Why I walked away mid-conversation

We were in it.
Not a fight.
Just one of those hard, necessary conversations —
the kind that makes your body react
before you even understand why.

I could feel myself turning inward.
Literally.
Like my whole system was folding in
to protect something tender.

My temperature rising.
My heartbeat picking up.
Eyes welling.
Every old story rushing to the mic:

Say this so you don’t get hurt.
Say that so you can control the outcome.
Steer the conversation.
Make it safe.
Make it predictable.
Make it go your way.

And the truth is…
I could’ve.

I know how to do that.
I’ve done it before.

That instinct to manipulate the moment
was right there on the surface —
a survival reflex dressed as strategy.

But that’s not who I’m committed to being
in the relationships that matter to me.
Not with the person in front of me.
Not with my business partner.
Not with my sister.
Not with myself.

So instead of performing the old pattern,
I told the truth.

The Hardest Words I Said That Night

I looked up and said,
“I’m overwhelmed.
I’m not thinking clearly.
And I’m afraid I’ll say something I don’t mean.
I need a minute to get grounded.
Is it okay if I take a shower and then come back
to finish this with you?”

He nodded.
And I walked away.

Not out of avoidance.
Out of respect.
For him.
For me.
For the version of us I actually want to build.

The Shower Moment No One Sees

I turned on the water
and let the tears come.

Let the stories run their full loops.
Let the scared parts of me say what they needed to say.

And then I said back — quietly:

“Thank you for trying to protect me…
but that’s not what’s happening here.”

This person cares about me.
I care about him.
I’m not in danger.
I’m just uncomfortable.
And I can hold that now.

That was the real shift.

Not the shower.
Not the tears.
The truth.

Coming Back Didn’t Make It Easy — It Made It Possible

When I walked out,
nothing felt magically fixed.
I was still raw.
Still tender.
Still mid-process.

But I could stay with myself now.
Which meant I could stay with him.
Without collapsing.
Without manipulating.
Without performing.
Without disappearing to stay connected.

We finished the conversation.
Not perfectly, but honestly.
And honestly was enough.

This Is the Practice

This is the work no one glamorizes:

The micro-moments where you choose
presence over reaction,
truth over performance,
regulation over instinct.

The moments when your nervous system screams “run,”
and you answer back,
“I’m here.
We’re okay.”

This practice has changed every relationship in my life —
not just the romantic ones.

How I speak to the people I love.
How I repair.
How I work with my business partner.
How I show up with my sister.
How I hold leaders, teams, and circles.
How I stay with the hard moment
instead of collapsing under it.

A conversation is never just a conversation.
It’s a mirror.

Of who we are
and who we’re becoming.

There’s a version of you who stays honest
even when your body wants to run.
That voice deserves space.