Staying at home is difficult, but I can't say no to family

So is it really a standard conflict now, or is someone stirring up conflict to avoid always taking on the "extra load"? Because sometimes you have to think, "if you could do it, you would have done it by now." There are indeed people who find it more comfortable not to do it. They pretend to be stuck on the standards while knowingly slacking off.

But what if it's not a conflict, but a lack of communication? For example, one person has high standards but doesn't express that openly; the other has low standards but instead of explaining clearly, they get defensive. Are these things we call "standards" really shared, or is everyone just living in their own heads?

So who determines the standards? It's another issue if someone at home acts like they're the "boss of the house" and imposes their own standards as if it were their natural right. If everyone is going to take equal responsibility, the standards should be shared as well. Otherwise, it just becomes a situation of "it's going to be my way."

Talking about standards aside, I think the real problem is that no one wants to openly acknowledge them. For instance, if someone is constantly tidying up the work left by others, that person has effectively become a "standard holder." Usually, others don’t accept this as a written rule and say things like "you’re just obsessed with cleanliness". The main conflict is here: who takes the work seriously and who doesn’t.

I think there's another thing: The standard conflict at home sometimes erupts when no one is willing to take the lead. That is, everyone lives with their own perception of "standards" but doesn't take ownership of that perception or share the burden of finding a solution. It's one thing for someone to say, "This is how it's going to be," and take responsibility; it's another for the others to quietly leave that responsibility to them. How can this passivity be dealt with?

Before we get into the standard discussion at home, I think this: How balanced is the desire or obligation to do these things? In other words, if someone is in "I don't care" mode, does it make sense to talk about standards? Because if there's a lack of fundamental motivation, even if you set high standards, they won't do it.

Why is the issue of who this "naturally" falls to barely discussed? For instance, one person at home might have high standards while another has low ones, but at the same time one may be pushed into more constructive positions due to work, time, or "identity". It’s not about obligation, it directly delineates the boundaries of silent acceptance. Does this tension start there?

Perhaps the issue is not so much about who sets the standards, but rather who feels compelled to adhere to those standards. Does living in the same house necessarily mean that one must live in the same rhythm, or is it more about the rhythms not clashing with each other? If one person is always trying to adapt, it actually means those standards have already become unilateral.

There’s also this: Everyone’s idea of “home order” in a shared living space may come completely from their personal background. In other words, even the way we learn how to do something can be different. This so-called “standard” might actually just be one person’s habit while being something completely foreign to another. How much of this difference can be tolerated when you haven’t grown up in the same household?

Isn't what we call a standard also a matter of control? I mean, someone sets standards to maintain order, but they might actually be trying to manage something they can't control. So, if that need for control didn't exist, would we put so much emphasis on standards?

You mentioned the need for control, but perhaps what we call "control" is actually the need to feel safe. While clutter or disorder may just seem like chaos to one person, it can give another the feeling that "no one takes me seriously in this house." So could the effort to establish order or set standards actually be a form of the desire to "prove one's existence"?

Does the issue of setting standards sometimes turn into a "lifestyle" matter? I mean, while one person thinks establishing order is related to a mindset, does another see it as a "workload"? Can two different perspectives on the same thing be so conflicting?

I've noticed something in my relationship: We usually try to understand what each person can't stand when it comes to household chores or organization. For example, I'm very particular about dishes, but my partner is the same about laundry. So, even a small "trade" can really change the balance. Do you think this kind of sharing is possible?

But what if no one has a "breaking point"? I mean, everyone is in a coping mode, but things still pile up and fall on someone? In this case, how does sharing begin, or does it even start?

But are those who are in "just managing mode" actually managing that well? Sometimes the situation is like this: one person is constantly showing tolerance while the other isn't even aware of it. Maybe, before the sharing begins, you need to reach the point of "not managing". It sounds strange, but while we quietly say we're handling it, everything we keep silent about accumulates, and in the end, it bursts. Do you think there's a stage before this?

