This journal entry marks the threshold between understanding and transformation. Once we've gained control over our anxiety and reactivity, through breathwork, awareness, and practice, we are finally ready to enter the deeper work of healing: resolving conflict, rebuilding trust, and repairing the emotional wounds rooted in our childhoods.
Before reaching this stage, it would be almost impossible to truly show up in a conflict with grace. Without tools for nervous system regulation, most of our reactions in moments of stress are subconscious, habitual, and often addictive. We fight, flee, freeze, or fawn, and then justify it. But when we begin to recognize these patterns in real time and take contrary action, such as pausing, breathing, and softening, we disrupt the cycle. With repetition, these new actions become the replacement for addiction. That’s where the real healing begins.
This is how we move beyond the inherited emotional patterns of our families. We become conscious participants in our own transformation. And as we do, we gain the capacity to form real intimacy, instead of unconsciously sabotaging the very love we crave.
To do this work, we must be honest: we are often too reactive, too excitable, still unhealed. And in that state, we can destroy what we cherish most. That’s why we must hold ourselves accountable. Not in a shame-based way, but with courage and clarity. Read this chapter seven times if you need to.
True accountability begins once we can regulate our nervous system. Before that, most of our behavior is just subconscious reactivity, chemistry hijacking cognition. While we are still responsible for our actions, it's important to understand that behavior under duress is driven by trauma, not free will. And just like illness, this is treatable, through awareness, breath, writing, therapy, and time.
One of the most liberating practices is this: apologizing for being triggered. Not apologizing for being human, but for what we did after our nervous system took over. Even if our partner “started” the argument, our reaction is still ours to own. We can say, “I’m sorry I was triggered. I’m sorry for how I reacted. I want to understand what this brought up for me.”
To go further, we sit with ourselves in quiet breathing and writing practices. We trace the trigger. We find the earliest injury, real or symbolic. If we can’t remember, we use intuition. We identify the wound our partner unknowingly touches, and we make peace with it.
Healing happens when both people commit to understanding their reactivity and learning what makes each other feel safe. One person might need closeness and physical reassurance; another might need space and time. Both are valid. A compromise might sound like: “I’ll give you 48 hours, and then I’ll come to you and hold you and tell you I love you.” This is where transformation becomes possible.
This work isn’t for everyone. Some may not be ready. Some may never do it. That’s okay. Each person must choose their own path. But if we stay, if we commit, we must accept that our healing depends not on changing our partner, but on how we respond to being triggered by them. That’s where the grieving process begins, the grief for what we didn’t get in childhood, and the grief that continues to surface in adult intimacy. This grieving, done with intention and awareness, connects us to generations of human suffering, and to our potential for awakening.
Read this chapter again, not to dissect or debate, but to deepen your own practice. If you feel stuck, don’t think. Just act. Start with an apology. It may seem extreme, but it’s a powerful beginning.
Even when victimized, we can extend compassion. Not to excuse, but to release. “I’m sorry this situation exists.” “I’m sorry the world created conditions that made this person violent or broken.” This is not self-blame. It’s maturity. Forgiveness begins when we understand the forces at play in every human brain.
In a romantic relationship, there are rarely pure victims or villains. Both partners contribute. Both must reflect. The goal is connection, not perfection. Safety, not performance. Love, not control. And if the relationship doesn’t feel safe, we must talk. We must co-create a path forward, not for the sake of finances or children, but because we’re growing into ourselves.
Picture a hiking trail. Some parts are smooth, others rocky. The hard parts are where we breathe deepest. They’re what make the journey worth it. That’s what this stage of love is: difficult, beautiful, and transformative.
So we ask: “My love, what can I do to help you feel safe right now?” Not forever, just now. Because ultimate safety is our own work. Our job is to regulate our nervous system. To say, “I am responsible for my part.” Even if we don’t yet know what our part is, owning that truth is a start.
There may be resistance. That’s natural. We’re afraid to let go of conflict because it’s familiar. But the deeper path is built on breath, presence, and repair.
When there’s conflict, remind each other: “I love you. I want to be here.” Each of us is seeking dignity, not domination. Our self-esteem is fragile in those moments. It needs time and space to mend. Maybe through nature, art, comedy, writing, or silence. But the highest path is stillness. Ten deep breaths. A simple mantra: “I release this.”
No, your partner didn’t cause your childhood wounds, but they reveal them. That’s sacred. That’s why we stay. That’s why we forgive. Each act of repair is a ripple in the collective. A drop of peace. A contribution to the healing of humanity.
Let us be that contribution. Let us respond with love, like the parents we never had. Even in conflict, we can pause, reach out, and offer kindness. Praise each other. Build each other up, like a coach mid-game.
This is the shift. This is the 180-degree turn. It’s no longer about blame or performance. It’s about becoming a soldier of breath, a student of healing, and a partner in the great experiment of love.
One breath at a time. One apology at a time. One breakthrough at a time.