If We Both Lived It, Why Do We Remember It So Differently?

Why people can't agree on what really happened.

Before we get started today, let me just cue paid subscribers that our book club meeting to discuss Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me) is taking place next Thursday, April 3rd at 12pm EST (US). Details at the bottom of the newsletter (email me if finances are a hurdle but you’d like to join).

And now on to our topic du jour: the irritation of remembering what happened so differently that it's as if you experienced totally different events…

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That’s not what happened!

You’re leaving out the awful thing you said.

I have no idea what you’re even talking about. That literally never happened!

Sound familiar? If you’ve ever been in an argument where you and someone else remember the same event completely differently, you’re not alone. And while it can feel like gaslighting, there’s usually something much more ordinary—and scientifically explainable—going on.

As a couples therapist, I see how normal it is for two partners to have different memories of the same event. But being inside of that experience is extremely unsettling. It’s hard—painful, even—to hear that someone deny outright what you feel certain is the hard, concrete truth. It’s the kind of experience that leaves us feeling gaslit.

Yet gaslighting reflects an intentional distortion of information. In most cases, this isn’t what is happening when people remember things differently (though it often feels that way). Certainly, people can manipulate information to mess with other people’s minds. But a more mundane cause of different memories of the same event is far more common.

That reason? Our memories are far more malleable than we realize.

We are memory detectives, not memory archaeologists.

I recently read Why We Remember: Unlocking Memory’s Power to Hold on to What Matters, by neuroscientist, renowned memory expert, and professor of UC Davis, Charan Ragnanath. One of the most consistent themes throughout the book is an idea that dates back at least to the 1930s when British psychologist, Frederic Bartlett, conducted an experiment showing that memory is more “reconstructive than reproductive.”

We can understand how memory works through a metaphor that Ranganath offers of thinking about remembering as detective work rather than an archeological dig:

When we remember, we’re like detectives, trying to solve a mystery by piecing together a narrative from a limited set of clues. A detective can build a case based on an understanding of the killer’s motive, which can be helpful, but it can also lead to biases… [We] gather up threads of information and weave them into a memorable narrative. But assumptions about people’s motivations can also fuel our imagination, leading us to fill in the blanks about events in ways that distort our narratives of what happened.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

When we remember, we create a coherent story—one that makes sense to us based on the information we can access. The information we have access to has a lot to do with how we were feeling, what we were paying attention to, and what seems meaningful. All of this may differ for our partner, who has a different body, has a different day, and has a different set of motivations. In other words, our memories are necessarily exceedingly biased.

As one study shows, our retrospective judgment is biased even when our in-the-moment perception is relatively unbiased. Researchers collected data from fans from rival German soccer teams¹: Borussia Dortmund (BVB) and FB Bayern Munich (FCB) who were brought in to watch the same broadcast for the 2013 international final. Researchers collected all sorts of data on attention, mood, perception, and immediate recall, as well as retrospective judgment 10 to 12 days after the game. Perception (measured via eye-movement tracking, event segmentation, and immediate recall) was unbiased by fandom. But retrospective judgment was biased toward the fans’ own team.

Even when being a fan doesn’t change what you saw or even how you processed the event in its immediate aftermath, it does affect how you remember and judge those events later.

So it’s no surprise to Ranganath, who admits that he is often questioned about how memory can diverge so starkly between people:

I’m often asked, ‘How is it that two people can experience the same event together and yet recall it so differently?’ To quote Ben Kenobi from Star Wars, ‘Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.’ People’s different goals, emotions, and beliefs lead them to interpret an event from particular perspectives, and those perspectives will also shape how they reconstruct an event later on.

But even if we can begin to accept the normalcy of having divergent memories of the same event, that doesn’t answer the question of what to do with this uncomfortable experience.

Mending a memory mismatch.

If die-hard sports fans can unconsciously rewrite game events in favor of their team, imagine what happens in our closest relationships when vulnerable emotions—hurt, frustration, pride—get activated.

The other day my husband was putting the cups away using a space-saving procedure I am certain I came up with, so I commented, “You’ve adopted my brilliant technique, huh?” He responded that he was pretty sure he had come up with the procedure. I laughed, thinking about some of Ranganath’s wisdom:

We are all guilty of minor confabulations. When we’re tired or stressed-out, or when our attention is divided by multitasking, reality monitoring goes out the window. As we get older, prefrontal function gets worse, and we find it harder to tell the difference between imagination and experience.”²

Of course, there are much larger issues at stake with many of our divergent memories. Particularly when it comes to emotionally charged events, memory can mean a lot more. But although we may have “flashbulb memories'“ in traumatic situations, even in these conditions memory remains fallible. Ranganath writes:

Although neuromodulators can enhance retention of a memory for a stressful event, it doesn’t mean we will remember it accurately. Stress tips the chemical balance in the brain, downregulating the executive functions mediated by the prefrontal cortex and enhancing the sensitivity of the amygdala… So, when you remember a stressful event, your memory is likely to emphasize your feelings and the factors you were stressed out about, but you might have a hazy recollection of other aspects of the event.

One of the ways to bridge the gap, then, is to recognize the unreliability of our own memory (if you’re like most people, you don’t have to work quite as hard to see the flaws in your partner’s memories).

Recognize that memories are not recalled, they are reconstructed, and that our best bet to bridge the gap between our memories and those of others is to let go of fighting a battle to prove your truth. For one thing, your partner isn’t likely to willingly buy your version. And for another, your version is, statistically speaking, as unreliable as theirs is.³

Rather that place your flag into your hill of truth, practice curiosity and benefit of the doubt. These two values are my favorite combination as they allow partners to purposefully open their minds and hearts to how someone else remembers experiencing an event by deciding to assume there is no malicious or other agenda-driven intent behind them remembering it differently.

Hearing your partner’s version of things is important, but it’s also important for them to hear yours. That’s an easier ask if you assure them that you’ve learned some nifty science about memories and that it’s totally legitimate for you two to be remembering things differently. You can assure them that your goal is not to prove them wrong or erase their view but rather to find common ground and mutual understanding.

Here are those steps in a bulleted version:

1. Remember that remembering is more reconstructive than reproductive. It’s more subjective and malleable than we realize.

2. Pause the argument over whose version is right and, instead, get curious about what stuck out for each person. Wonder together: what is the meaning behind what was recalled for each partner?

3. Strive for common ground and mutual understanding rather than a fully articulated “accurate portrayal” of what happened.

Memory mismatches aren’t just frustrating—they’re inevitable. We all want to believe our memories are accurate, but the science is clear: our brains don’t store facts like a hard drive, they reconstruct stories based on emotions, focus, and meaning.

So the next time you and your partner (or friend, or sibling) remember the same moment differently, pause before insisting on your version. Instead, ask yourself: Is proving I’m “right” more important than understanding each other?

Shifting from certainty to curiosity can turn a disagreement into a moment of connection. It’s not about erasing your memory or accepting theirs—it’s about recognizing that two people can see the same event in different ways, and both can still be valid.

If you’ve ever struggled with a memory mismatch, I’d love to hear: How did you handle it? Did it bring you closer or push you further apart?

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Some exciting things!:

Dear reader who has stayed with me to the end of this newsletter, I have some exciting news to share!

My next book, Why Don’t You Understand Me?: How to Heal Discord and Division in a World of Misunderstanding, is officially happening! Publishers Weekly just announced it, and I can’t wait to share more soon. In the meantime, let’s keep untangling the mystery of misunderstanding together.

And for paid subscribers, read on for our book club details and a book giveaway entry: