago, I'd have fired back hard. I'd have dismantled the argument point by point, made sure I was seen to win, and then refreshed the page every ten minutes to see who agreed with me.

That's not a joke. That was genuinely me.

The need to win public arguments wasn't about the argument. It was about something underneath it. A need to be seen. To be validated. To have it confirmed, externally, that I was right and I knew what I was talking about.

Sound familiar?

I see it in men all the time. The gym argument, the football debate, the LinkedIn disagreement that turns into a thread. It looks like passion or principle. Sometimes it is. But often it's something older than that.

The need to win is really the need to feel okay.

For all too long, I've wanted to win these engagements and be seen to win.

This week, I chose differently.

I made my point. I made it clearly. And then I let it sit.

Not because I'd given up. Not because he was right. But because I realised something: responding from that place would have undermined the very thing I'd been arguing for.

I'd spent the thread talking about the work of becoming the kind of man who turns up to a relationship with something to offer, rather than looking for someone else to fill the gap.

Walking away clean was the most honest thing I could do.

The work isn't just physical. It isn't just habits and routines and getting your nutrition right, though all of that matters.

It's learning to notice when an old pattern fires. The need to win. The need to be seen. The need to have the last word.

And then choosing, slowly, over time, to act from somewhere different.

That's what I'm building.

It's slow. It's imperfect. But every time I choose differently, something shifts.

Paul