“There is a gap between motivation and response. In that space is our power to choose our response.” ~ Viktor Frankl
For a moment I forgot the place.
When a dispute came into my life – first with my employer, then with my insurance company – I did not have a strong reaction. I did not close the email carelessly.
I did something that felt more reasonable.
I made the argument.
I carefully create layered explanations. I mapped, references, principles, contextual details, and logical connections. I put out what felt like a complete reset of my defense ideas. If I could make my case airtight, I believe it would be undeniable.
It seems reasonable.
But there is no peace.
When conflict enters
Conflict doesn’t just live in my inbox. It lives in my body.
I woke up arguing. I re-read the message after sending them a scan for vulnerabilities. I defended myself even in silence.
There is tightness in my jaw. Low vigilance. The feeling of smallness in a system that uses more formal language than I do.
Fear is there, though I did not name it at first.
Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of eviction. Fear that if I leave a gap in my reasoning it will be used against me.
So I try not to leave space.
Instinct to explain excess
As someone trained to think in the system, I instinctively searched for structure. When something goes wrong, I check how the pieces connect. I present the framework under the problem.
Under pressure, that instinct intensifies.
The more worried I was, the more thorough my explanation. My email is not very emotional – it’s complicated. Extensive. Thick.
And tired.
What I began to see gradually was that my need for completeness was not just intellectual discipline.
It’s anxiety to cheat.
If I cover all the corners, I will not be vulnerable. But covering all the corners did not calm me down. It makes me spin.
Suspension power
The change did not happen drastically.
It started with a distraction.
Before sending a specific email, I started to create a space. Sometimes it means walking out for a day. Sometimes it means looking through my draft through a neutral mirror and asking simple questions:
Is this clear? Is this too thick? What results am I looking for?
What surprised me was not the feedback.
It is a self-suspension.
Instead of adding an extra explanation, I started removing it.
Half of what I wrote was defensive, but not necessary. I do not have to wait for any opposition. I do not need to state the whole philosophical basis of justice.
I have to be clear.
And the precision feels calm.
Accuracy is stronger than volume
My strength began to see that it was not from density.
It comes from clarity.
Not all support ideas are in the email.
All possible objections must be debated in advance.
Not every detail needs to be protected.
Sometimes clarity means cutting your argument in half.
That felt uncomfortable at first. It feels like surrender.
But it is not surrendered.
It is an improvement.
As I reduce my response, everything else is shorter – my confusion. My body is soft. The inner courtroom is quieter.
Clarity reduces the emotional burden.
How to Advocate Without Increasing
If you find yourself explaining too much in times of conflict, that’s what helped me:
First, write the full version privately. Say everything. Build entire forts if you need to.
Then step out.
When you return, ask yourself:
- What specific results do I want?
- Which statement directly supports that result?
- Which of my points do you disagree with?
Cut out what is trying to prove. Keep what you are trying to solve.
Replace abstract demands with explicit proposals. Instead of “this is not fair” try “I am requesting X by date Y”.
Notice how your body feels when you read the shorter version.
It often feels constant.
And stability is energy.
Choosing dignity over fear
Eventually the conflict was resolved. Not so much. Not perfect. But enough.
What stays with me is not the result.
It is who I have become.
Less reaction. There is less confusion in over-construction. Less fear that clarity requires total coverage.
I learned something I had never been taught:
Advocacy does not require agitation.
It requires presence.
You do not have to step on anyone to stand on your own two feet.
You do not have to sacrifice peace to defend your rights.
Fear tries to cover every corner. Dignity stands in a definite position.
When I switched from building a fortress to standing still in what I needed, things changed, not the system, but me.
And that’s enough.
If you are facing something similar at the moment – an email that you are afraid to send, a situation that you feel can not be heard – try to create space before you respond.
Draft it. Do not send it. Return with calm eyes.
Choose clarity on coverage. Choose stability over urgency.
You can advocate for yourself without losing your peace.
I did not go out to study the lesson.
But I am grateful I did.
If this sharing helps even one person feel less lonely in the difficult gap between self-defense and self-preservation, then the stress I went through is not wasted. That is my hope.
About Tony Collins
Edward “Tony” Collins, EdD, MFA, is a documentary filmmaker, writer, educator and disability advocate who lives with progressive vision loss from cataracts. His work seeks the presence, care, endurance, and quiet energy of a small moment. He is currently completing a book on creative scholarships and collaborative documentary productions and sharing personal articles on meaning, hope and disability on Substack. Link: substack.com/@iefilm | iefilm.com
