A Need for Introspection

To some extent, I’m a coward. It’s kind of dizzying to admit.

Anyway, for context—I came across a post claiming that non-confrontational people are the worst, and I let out the biggest yikes.

Let me explain.

There are people who think I’m confrontational—and I guess that’s true, but only when I’m defending someone else’s honor. When it comes to standing up for myself? Regardless of how deeply something affects me, you won’t hear a peep. And honestly, it’s getting embarrassing at my big age.

Is this my frontal lobe finally warming up?

During my pregnancy, I had a spine of steel. Anything remotely negative could impact my baby’s well-being, so I had to be firm about what I let in. I set boundaries. I enforced them. I didn’t entertain nonsense. But now, that version of me feels far away, and in her place is someone who walks around with a lump in her throat—too full of unsaid things, too afraid to say them out loud. I keep trying to suppress my anger, my hurt, my disappointment… but it’s getting heavy. I think I owe it to myself, to my daughter, and to my friends to not be spineless. Yoh.

I have to laugh at myself sometimes.

I watched a video the other day—a mother was teaching her daughter how to navigate uncomfortable situations. She told her, “You’re allowed to speak up. You can say, ‘You’re making me uncomfortable right now. I don’t want to talk about this.’” Then she added something that really hit me: either way, you’re going to feel discomfort. The question is—would you rather feel 30 minutes of quiet suffering, or 10 seconds of courage while establishing a boundary?

That hit me right in the chest. Why am I so willing to sit in discomfort for so long, just to avoid saying no? Just to sidestep potential conflict? Honestly, it feels a little silly now.

And it got me thinking…

Did this all stem from silence that was beaten into me? From an early lesson that my voice would only bring pain? Did my once-steely resolve quietly morph into something less noble—something like cowardice?

I’m an avoidant through and through. I’ve realized my aversion to confrontation isn’t because I don’t care—it’s because I care too much. About keeping the peace. About not upsetting anyone. About avoiding the emotional hangover that follows even the smallest boundary. But being non-confrontational has come at the cost of my self-respect.

I let things slide, even when they cut deep. I stay quiet to avoid awkwardness, even when the silence eats away at me. I smooth things over, even when my soul feels like it’s unraveling. And that’s not gentleness. That’s not grace. That’s fear wearing a disguise.

Why am I still so scared? When did I go back to being the bigger comfort? And whose peace am I protecting?

But I’m learning. Slowly. Awkwardly. Imperfectly. I’m learning that saying no doesn’t make me difficult. That choosing my peace isn’t selfish. That speaking up for myself doesn’t make me confrontational in the wrong way—it makes me someone who values her voice.

And my daughter is watching.

She’s already a shy babe. She’s more like me than I realized—and that terrifies me. I want her to feel safe in her voice, even when I’m still learning to trust mine.

So now, I ask myself: what kind of discomfort am I choosing today?

Because from here on out, I’d rather sit in the short-lived discomfort of asserting myself than drown in the quiet ache of being unseen.

Even I know I’m talking a big game—but we shall see.