“If you avoid conflict to keep the peace, you start a war inside yourself.”
— Cheryl Richardson

My first leadership role was a whirlwind of learning. Leading up to that time, I proudly wore the badge of peacemaker. I thought that my ability to say hard things nicely was navigating conflict. I believed avoiding real conflict was the secret to harmony in life, leadership, and teams.

And on paper, it worked. In an organization where I was the fifth director in two years, employee turnover dropped by 56%. An agency that once faced a letter of intent to de-designate achieved a flawless re-designation two years later. The culture was shifting.

But as I learned there, culture eats strategy for breakfast. My strategy came up against a deep, entrenched culture, one that looked successful on the surface but carried toxicity from the top down. Behind the wave of changes and improvements, a quiet storm was brewing.

As that storm grew, I began to deteriorate. I was exhausted, resentful, and unraveling. While I was building peace around me, it was costing me my own.

What I did not realize then was that this same pattern was playing out in my personal life. People-pleasing had become my survival strategy everywhere. By the time I left that job, I had all but disappeared.

Even as a parent, I had to recognize the places where I avoided direct conversations because I did not have a good answer or a tidy resolution to offer. It turned out that simply naming that space, and validating the experience of that lack of resolution for what it was, started to bridge the gap. I did not need to have all the answers. I just needed to stay present.

In a way, I was grateful for the isolation that came with the pandemic. For the first time in years, I did not have to perform peace. I could sit still long enough to feel what I had been running from, and start to find myself again.

The Deceptive Calm: Why Avoidance Felt Like Peace

I thought I was keeping the peace. I had always been taught to turn the other cheek, to forgive and forget. So I tried.

What I was really doing was protecting everyone else’s comfort at the expense of my own health and well-being.

Every minor tension I smoothed over was a small betrayal of truth. Every conversation I postponed became another wave I refused to face. Every time I smiled through discomfort, I reinforced a performance that looked like leadership but felt like suppression.

Peace without truth is not calm. It is choreography, manipulation disguised as grace, eroding trust like waves crashing against rock. It requires constant control, constant vigilance, and a quiet erosion of self. Avoidance may calm the waters temporarily, but beneath the surface, the current keeps pulling.

The Body Keeps the Avoidance

Burnout did not happen because I worked too hard. It happened because I carried too much unspoken tension.

The sleepless nights, the tight jaw, the headaches, each one a weather pattern forming inside me. Avoidance has a cost, and the invoice always arrives in the body.

Organizationally, the same is true. Cultures built on chronic politeness confuse silence for alignment, but resentment grows like pressure before a storm.

Learning to Stand in the Storm

Eventually, I realized that to find peace, I had to stop running from the weather and learn to stand in it.

So I left leadership and took a job answering customer calls for UnitedHealth Group. It was not a step down. It was a step inward.

That role became my practice ground for emotional regulation and healthy conflict. Every conversation was a storm in miniature. My goal was not to control it. It was to stay upright inside it.

I made it a game to be the weeble wobble who bends but does not break. To let people express what they needed without taking it on. To return, again and again, to my internal compass, to who I wanted to be, regardless of how chaotic the weather got.

That is where I learned that conflict, when navigated with steadiness, becomes connection.

From Confrontation to Communication

Conflict used to feel like failure. Now I see it as navigation.

When approached with curiosity, conflict reveals where your compass is off and where the map needs redrawing. It is where accountability, honesty, and empathy meet.

The weeble wobble taught me that stability is not about avoiding motion. It is about finding your center no matter how many times the world pushes you off balance.

Peace is not the absence of storms. It is knowing how to steer through them without losing sight of true north.

Starting Small: Practicing Healthy Conflict

Know where your compass is pointing. Before you even start, remember what your goals are. What kind of person do you want to be in this conversation? Ground yourself there first.
Name the tension, even just to yourself. Awareness is the first act of courage.
Use curiosity as your bridge. Instead of defending or retreating, ask, “Can you help me understand what is behind that?”
Breathe before you respond. Regulation precedes resolution. Every calm breath is a quiet declaration: I can stay present.

Each of these small acts helps you find your bearings when the emotional weather turns.

Reflection Prompt

💭 What peace are you protecting that is costing you yourself?

💭 Where might conflict be inviting you toward deeper connection?

A Final Thought

The war inside us ends when we stop confusing quiet with peace. When we stop seeking calm by abandoning our compass. When we trust that truth, even when it feels like a storm, is still a path toward alignment.

If this resonates, I would love to hear from you. What helps you hold your center when conflict arises?

The Storm I Called Peace