The Nature of Conflict

I've been thinking a lot lately about conflict. In general, I think many people are pretty conflict-avoidant. I've seen whole families dance around an argument or a family "secret," intent on maintaining a persona of perfection or at the very least cohesion. I myself grew up in such a family.

Sometimes there's really something to be said for avoiding conflict, such as when a group needs to act as one for safety or to accomplish a task. If a community's only chance of escaping a war-torn country is to temporarily bury their internal disagreements and work as one to escape persecution, conflict-avoidance can, on several levels (not the least of which is literally), save lives.

However, on the whole, our fear of conflict seems to drive us ever further apart as opposed to into a cohesive whole. To reference the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith (any why the heck not?), "the space between us just seems to fill up with all the things we never say." Whether we do not say what we really mean and communicate what's really going on out of "good manners," an urge to "protect" the other, or the belief that we can just let whatever it is we want to say go, there are a million reasons to not face the perception of difference.

Really, at the end of the day, that is what we are all scared of--a perception of difference. I spent years not talking to my extended family about politics, believing that if we talked about our beliefs, we would disagree. If we disagreed, we could never really go back to pretending we did agree. And if we couldn't even pretend we agreed, how could we ever be a family again?

I think that fearing conflict is underestimating our personal and collective abilities. We are complex creatures who are capable of speech, movement, emotions, reproduction, and invention, yet we operate on the notion that we are incapable of reaching greater levels of understanding, that we cannot possibly find a way to move even closer to one another as a result of communicating through a conflict.

I still remember a lesson my mother pointed out to me my first year of college. I was living with this wonderful, amazing, hilarious, outgoing, thoughtful, brilliant roommate named Anna. We quickly became friends, and we both found ways to expand each other's understanding of the world. Anna, who liked things beautiful and clean and bold, helped me throw away some of my pack-rat objects that were holding me down. I, who liked things serene and practical and stable, helped Anna ground some of her amazing energy. Together, our friendship made us stronger than we were individually.

Sometime in the middle of second semester, Anna and I got into a fight. I honestly don't remember what we argued about. However, it felt devastating. Here was this person who was beautiful inside and out, who was such a ray of sunshine, and we weren't speaking. We weren't staying up late and gossiping, we weren't laughing, or smiling, or leaping off the furniture lip-syncing to Little Richie songs.

Then, one day, it changed. I don't remember who started crying first. I don't remember who apologized first. I don't know when the hug began and when it ended, but it all happened. It was like this weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt 100 pounds lighter. It was like, the world had opened back up to me. Like I was getting a second chance to try harder.

Even though we'd said mean things to each other and not spoken for days, the conflict made our bond stronger. We both knew that we had made it to the other side of something, and that mutual effort had given us more in common. It made us realize how much we valued the other person, how much they valued us, and how much effort we were both willing to put into our relationship.

I was telling my mother this story. It was like recounting an ancient miracle, I couldn't believe that 2 - 2 could equal 4. Then, my mother said to me, "Remember this feeling. Remember how moving through something made you stronger. This is what marriage is like."

I was kind of taken aback by the statement. Delving into really hard subjects, feeling disconnected before you can feel reconnected, facing times when you think it's all going to fall apart--this did not fit my fairy-tale image of marriage. And yet, it seemed a lot more plausible.

This theory, that communicating honestly in conflict can make you stronger, that not avoiding conflict can lead to less conflict, has proven itself right again and again. I've said some pretty audacious things to friends, family, and colleagues, I've been scared that a rift might never heal, I've thought about (and sometimes have) hidden my feelings or avoided someone in an attempt to escape the constricting feeling of conflict. And yet...and yet...facing it, saying what I need to say, not being afraid to make a fool of myself, and not being afraid to come back later and apologize for making a fool of myself, has only served to deepen relationships. It has only magnified my friendships. It has only built my trust in myself and my intuitions.

I guess I'm just feeling really grateful for conflict lately. Grateful that I've found ways through it, grateful my friends, family, and colleagues have been willing to meet me there, grateful that saying something can set me free, grateful that we are such complex and capable creatures when we give ourselves a chance.

Any thoughts?