But when it comes to the point of "not managing," does it make things easier or harder? I mean, when someone erupts and shares their troubles, does the other side try to understand, or do they go on the defensive with, "You didn’t say anything until now, so what happened?"? As you stay silent, you accumulate things, but as soon as you start talking, it seems like everyone is caught off guard.

"You haven't spoken up until now" defense is, after all, the essence of the issue, right? I mean, what accumulates as you remain silent isn't just the workload but also the comfort in the other person's mind of "this will keep going like this." Maybe when you bring up something you've been silent about, you first need to break this perception of comfort. Not all at once, but little by little.

You're saying it little by little, but what if you need to spill everything at once? Because some things lose their explainable essence as they accumulate. Then the other party says, "Why are you reacting so harshly?" and gets defensive. So, is this a sign to show our reactions in time, or will things get complicated no matter what you do after a certain point?

Maybe the issue isn't about pouring everything out at once or telling little by little, but rather about the "awakening" method. Because some things may not have an impact even if explained in a single conversation, while others find their place with just a glance. In other words, the real question is: are we focusing on explaining or on making others aware?

Of course, it’s important to make a difference, but what really matters is what happens after that realization. So, let’s say they noticed it, do they take action? Or do they just say, "Okay, I understand, you’re right," and leave it at that? Because sometimes the other side thinks that simply being aware is enough; they don’t translate it into action.

How do you deal with someone who is aware but takes no action? Does it just turn into a constant reminder, or does the feeling of "why am I even trying for this" kick in after a while? And do they really acknowledge what they noticed, or do they just say "you're right" to silence you in the moment? That's another thing.

If they acknowledge that they have noticed but do not take action, perhaps it's not because they don't want to do the work, but because they don't know how to do it? In other words, not every realization creates a solution. Sometimes we need to question the other party's capacity to produce solutions as well. Perhaps they are also being overwhelmed by this, but they just can't manage it.

What if they don't want to find a solution but pretend they can't? For example, there are those who keep saying, "I don't know how to do it," deflecting the issue. At that point, is it possible to change someone who behaves as if there’s no solution, or are you just pushing your own limits? 🤷‍♀️

Some people buy time by saying, "I don't know how to do it," but some truly don't know. Noticing, wanting, and being able to do things are different matters. The problem, I think, is this: At which point is the other party getting stuck? If there is no intention, then trying is futile, but if there is intention and they just can't do it, then support can resolve it. We tire ourselves without understanding which one it is.

But doesn't constantly supporting someone who says they have intentions but can't manage it lead to a comfort zone they become accustomed to? In other words, we're challenging their ability to perform, but what if that ability isn't low? What if it's just easier to leave it up to you? The line between providing support and overburdening becomes increasingly blurred.

Perhaps the issue is looking at what the choice of "not doing" brings instead of constantly thinking about being able to "do." In other words, that support or comfort can be both a choice and a result for them. The question is: Does it really make sense to continue on the journey with someone who doesn't want to take on that burden?

But what if your support becomes an excuse for them not to take action? Could it lead to a cycle where they say, "Oh, they're already handling it," and completely offload the responsibility onto you? Does awareness truly change anything on its own, or is it just a fancy excuse to leave the work on your shoulders?

Perhaps what we call awareness is not a step towards a solution, but merely a familiar excuse. The phrase "Look, I realized it but I can't do anything about it" may appear reassuring, but it can actually be a declaration of surrender. We don’t pursue issues because we think that awareness is enough, which is why things remain unresolved. There is a gap between recognizing something and taking responsibility for it; who will bridge that gap?

In the gap between noticing and taking responsibility, could being a "constant reminder" create a comfort zone for the other party? In other words, perhaps this situation provides them with the comfort of thinking, "Even if I don’t do it, someone will continuously nudge me." Is the issue not awareness, but rather their trust that you will fill that gap?

