​There is Strength in Repair – Unlock the Growth that Matters in Conflict

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Lately, I’ve been talking a lot about rupture and repair—especially with my kids. At their age, every disagreement can feel monumental, as if it means something’s broken beyond repair. But I’ve come to see conflict differently.

It’s not the rupture that defines a relationship—it’s the repair.

Conflict, especially with people we care about, can feel intense. But it’s also an inevitable part of life. What matters most is how we move through it—and who we choose to spend our energy on.

I’ve been working with my kids to see conflict as not only normal, but necessary. It’s how we grow, learn, and ultimately connect on a deeper level. Rupture—whether big or small—happens in every relationship. But it’s the willingness to pause, reflect, and reconnect that reveals a relationship’s strength. Repair is where the magic happens.

One person who normalises conflict beautifully is Dr. Christian Conte. I first heard him speak years ago, sharing how his mother shaped his compassionate approach to navigating tension. Her advice? Never ignore a fight—step into it with presence.

From that ethos, Conte developed Yield Theory, a powerful framework built around compassion, awareness, and non-resistance. Instead of meeting anger with control or defensiveness, Yield Theory invites us to stay grounded, validate the other person’s experience, and listen deeply—even in high-stakes situations.

It shifts the question from “What’s wrong with you?” to “What happened that led you here?” That one pivot changes everything. It invites understanding without excusing harmful behaviour. It opens the door to accountability without shame.

Through this lens, emotional outbursts aren’t problems to fix—they’re invitations to connect. It’s not about being permissive. It’s about offering radical compassion while holding firm, clear boundaries—a practice that fosters healing and real change.

But alongside compassion, I’ve also been teaching my kids discernment. Not every person—or situation—requires our emotional labour. Some people project their feelings outward instead of owning them. They may lash out, blame others, or make us feel responsible for their emotions. That’s not our job.

While it’s important to stay open to repair, sometimes the wisest thing we can do is let go.

I told one of my daughters recently that in this emotionally charged world, it’s vital to “read the room.” If someone consistently avoids accountability or deflects their own discomfort onto us, it’s okay to step back. That’s not about being cold—it’s about self-respect.

A concept from Teal Swan that’s helped me here is the attunement scale. Some of us—like me and my daughter—are highly attuned to others’ emotional states, sometimes to a fault. Others move through life largely unaware of the impact they have. Neither is right or wrong. But what matters is whether someone is willing to take responsibility and meet us in the middle.

Because here’s the truth: Repair takes two. If someone isn’t capable of attunement or isn’t willing to own their side, it’s not worth chasing. We need to preserve our emotional energy for relationships that are reciprocal.

Here are some of the messages I want to instill in my kids:

• “You’re not too much—you’re just highly attuned.”
• “Some people won’t meet you there, and that says more about them than it does about you.”
• “When someone consistently avoids repair, that’s data—not drama.”

These are hard learned lessons and hopefully seeds of deep emotional wisdom. I hope they take root as my children continue to grow and navigate their own relationships—learning when to lean in and when to let go.

Because conflict doesn’t always show up as shouting or stand-offs. Often, it’s far more subtle—a missed message, a change of plans no one acknowledges. These everyday ruptures offer powerful opportunities for growth and grace.

Take this week, for example. There was a simple mix-up around one of the kids’ orthodontist appointments. I’d emailed the school to say I’d pick them up after first period. But plans changed and they didn’t end up going to school at all.

Here’s the exchange:

• Me: “Morning! I’ll be picking my child up after first period for their orthodontist appointment.”
• Teacher: “Thanks for letting me know. Hope it goes well!”
• Me (a few minutes later): “Actually, I’ve just heard they won’t be coming in at all. Apologies for the confusion.”
• Teacher: “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

It might seem like a small thing, but it was a reminder of how easily rupture can happen—and how repair often lives in simple gestures like clarification, acknowledgment, a quick check-in, or simply apology.

For someone like me—raised to avoid showing weakness—these tiny moments of correction used to feel uncomfortable. But now I see them as invitations. Opportunities to practise presence, accountability, and connection—even in the mundane.

Dr. Conte often speaks about how emotional regulation and the ability to apologise can shift the entire dynamic of a relationship. When someone refuses to own their impact, it keeps the conflict alive. Over time, that avoidance builds walls of resentment.

Craig Weber, in his work on Conversational Capacity, expands on this idea. He explains that trust isn’t broken by conflict itself, but by how poorly we communicate through it. His key insight? High-quality conversation—especially under pressure—requires a balance of candour and curiosity. We need to speak openly and stay genuinely open to what the other person has to say.

Weber puts it simply: “The conversation is the relationship.”

When we lose the ability to stay in dialogue, we begin to lose the relationship itself.

That’s why healthy boundaries are vital. While Conte teaches us to understand why someone might struggle with repair, Weber reminds us that trust depends on mutual investment. Compassion without reciprocity becomes self-abandonment.

And so, I tell my kids:

Conflict can be a teacher. Repair can be transformative. But neither is worth pursuing with someone unwilling to meet you in the space between rupture and reconnection.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do—for yourself and the relationship—is to let go.

Maybe there’s a relationship in your life right now that’s calling for repair—or release. What would it feel like to meet that moment with compassion, curiosity, and an openness to learn? It’s not about having all the answers or doing things perfectly. Sometimes, it’s simply about showing up, being present, and choosing what aligns with your truth. You hold the power to decide what serves you, and how to move forward in a way that honours who you are becoming.

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If you enjoyed this post, you might also like What Makes You So Afraid of Conflict?, The Hidden Power of Your Conversations: How they are Shaping the World, and How Emotional Maturity Can Free You from Endless Arguments—And Give You Back Your Energy.