The Walk Back to Connection
- Ariana Friedlander
- 8 hours ago
- 5 min read
Earlier this year, I had one of those conversations that starts out tense… and then takes a turn you didn’t expect.
I was on the phone with a neighbor about an HOA compliance issue that had gotten serious. Serious enough that we’d been threatened with legal action if we didn’t fix it. I was stressed. Scared. And trying hard to keep everything under control.
And then she started to cry.
“I can’t talk anymore,” she said, then hung up.
I felt my whole body tense up with anger. The kind that makes your thoughts move fast and sharp. The kind that starts building a case before you even realize it.
I immediately started justifying myself - She’s making light of something that’s serious. It’s her fault we’re even in this mess. My skepticism of her abilities to follow through is reasonable.
All the faults I found in her reinforced that my reaction was right and she was wrong.
When stress is loud, it starts writing the story for us
Here’s the part I want to name with tenderness (and honesty): When our nervous system feels threatened, it doesn’t just activate emotion. It activates meaning.
Stress tells a story. It makes the stakes feel absolute. It turns misunderstanding into betrayal. It turns a hard moment into a deal breaker.
And if you’re anything like me, stress can make “being right” feel like safety.
But being right is a sneaky substitute for what we actually want. In my case, what I really wanted was resolution. And a relationship that wasn’t collateral damage.
Space isn’t avoidance. It’s a strategy.
I didn’t want to leave things the way they ended. And I knew I couldn’t circle back in that state.
So I did what I often do when I feel myself spiraling: I got outside. I went for a walk along the river.
And as I sat by the water, something shifted.
Not because I suddenly decided she was “right.” Not because the problem wasn’t still serious. But because the river has a way of calming my nervous system and rinsing off my fixation on my own perspective. It loosens my grip on the internal courtroom where I’m both prosecutor and judge.
It helped me remember a deeper belief I want to live from. My nervous system is loud—but it’s not the boss.
A clean apology
Once I could breathe again, I texted her. And I apologized, cleanly.
No explanation. No “but you…” tucked inside. No subtle blame. No defensiveness. No excuses.
Just, “I’m sorry I upset you. I should not have taken my stress out on you. That was wrong.”
And the relief was immediate.
I didn’t realize how much energy I was wasting defending myself until I stopped.
Because here’s what surprised me most. Owning my impact didn’t make me smaller, it made me freer. And contrary to what fear was telling me, it did NOT create an escape hatch so the compliance problem went unresolved.
Repair is leadership, even in the most ordinary places
This wasn’t a workplace conflict. It wasn’t a formal mediation. It was just…life.
And that’s exactly why it matters.
A lot of us have learned (explicitly or implicitly) that when we feel a big emotion, someone else must be responsible for it. If we lash out, it’s because they “made” us. If we speak harshly, it’s because they “started it.”
But that logic keeps us stuck. It turns relationships into scorekeeping.
And it makes repair feel risky, when repair is actually what allows relationships to stay resilient over time.
Here’s the belief I’m holding closer these days - Conflict and misunderstanding don’t have to be deal breakers. What makes things break is our refusal (or inability) to come back and clean the slate.
A small practice for the next time you feel the case-building start
If you notice yourself replaying a conversation and stacking up evidence for why your reaction was justified and the other person was wrong, try this:
Pause long enough to feel and name the sensations in your body. Heat. tightness. buzzing. pressure. Whatever is there.
Articulate the story stress is telling. “This is urgent, so I have to push.” “If they can’t handle it, I’m going to have to do it all myself.” “If I don’t fix this now, everything will fall apart.”
Choose the next right move, not the perfect one.When you notice that heat rising — the tight chest, the racing thoughts, the urge to defend — the goal is to “calm down” so you can perform better by coming back to yourself.
Because in that activated state, your brain will make the moment feel like a courtroom. It will turn the other person into the problem, and your reaction into something you had to do. It will convince you that the only way to be safe is to be right.
That’s usually the moment I need to remember - Perspective isn’t something I find by thinking harder. It’s something I regain by regulating.
So the next right move isn’t a retort. It’s a pause.
A walk. A glass of water. Fresh air. A few minutes seeking counsel from an unbiased friend.
Not to avoid the conversation, but to reconnect with what’s actually important:
What outcome am I trying to create here?
Who do I want to be in this moment?
What do I want to protect, my ego or the relationship?
From that place, the next step gets simpler.
Sometimes it’s repair: “I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay.”
Sometimes it’s a boundary: “I want to talk about this, and I’m too activated right now. Can we come back to it?”
Sometimes it’s just choosing not to add more harm while you’re still flooded.
That walk by the river didn’t solve the compliance issue. It regulated me enough that I could come back and do the part that actually required my leadership, repair.
You don’t have to solve everything in one conversation. But you can stop making harm someone else’s fault.
Do I want to be right or in relationship?
Spoiler alert, the compliance issue got resolved. Honestly, it probably would have either way.
What wasn’t guaranteed was the relationship.
That part took choice. And care. And the willingness to come back without an argument in my pocket.
The next time you’re mid-spiral, ask yourself: Do I want to be right OR do I want to be in relationship?
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