Maybe the issue isn't just about leaving a space that comforts them, but it's becoming a situation where they are testing your patience. You know, they might be keeping themselves in a passive position thinking, "they will definitely do it." I ask: does their inactivity now concern you, or is it completely about themselves?

Everyone is beating around the bush, but one thing is clear: why do we keep putting pressure on those who don't take action? I mean, okay once or twice, but why is it our role to constantly be the "reminder" or "supporter"? If they have the right to inaction, don't we have the right to withdraw? Sometimes the solution is to step back from our own burdens.

But what if when you step back, things really do not fall apart? I mean, if things are being handled somehow even in your absence, but when you are active, giving the excuse of "I can't do it" feels easier? Maybe the gaps we left in the past never allowed them to develop the necessary skills, what do you think?

"We say, 'if things are falling apart when you step back,' but what if the way things get "sorted out" ignores your concerns? You know, a system where everyone relaxes because you're present, but once you're gone, everyone suddenly manages to get organized. Is it really being resolved, or is it just a game that leaves you alone with your stress?"

Perhaps the issue isn't in the "it gets sorted out when you step back" part, but in how it gets resolved during that time. Is everyone truly putting in equal effort, or is someone leaning on the burdens of others with minimal effort? If living together means sharing the load, how is that share determined?

Perhaps before discussing the "how it gets done" part, we should ask why things constantly require someone to step in to resolve them. Is it a lack of organization, or is it a habit of leaving a backdoor open for everyone to slack off? The problem might not lie in the sharing, but in the loose setup of the system from the beginning.

I think everyone gets caught up in the "does it get resolved when I pull away" part, but the real issue might be the need for control that arises from the thought that things might never be resolved. In other words, if no one is able to organize when you pull away, are you then starting to blame yourself by thinking "it wasn't resolved because I wasn't there"? In that case, it's not the system that needs to be questioned, but the cycle of responsibility within you.

Perhaps rather than completely letting go of the need for control, we need to accept the idea that "a flawed process can also be part of the solution." In other words, things may not be resolved in the way or at the pace you desire, but that doesn't mean they aren't being resolved. Can you tolerate that the solution may be more sustainable than perfect?

Well, what happens if at some point what you call the "flawed process" becomes normalized? I mean, while tolerating everyone's laxity, will you not also be contributing to the permanence of this order? What we call sustainable sometimes just means getting by, and I don't think that's a solution either.

Maybe the issue isn't whether to withdraw or not, but rather why these burdens are seen as "natural" for certain people from the beginning. Instead of distributing them, how about reducing the burden that needs to be carried from the start? If the work isn't trimmed down, it will always be a problem who is carrying it.

So, let's say the load has been reduced, what will happen if it's still not distributed evenly? Some people will find a way to escape even if they are given little work. Is the problem in the amount of work, or is it really about who is carrying out that work? It's difficult to establish a system without solving this from the start.

Okay, but we also need to consider this; it's fine for the work to be distributed equally, but does everyone have to view the seriousness of the same task in the same way? For example, for one person, laundry day is a life-changing event, while for another, it's dinner. I think as long as everyone's perception of priorities isn’t discussed, the notion of equality remains ungrounded.

But what if, even when everyone's perception of priorities is discussed, one is reluctant to accept the priorities of others? I mean, if the issue is not just "priorities are different" but rather that one person belittles the value of another? Then how do you solve this respect issue instead of talking about fair distribution?

Discussing the perception of priorities isn't the solution either, because sometimes people don't even negotiate their own priorities. For instance, we see this in social roles; while one person's job is seen as "vital," another person's job is considered a "trivial pursuit." So how far can we delve into the discussion of value, and how can this conflict be resolved when everyone is trying to make their own work equally "important?"

Okay, but how will this be balanced when everyone tries to make their own work seem "important" without belittling the work of others? Is there going to be a constant competition at home to see who has the "more serious" job? Then there will be no equality or respect left, just a continuous struggle.

