The Cost of Avoidance: Reclaiming the Courage to Speak
A few years ago, a close friend started pulling away. At first, I told myself a story to explain it—maybe they were busy, overwhelmed, caught up in something. As the space between us stretched wider, their messages grew sparse, their tone distant, and then, eventually, silence. I reached out, trying to understand if something had happened, if I had done something wrong. The uncertainty gnawed at me, creating a cycle of confusion, disappointment, and sadness. When we finally spoke, the issue turned out to be something we could have worked through from the beginning. A misunderstanding. A feeling that had grown too big in isolation. The avoidance—the silence—had made it loom so much larger. What could have been a moment of connection and clarity became weeks of doubt, of grief over a friendship that wasn’t even lost—just tangled in the quiet.
I think about that often, about how much weight we carry because we don’t know how to say the thing that needs to be said. So much energy is spent tiptoeing around conversations that would, in the end, set us free. People hesitate because they want to be kind. They hesitate out of fear of hurting, or being hurt. Over time, we learn to equate honesty with conflict rather than with clarity and care. The reluctance to face discomfort does not prevent pain; it magnifies it.
Avoidance isn’t just a social behavior—it’s wired into us. The nervous system is designed to protect, and when a conversation feels like a potential threat—whether to our sense of belonging, our identity, or our emotional safety—we react. Some people withdraw, others become defensive, and some try to please their way out of tension. We tell ourselves we are keeping the peace, yet in reality, we are letting fear guide us away from truth. Repair can only happen when we step through that fear and into connection.
This isn’t only true in personal relationships but in institutional ones as well. As a parent, I always appreciate when teachers or school staff speak to me directly about my children. Even if it’s about a challenge, I’d rather hear the truth—clearly and kindly—than receive vague, hesitant language that leaves me unsure of the real issue. In the past, well-intentioned educators softened their words so much that I had to decipher what they really meant. Instead of providing clarity, the approach created more confusion. At times, the hesitancy itself made it feel like something was really wrong, when it wasn’t. Through these experiences, I’ve learned that clarity—even when it is hard—is a gift.
This lesson is one I come back to constantly in my work with children and teens. Whether mediating a disagreement between youth leaders or helping students navigate a conflict, I see the same pattern emerge. Many kids simply don’t have the language they need to express their feelings and needs. Even a simple “I feel X because I need Y” is unfamiliar. Frustration or hurt often surfaces in ways that create more distance instead of repair. A significant part of my work is helping them practice those words—trying out different phrases, seeing how they feel, and learning how to say hard things in ways that strengthen relationships rather than weaken them. It is incredible to witness what happens when a child, instead of snapping or shutting down, learns to say, “I was upset when you interrupted me because I wanted to finish my thought,” or “I felt left out when you made plans without me because I really value our friendship.” A shift happens. Connection becomes possible.
When we sidestep difficult conversations, the problem doesn’t disappear. Instead, resentment grows in the dark. Misunderstandings take root where none needed to exist. The Talmud teaches that truth (emet) is one of the pillars upon which the world stands. Spoken with care, truth is an act of love. It is a bridge between people, a path toward resolution. In Jewish tradition, truth is not only about honesty—it is about integrity, about aligning our words with our values. Avoidance does not just distance us from one another; it distances us from the person we strive to be. Yet we live in a world that has become deeply afraid of it. We tell ourselves that holding back is an act of protection, though in reality, it often weakens the very relationships we hope to preserve.
The fear of honesty is real. We worry about hurting someone, being misunderstood, or even losing a relationship. Kindness and clarity do not need to be opposites. Speaking with care is not cruelty—it is an offering, an invitation to deepen trust. Honest conversations—ones held with warmth, patience, and a genuine desire to understand can strengthen relationships. They can create space for growth, grace, and repair.
They can say: I care about this enough to speak. I care about you enough to listen.
Stepping out of avoidance and into meaningful conversation begins with intention. If the goal is connection, not criticism, that will come through. Clarity and kindness can coexist. Thoughtfulness and directness are not opposites. Saying what needs to be said does not have to be harsh—it can be an offering, a way forward. Listening deeply is just as important as speaking honestly. Acknowledging discomfort is necessary, but allowing it to control us is not. Sitting in that tension is what allows for real healing. Relationships built with love are far more resilient than we often give them credit for.
I think about my friend often. The time we lost to silence. The ache of not knowing. The way avoidance can stretch a shadow where there should have been light. Though we found our way back to speaking, the friendship was never quite the same. The closeness we once had never fully returned—not because of the original issue, but because of the time spent apart, the space that had grown between us in the waiting. It wasn’t a matter of blame, but of recognition—avoidance carries a cost. Not every relationship fully recovers, even when words are eventually spoken. What I’ve learned, though, is that speaking sooner—before the silence grows too heavy—is always the better path.
What’s a conversation you’ve been avoiding? What truth, if spoken with warmth and care, might bring clarity where there is uncertainty? Sometimes, the hardest words to say are the ones that free us the most.
We have the power to let our words be a way back to one another. When we choose clarity over avoidance, we choose connection over distance. Let’s step into that space with trust.