Conflict Languages: What If There Was Another Way To Look At It

It feels like there is a lot of talk of love languages. Acts of service, words of affirmation, all that jazz. I get it, it's fun.

But I have been thinking about how interesting that people rarely talk about conflict languages and how we fight, withdraw, push back, or preserve ourselves when things get tense.

Sure, we all have a way we naturally handle conflict, but is it really just about personality?

Or is it about survival?

I had a great session with my mentee the other day. She's brilliant, so eager to learn. We talked about finding her voice at work, and she mentioned this inner critic she struggles with. That voice in her head tells her to hold back, second-guess, and be careful.

She told me that it wasn't about her being an introvert. But I had to ask: Is it just self-doubt? Or is it something else entirely? Because when you're a Black woman, or really, any woman of colour, finding your voice isn't just about confidence. It's about navigating a world that isn't always safe for you to use it.

Most conflict resolution advice assumes a level playing field. Just be direct. Speak your truth. Everything can be worked out if you communicate properly.

But in reality? Some people get to express frustration, be forceful, and even lose their temper, and the world shrugs.

Others? 

We don't get that luxury. 

Experience has taught me that if I push back too hard, I'm aggressive. If I withdraw, I'm cold. If I stay strictly professional, I'm distant. And yet, at no point am I ever truly allowed to be messy, upset, or unfiltered.

So when people ask why I handle conflict the way I do, why I grey rock, why I selectively engage, why I starve certain people of access to me, it's not because I lack the words. It's because I know the cost of using them.

And that's the thing, right?

People will always have opinions on how you should handle things. They'll tell you what you should do, how you should communicate, and what would make them feel better.

But at the end of the day, the only person who has to live with the choices you make is you. 

So, you have to get comfortable with how you move through the world. You have to trust that the decisions you make, about who to engage with, who to withdraw from, how much of yourself to give—are yours alone to own.

Because people will feel a way about it. They always do. I've had many a conversation where someone has tried to explain to me how they feel about my response to conflict.

And I get it.

I'm emotionally intelligent enough to understand where they're coming from. But it's not that I don't care; it's just that I care about me more. And that's not cruelty; it's self-preservation.

I think a lot about something Gabrielle Union once said about raising her Black stepsons, even in all their privilege and wealth. She had to sit them down and say, Be careful. Even with all you have, even with the world you move through, the consequences will never be the same for you as they are for your white counterparts.

And I get it.

Because I got that same talk when I was a kid. 

It was made clear to me that I don't get to do what those other kids do. If Johnny is out there acting a fool, don't think you can follow him, because when the consequences come, they'll come for you harder.

That's a lesson that burrows deep.

That makes you calculate.

That makes you consider, always, where you are, what you say, how you move.

It's not paranoia. It's not being "too serious" or "too professional" or "too closed off."

It's the mental math of self-preservation. If I engage, what's the risk? If I push back, will this escalate beyond my control? If I do nothing, will that be used against me too? 

Some people move through conflict like it's a passing storm. I move through it like it's a chessboard. Because that's what I've been taught. That's what I know keeps me safe.

So conflict?

It's not just a preference.

It's not something I get to wear proudly like a badge….this is just my style, take it or leave it. 

It's something I've been shaped by.

Something I've had to master.

And yes, it's frustrating when people don't get it, when they try to impose their frameworks on me, as though I haven't already done the math. But at the end of the day, I know what works for me.

And I know that I, alone, get to decide what feels safe. What feels right.

What feels mine.

As I reach the end of this, I think about my role as a mentor, and why I take that responsibility so seriously. Because people walk through this world as full, textured human beings. And you might not always see the layers, the quiet calculations, the invisible considerations that shape the way someone moves through conflict, or through life.

Frameworks, advice, even well-meaning guidance can only go so far if you don't take the time to see the full person in front of you.

This is the truth I hold, exhibit, and own for myself: The real work comes when you take the time to understand me, or anyone, beyond the surface. Not just the reaction, but the why behind it. Not just the strategy, but the stakes.

And I suppose this is what I hope for myself too. That in all the spaces I navigate, I don't get lost in it.

That the person remains, whole and seen, not just a function of how well I've adapted to an uneven world.