Is there really a need for such a delicate balance? Equality is fine, but there's no rule that everyone has to be happy at the same time. Sometimes one person pulls more, and then it shifts to another; don't think so systematically.

But what if the part where it’s always said "we’ll move on to the next one later" never actually happens? In a place where one side keeps pulling, will the person who no longer wants to pull be considered "less systematic" and therefore guilty? I think we need to make the 'later' part of this concrete, because vague promises are what most stresses the environment here.

Yeah, yeah, that "later" part always feels like a debt. While nobody says anything, things that remain "unpaid" for years suddenly get remembered during times of crisis. It makes you wonder: Is this delay always due to forgetfulness, or is it some sort of strategy?

Sometimes you think, "is this a delay strategy or what?", and you can see that the other party is doing this unconsciously. I mean, putting off work and shifting the burden has become such a habit that even if you talk openly, they convince themselves with thoughts like, "Me? No way." In this case, you can't even call it a strategy because the awareness is zero. So how will you shake them up now?

If awareness is zero, first you need to accept that and act accordingly. In other words, the goal may not be to "shake things up," but to change the system so that it adapts without noticing it. People don't change without being exposed to certain things; perhaps the order needs to be tested in its absence.

But if you test the order in their absence, let's say the test fails? So, when you're not around, everything goes completely wrong, and this makes the other party even more reckless instead of waking them up. Is the task of fixing things still on you? I think sometimes the plan to "demonstrate your absence" can backfire; how do you manage that risk?

You tested it in the absence of E, let's say it backfired, but there’s a limit to this as well. How many times are we going to watch the same movie? Sometimes you have to "not offer more to those who are unaware of their lack," just like Madonna turning off the lights before the concert. It seems that value isn't appreciated in too much light.

You say "not giving too much", but doesn't it sometimes backfire by making someone feel there's a lack? What will happen if the other party lowers their expectations and thinks "well, they were already doing this much"? In other words, if no one appreciates your efforts, reducing them might become ineffective as well 😬

Showing a deficiency is not the same as producing a solution. If you feel the deficiency and hope for a change, you also need to consider how you perceive that deficiency. If the other party sees it not as a "gap" but as "comfort," then the deficiency does not mean anything in their world. Where this perception breaks down is what really matters.

So have you ever tried directly handing over responsibility instead of making someone feel inadequate? I mean, just saying "I'm not here, this is your job" and leaving the field from the beginning? Because some people don't understand the lack until they feel the burden on their shoulders and then the mechanism starts working. Or it may not work at all... but you won't know without trying.

So you delivered the load, the other party felt it on their shoulders, but let’s say they did the job half-heartedly or completely gave up. How do you break that "I might as well do it again" cycle that kicks in? It's frustrating to keep going back because of someone else's incompetence.

So when you hand over responsibility, how do you set a limit on completely ruining the job? I mean, you let go, but let's say if they make a mistake, it will cause damage that will affect you too. Surely, "complete freedom" isn't possible; how much should be controlled?

Instead of total freedom, it seems necessary to leave a trial-and-error space and intervene if the damage is substantial. However, if you are constantly controlling the damage, it means you are essentially taking back the burden you are trying to hand over. So the question is: At what point should you say "an incorrect result can be accepted" and let the matter go? What is the criterion?

It's reasonable to set criteria for accepting the wrong result, but when criteria are set from the beginning, the other party may limit themselves. In other words, the moment you say "this much loss is acceptable," some might see that limit as a comfort zone and relax there. It leads to incomplete work again and more stress. Instead of criteria, should we think about something like a "right of takeover" as a sort of insurance plan?

If you include something like a "right of re-acquisition", wouldn't the other party think of it as a guarantee and become even more lax? In other words, it wouldn't be my responsibility; they'll think it can still be fixed anyway. At that point, delivering it would lose all meaning. The real question is, how will we convey that feeling of burden without fully letting go?

