For as long as I can remember, I’ve been someone who avoided conflict at all costs. If there was a strong opinion, I would just say, “I see what you’re saying,” without really saying what I believed. If a conflict arose, I’d just backpedal and yield to whoever was about to have a conflict with me. If there was a question of fault, I’d just say, “I’m sorry, it was my fault.” I knew how to hide. To say things in a pleasant, generic, vague way not to threaten anyone.
I’d often say, “if you want,” “if that makes sense,” “This is probably dumb, but…” “sorry about this, but…” and 30 other iterations to soften whatever I’d say to minimize the chance of conflict. I was apologizing for something I hadn’t even done! Conflict was terrifying. My heart would pump as if it was a life-or-death situation. Even the faint possibility of conflict would trigger me. My body, heart, and mind treated conflict with a loved one as if a terrorist on fire were charging me with a suicide bomb.
Conflict-avoiders like me avoid conflict because something during our childhood made conflict really scary. Maybe it was big, explosive anger that came out during conflict in the house? Or how a particular conflict in our young lives led to a drastic consequence — maybe a loved one leaving for good. Or a harsh word was spoken in passing that cut us to the core. As children, we don’t know what we’re doing, we’re just trying to survive. So in our childish-but-creative minds, we invent ways to do absolutely anything to make the yelling go away. Hiding. Being nice. Smiling to hide the fear. Being funny. Building walls to protect ourselves.
All of this seemed to work just fine for a time. But things started crumbling. The people closest to me didn’t actually know me. Not because they didn’t try, but because I didn’t let them in. I was so scared of offending someone or creating a conflict, I’d just disappear into a vague, pleasant, blob of a smiley face.
I was so oversensitive to how everyone else felt. Over time, I’d start to feel, “what about me?”
It took me a while to realize something that all kids know: relationships are two-way streets. I know you and you know me. Except that I wasn’t letting anyone know me – and I kept finding new ways to avoid conflict. Another flavor of me avoiding conflict? Ironically, I became a great listener. I actually got to know others well. I learned to be insightful and asked great questions to probe deeper. I developed an uncanny ability to synthesize, organize, and summarize other people’s thoughts and feelings so well that they felt heard. People trusted me. I became a great confidante, advisor, counselor. For a moment, it’d feel good – I’d feel close to them. But in reality, we weren’t close because it was only one way. They didn’t know me. I didn’t let them in. My soul remained untouched. And unknown. And forgotten.
Somewhere along the way, this method of hiding / deflecting / burying and avoiding conflict stopped working. The people closest to me were frustrated because I couldn’t be known. No one knew what I was thinking (and honestly, I didn’t either). No one knew how I felt. It was blowing up my relationships. A lifetime of over-yielding to others, my body was sick of it. I couldn’t sleep. I’d get panic attacks. A lifetime of “does anyone care?” buried deep was spurting out every relational crack.
Enough is enough.
I finally asked for help. I prayed. I started opening up.
Maybe most importantly: I started to disagree.
I started practicing conflict. The easy stuff first. With people I knew were on my side. Even though every cell in my body wanted to run away, I’d actually say sentences that started with: “I don’t like…” “This isn’t right…” “I don’t see it that way…” “I feel sad when you…” “I want…” And guess what happened?
The world didn’t end.
Bombs didn’t fall on my head.
No one came to destroy me.
People didn’t leave me.
If anything, people were more curious about me. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Tony, tell us more about…” Sometimes we’d agree and sometimes we wouldn’t. But for the first time in my life, I saw that disagreements could be done without big, scary, explosive anger. We could agree to disagree, and then never talk to each other ever again go play tennis together. We could talk through something hard and hold it against each other forever hug it out.
In fact, the opposite of what I expected happened. The friendships got deeper. I became closer to others.
Conflict wasn’t the end of the friendship, but actually the only chance for a deeper friendship.
I realized that I had been missing out this whole time.
All of those times when people were asking, just trying to get to know me. They were inviting me in. I was so scared of conflict, I’d run. In my effort to protect myself from toxic people, I missed out on so many connection opportunities with all the amazing people in my life. Conflict is an opportunity for connection. We get to delve deeper into what we’re honestly thinking. We get to let ourselves and others in.
I started making friends with conflict.
5 years into this work, I wish I could say that conflict is something I’ve mastered. In reality, I’m just a beginner. I still get riled up. I “do it wrong,” which I’ve come to accept is better than not doing it at all. I’ll take too long to bring things up from before. The decades of muscle memory in my body still kicks in instinctively. But then I remember, conflict is my friend. It’s an opportunity to build stronger relationships — there are few things in life more important or joyful.
Looking back now, I went through 4 stages of acceptance related to conflict.
- Conflict is to be avoided like the plague. It’s terrifying. It will end my life. I. can’t. do. it. It’s life-or-death. RUN!!!!!
- Conflict must be minimized in every way possible. I’ll just soften what I say. I’ll just hint at what I really want to say, but won’t actually say it, and I’ll test to see if the other person might get offended or disagree. Because disagreements are conflicts.
- Hmmm. Maybe some conflicts don’t need to be minimized. Maybe some of them are just a necessary evil because people are people. It needs to be dealt with; otherwise, it kinda eats at me.
- Conflict is an opportunity. For deeper friendships. To grow. Conflict is my friend. I don’t look forward to it. But I know through conflict, my deeper friendships are there on the other side.
I thought conflict was my mortal enemy. Turns out, conflict is my friend. Not my best friend. But it is helping me build friendships for a lifetime. I’m becoming a better friend, and I’m finally letting people be true friends for me.
“Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ” — Apostle Paul (Eph 4:15)
