The Fights That Aren’t Really About the Dishes

By Derek Colvin, LPC-S - The Giant Therapist

Real. Raw. Unfiltered Reflections on Conflict and Connection.

Every couple has that one fight that seems to come out of nowhere, the one that starts with something small and ends with two people staring at each other, wondering how a conversation about chores turned into a conversation about everything else. It’s almost never about the dishes. Most of the time, those small arguments are just the smoke from something deeper burning underneath. They’re about feeling unseen, unheard, unappreciated, or about carrying more than you know how to say out loud. In my own marriage, it was the dishwasher. It’s funny now, but at the time, it didn’t feel funny at all. It felt heavy. Because I wasn’t really angry about dishes. I was exhausted. I felt unseen. I wanted help, but didn’t know how to ask for it without it sounding like blame. That’s the thing about long-term relationships: the stuff we fight about is rarely the problem. It’s what the problem is standing in for.

You’re never just arguing about what you’re arguing about.

What the Fight Is Actually Trying to Say

Underneath most conflict is a simple question: Do you see me? When that question goes unanswered long enough, even small things start to feel like proof that you don’t.It’s the same story I hear over and over again in my office: “I’m doing everything I can,” “They don’t notice,” “It’s never enough.” We fight about tasks because tasks are tangible. It’s easier to talk about dishes than disappointment. It’s easier to tally chores than name resentment. But every couple eventually realizes that no one wins that game. Because keeping score is the opposite of keeping connection.

The Weight We Carry Quietly

It took me years to see that my frustration wasn’t really about division of labor, it was about emotional load. I was carrying stress, pressure, and self-criticism that had nowhere to go, so it leaked into the relationship. That’s what most of us do when we don’t have language for our feelings, we outsource them. We hand them to our partner, hoping they’ll read our mind and fix what we can’t name. But no one can meet a need that hasn’t been spoken. And the longer we go without naming what’s happening inside us, the louder the fights get. Because what we don’t talk about finds its way out anyway.

When “Equal” Isn’t the Goal

The longer I’ve been married, the more I’ve realized relationships aren’t built on fairness, they’re built on awareness. There are days when the balance tilts, when one of us carries more than the other. That’s not failure; that’s life. The danger comes when we start to believe the story that imbalance means we’re alone in it. When you’re burned out, that story sounds convincing: I’m the only one trying. I’m the only one who cares. But most of the time, your partner isn’t trying less, they’re just drowning differently. The goal isn’t to split everything 50/50. It’s to stay emotionally attuned enough to notice when something’s off and respond with curiosity instead of criticism.

The Real Work Is Repair

For a long time, my wife and I thought repair meant pretending the argument didn’t happen. We’d cool off, avoid the topic, and move on. But that kind of “peace” comes at a cost. It builds distance. Now, repair means circling back, not to rehash, but to reconnect. To say, “I was overwhelmed and took it out on you,” or “I felt invisible, and I didn’t know how to say it kindly.”Those small conversations are where trust starts to rebuild. It’s humbling work, but it’s also the work that keeps love alive.

Repair isn’t about finding fault. It’s about finding your way back to each other.

Protect What’s Sacred

One of the best things you can do for your relationship is to protect it from outside noise. Not everyone deserves to hear your private pain. When we vent to people who only get half the story, they start taking sides, and their opinions can quietly wedge themselves between you and your partner. If you need to talk, choose people who hold both of you with care, who want to see you repair, not resent. A trusted friend, mentor, or therapist can help you process without poisoning the bond you’re trying to protect. Your marriage doesn’t need a jury. It needs safety.

What Marriage Is Teaching Me

The longer I do this, both as a therapist and as a husband, the more I realize how fragile and sacred relationships really are. They can’t survive constant outside opinions or the weight of unspoken resentment. They grow in the quiet work that only the two of you can do: the late-night talks, the awkward repairs, the soft honesty that keeps you tethered when everything else pulls. Most fights aren’t proof that love is fading. They’re just signs that connection is asking to be repaired. The argument is only the alarm. The real work is what you do after you hear it. Marriage isn’t about getting it right all the time; it’s about remembering you’re on the same team, even when you forget for a minute. It’s seeing the human underneath the frustration and choosing, again and again, to turn back toward them. And sometimes, it takes a stupid fight over the dishwasher to remind you that the point was never to win. It was to find your way home.

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