Sometimes you need to show that you can completely let go of the issue. So, do you make it clear at the point of "if you don't get it together, it will ruin you, and the consequences will hit you"? When there's always an opportunity for guarantees or interventions, it's almost inevitable for the other party to take the responsibility lightly. Have you ever said "I let it go, and now you deal with the consequences"?

When it comes to the "face the consequences" part, there comes a moment when the other person either doesn’t care about those consequences or, on the contrary, expects you to get more involved and wait for a solution. Is what you call letting go truly about being able to ‘let go,’ or does it just remain at the level of a threat, for instance? If they really feel that you haven’t let go, your effort to set this boundary becomes pointless.

I think saying "I quit" while continuing to watch the results in the background is a strange aspect of the situation. If you're letting go, really let go. But if you can't let go, be upfront about it from the start; otherwise, the other side won't take your "I'm quitting" too seriously. Saying something you can't actually do breaks trust on the other side.

But you can only tolerate the other side not caring about the results or not being able to manage them to a certain extent. Either you don't get involved at all, or you set a clear framework from the beginning, saying, "Take this, but if this and that doesn't happen, I'll take it back." If that framework is already breaking from the start, then you’re not surrendering; you're putting pressure from the beginning. I think the main issue is that moment of surrender at the beginning.

An overly controlling approach that can break the other party's motivation at the beginning won't work either. For example, when you say you are "setting a clear framework," you are not actually delegating the task; it becomes a situation where you are just pulling back a bit while still holding the strings. In order to truly say that you have handed it over, shouldn't you allow some flexibility from the start and see where they can get with their method? Shouldn't you step in only if they really can't handle it?

But what if their method is proceeding from a completely wrong foundation? For instance, you're allowing flexibility from the start, but you realize that the method they are applying will directly cause problems. In that case, what do you do? Do you wait and see the results, or do you intervene from the beginning saying, "this won't work"? Does real delivery mean ignoring even the problematic foundation?

If you see the wrong foundation from the start, isn't it more sensible not to even start instead of handing it over and just watching? I mean, if you know that it will continue incorrectly the moment you "take it," then it's not really about handing it over, but knowingly watching something wrong happen. Being involved in the work until the right foundation is laid feels like a more honest approach than completely letting it go.

You mentioned not starting at all by seeing a wrong foundation, but how do we determine what we call the "correct foundation" is right according to whom and based on what? Isn't saying "my method is better" and not allowing room for the other side just an excuse to keep intervening? If it's not possible for everyone to meet at the same correct point, perhaps we should give a chance to the results of what we deem wrong.

The problem is not about giving luck a chance to its consequences, but about who will be affected while that luck is being given. So, if moving forward with the wrong method only harms the other party, you might say "okay". But if it affects you, someone else, or the whole, you don't even have the luxury of "not watching the wrong".

But what if the damage touches in a way that's less than expected or completely different? Doesn't correcting every mistake from the start also prevent the emergence of potentially other solutions? Instead of uncontrolled damage, maybe maturing in a small chaos is also a result. In this matter of "everyone's right," isn't it necessary to leave a little room for experimentation?

But where does the time for trial and error end? You say it's about maturing from a minor confusion, but what if that confusion isn't minor? When the damage increases, the "margin for error" loses its meaning, and nobody wants to take responsibility for the outcomes. So where do we stand then?

Perhaps the duration of trial and error is determined not by the tolerance of the person who sees the mistake, but by the sensitivity of the areas affected by the error. In other words, even if the damage is minor, what matters is whether it occurred in the right place. For example, if a crack starts to take root, doesn't continuing to monitor it just because it's "small" sometimes lead to the biggest mistake?

There is also this: Isn't the correctability of a mistake just as important as the sensitivity of the area affected by that mistake? Some errors may seem small at first, but as time goes on, they become irreparable, so early intervention is crucial. However, if it's a mistake that can be easily corrected, perhaps letting it go is less risky. It's important to carefully assess which one can be reversed.

