Conversations we avoid

Everyone nearly always has a conversation they keep not having.  Something that’s troubling.  Something we keep meaning to say… and then don’t.

I don’t think we avoid these conversations because we don’t know what to say. We avoid them because we’re not sure what will happen if we do say something. We worry that we’ll upset someone or be misunderstood. We worry it might change the relationship in a way we can’t control.  And so, we wait…

I see this all the time in parenting. A parent notices their child has changed. A bit more withdrawn, a bit sharper, a bit less themselves. And there’s a moment where they could say something simple like, “I’ve noticed something’s a bit different, are you okay?” But instead, they hesitate. They don’t want to push. They don’t want to get it wrong. They don’t want to make it bigger than it is. So, they wait for a better moment. And that perfect moment never comes. What the child often needs isn’t a perfect conversation, but a parent willing to risk not getting it right in order to stay connected.

It’s the same at work. There’s someone in the team who isn’t quite pulling their weight. Or a tension between colleagues that everyone can feel but no one names. Or a decision that doesn’t sit well but gets nodded through anyway. So, we compensate. We work a bit harder. We avoid the person. We talk about it with someone else. We tell ourselves it’s not worth the hassle. And on the surface, everything carries on but underneath trust starts to thin, energy drops and clarity is lost. A conversation that might have taken ten minutes starts costing far more in ways we can’t measure.

And then there’s family, where it can feel even more complicated. The history is longer.  So we ignore a comment that hurts, again, or an expectation that feels unfair, or a pattern that’s been there for years but never named. We tell ourselves, “That’s just how they are.” Or “It’s easier not to get into it.” And it is easier, in the moment but over time, that ease comes at a cost. A kind of distance builds not through conflict, but through what never gets said.

So, what is it that actually holds us back?

Partly, it’s fear. Not just of conflict, but of loss. Loss of connection, of being seen as kind, or of being understood. We want to be good parents, good colleagues, good daughters, good partners. And we worry that saying the thing will put that at risk.

Partly, it’s habit. Many of us didn’t grow up in environments where difficult conversations were done well. We either saw them avoided altogether, or done in ways that felt sharp, blaming, or overwhelming. So we learned to steer away from them.

And partly, if we’re honest, it’s discomfort. It’s much easier to carry something privately than to step into the uncertainty of a real exchange. Once it’s spoken, it’s alive, we are no longer in sole control, and it can’t be neatly managed anymore.

I remember a conversation I avoided for a long time. It wasn’t dramatic, but it mattered to me. I told myself I was being kind by not raising it. That it would be awkward. That it might upset things unnecessarily. But if I’m honest, I wasn’t being kind, I was being careful. We convince ourselves that we’re protecting someone else, when actually we’re protecting ourselves.  When I finally said it – not perfectly – it didn’t go exactly as I’d imagined but something shifted. We were no longer pretending and the relationship felt more real.

That, I think, is the shift that helps. Not trying to get it right but being willing to be real. When we start with something like, “This might not come out perfectly, but I want to talk to you about something that matters to me.” there’s something disarming about that kind of honesty. It lowers the stakes, not by making the conversation less important, but by making it more human.

It can also help to make the conversation smaller. We tend to build these things up until they feel enormous, like one conversation has to solve everything. But often it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s just opening the door, naming one thing, just starting somewhere.

And it helps to remember that we don’t have to do it all at once, or alone. We can think it through with someone we trust first. We can write it down. We can give ourselves permission to pause if it becomes too much. This isn’t about charging in. It’s about moving a little closer to honesty.

It’s also worth remembering that we can’t control the outcome. That’s part of what makes it hard. The other person might not respond as we hope, they might not understand, or they might disagree. But avoiding the conversation doesn’t protect us from that, it just delays it and often makes it worse.

What we can control is how we show up – whether we speak from accusation or from truth. Whether we stay open enough to listen as well as speak. Whether we are willing to remain in the conversation, even if it feels uncomfortable.

Because in the end, the cost of not having the conversation is rarely neutral. Unspoken things don’t just dissolve. They show up in other ways, in how we speak, or don’t speak. In how close we feel, or don’t. In how much energy it takes to keep everything feeling “fine”.

I’m not suggesting we say everything, all the time. That would be overwhelming. But I am suggesting we notice where we’re holding back and ask ourselves what we’re protecting by not saying it. And whether there might be a way to say just enough to begin. Because the conversations we avoid slowly create distance.   When we find a way to step into them, something shifts. Not always neatly or comfortably, but truthfully. And that’s where real connection lies.