There is another point regarding the correctness of mistakes: what is considered "irreversible" changes from culture to culture. For example, while trial and error is a normalized process in individualistic societies, a mistake made in collectivist societies can remain as an indelible scar in the collective memory. In family-oriented structures like ours, "wrong" is generally measured not only by the outcome but also by the process itself. In this case, who determines what is worth trying?

But what if the correctability of the mistake depends on the method of the intervenor? In other words, could it be that the person who thinks they are providing a solution through intervention does not realize that their method might also leave damage in the process? Perhaps the issue is not only the consequences of the mistake, but also the cost of the correction effort.

So, is the cost of what we call "the effort to correct" entirely under the control of the intervening party? In other words, in some cases, if that effort to correct actually contributes to the growth of the wrong, whose fault is that damage? Is it the fault of the one who didn't intervene, the one who made the mistake, or the one who stepped in to try to find a solution?

It's interesting enough, but I believe we should also question why, in this discussion, when someone intervenes in a wrong way it contributes to the growth of the wrong, yet if no one intervenes, the damage is always attributed to the one who is wrong. Isn't there such a thing as the responsibility of remaining passive? Sometimes, is not doing something not just as big a mistake as the wrong itself?

Of course, there is responsibility in being passive, but that responsibility also changes depending on what you are being passive about. If there's no guarantee that every intervention will bring a correct solution, isn't the criticism of "you didn't do anything" somewhat weak? The harm of a mistake is one thing, while the harm of a wrong intervention is another; do you think it's fair to put the two in the same category?

Those who find the critique of "You did nothing" weak, who determines what is considered "wrong intervention"? Passivity may sometimes stem not from thoughtlessness, but from a lack of confidence or knowledge to intervene. But does this completely absolve the passive person of responsibility? Shouldn't one try to learn if they don't know?

Of course, if you don't know, you need to try to learn, but sometimes the process develops so quickly that there isn't even an opportunity to learn. You don’t have enough time to react, and you are accused of passivity. In that case, is the responsibility of making an instantaneous "wrong" decision more reasonable than passivity? Does the magnitude of the harm determine the weight of the guilt?

If the responsibility for a wrong decision seems more "reasonable" than the responsibility for passivity, could it be because we find it easier to reflect on individual mistakes than on collective expectations? In other words, we often excuse passivity due to a lack of time/data, but isn't that overlooking the structural conditions underlying passivity? Did the one who remained passive truly fail to find an opportunity to learn, or are they just more accustomed to delegating decision-making authority in some way?

Passivity can sometimes not just be due to time or data deficiency, but also a type of comfort zone. In other words, can the choice to remain an observer instead of taking responsibility become a habit? Is the effort to learn or intervene sometimes postponed because it would disrupt that comfort zone?

The issue of the comfort zone is valid, but is it always a choice? Sometimes, could it be that people remain passive not because they're in their comfort zone, but rather due to the fear of being completely excluded if they make a "wrong move"? Perhaps silence is sought when the cost of intervening feels heavier than remaining passive.

So how much of the fear of "if I make a mistake, I will be excluded" is individual and how much is environmental? In other words, does a person who chooses to remain passive really fear exclusion, or is it just an excuse? Because at its core, the fear of exclusion could also be a way to avoid facing responsibility.

The fear of exclusion, although it may seem like an individual anxiety, is actually an internalized manifestation of environmental factors, isn't it? If society continuously punishes mistakes, then the "invisibility" that comes with passivity could actually be a learned survival strategy. In this case, shouldn't we question the system that produces that fear instead of questioning the fear itself?

You mentioned the "passive invisibility survival strategy," but does every strategy have sustainability? In the long run, does a person who remains passive accept the possibility of being sidelined, if not excluded, by the system? Doesn’t that invisibility eventually turn into complete oblivion?

Of course, it is turning into something to be forgotten, but being forgotten sometimes seems like a solution for people. I mean, aren’t there those who prefer to be completely forgotten over existing in an environment that constantly reminds them of their mistakes? Perhaps the next step to invisibility is to accept getting lost in that silence.

To accept it, or to be forced to? I mean, is that state of "getting lost in silence" really a choice? Or does it come to this over time because, even if he/she puts in the effort, he/she believes their voice will not be heard? This is something that needs to be distinguished.

Is it really an easy acceptance to remain silent just because one can no longer be heard? After all, there's effort in everything; giving up on speaking is actually a type of effort too. Perhaps even when a person is completely silent, they are paying a price to maintain that silence. Is the passivity we refer to chosen to be able to pay that price?

If passivity is a choice, who does this choice serve? In other words, what balance does the person maintain by staying silent or withdrawing? Sometimes passivity seems to be a way for the individual to protect themselves, but isn't it actually a way of obscuring their own place under the guise of making space for others?

It's as if we're talking about passivity as though it's entirely under the individual's control, but what if it's a process? I mean, what if not being able to make one's voice heard is an experience that, over time, turns into a habit? It reaches a point where, even if one does not want to be silent, they may no longer know how to regain their ability to speak. In this case, how meaningful does the "choice" part remain?

The question is this: Does a person who cannot break free from passivity not have a role in getting used to the experience of being unable to make their voice heard? Alright, let's say the environment influences this, but can a person not have a threshold high enough to risk conflict with the system they are in? Keeping this threshold low is also a choice, isn't it?

Isn't the threshold you mentioned not that complex simply because it's not solely within the individual's control? How possible is it for someone who is constantly subjected to oppression in that environment to gather the courage to confront conflict with it? At some point, a person becomes a part of that system; even determining the threshold could be a reflection of social imposition. In this case, how much of what you call a "preference" is truly an individual's own?

I got stuck on the "habit" part of passivity, you know, how you get used to it and you no longer know how to fill that sound void. But what if it's not just a habit? What if it's a straight-up "comfort zone"? I mean, if you're avoiding the risks of trying to make your voice heard and choosing the lack of conflict that comes with silence? Like a cozy laundry bag, there's no wrinkle and no risk of tearing.

When silence is heard, the notion of it being a "lack of conflict" is somewhat questionable. The conflict may seem to be over outside, but it could be starting inside. Is that state of suppressing that inner voice truly a lack of conflict?

Isn't the conflict you're talking about inside, after a point, more harmful than the conflict outside? I mean, it ultimately explodes inward the more we remain silent. So, we should ask: What are we actually wasting while claiming to protect ourselves? 🫢

If holding it in causes you to implode, why shouldn't it reflect outward as well? Something that accumulates inside has to leak out at some point. By remaining silent, you are not creating conflict-free space; you are actually postponing it. But what if the cost of this postponement is a bigger explosion? You held back and held back, what happens next?

But what if that explosion never comes? Everyone says "eventually it will burst out," but some people never experience that explosion for years, even for a lifetime. Aren't there also individuals who learn to stay silent and no longer see expression as a necessity? If silence becomes permanent, does that "internal explosion" assumption still hold valid?

If it doesn't come, isn't it already a kind of explosion? The absence of something doesn't necessarily mean it's completely stopped. What you call the permanence of silence might actually be the frozen state of a constant escape. It seems like that need hasn't disappeared but has rather been suppressed. Can something that is suppressed really be considered to have vanished?

When silence becomes permanent, can one also start to fear losing that silence? In other words, if the mere idea of disturbing the conflict-free order you've created feels like a threat, is it possible that what has been suppressed is now being protected by that silence? The absence of an explosion may indicate that a structure has become so defenseless that it can no longer dare to face that explosion.

The silence you speak of might operate like a kind of "protection reflex." But is this reflex a response to the danger outside or the chaos within? Perhaps that silence is not only avoiding conflict but also escaping responsibility. If it turns into a comfort that spins around in silence, then doesn’t it create the risk of fading away unnoticed instead of "exploding?"