How to Get Out of High Conflict (And Why It's Burning You Out)

A real morning in our house

My nine-year-old twins, Oren and Rose, fight approximately 75.23 times a day. 

Recently, Rose made Oren a paper airplane — one of Oren's favorite things. 

Oren's reaction: confusion bordering on rejection. It wasn't folded right. Plus, "I can make a thousand of these an hour."

Oh, my God… 

Cue Rose's heartbreak and tears -- and Oren's abject confusion about why Rose was crying.

Rose has always expressed love through gifts (haha and receiving gifts. Girl has had her Christmas list visible and framed since Veterans' Day. 

For Oren, gift-giving is a minefield of unspoken social rules that make no sense and feel performative. Oren doesn't really like to give gifts, or receive them, because of the mystifying social pressures on either end. 

So when Oren didn't light up with gratitude, Rose felt rejected. Humiliated. Misunderstood. She lost it — absolute fury.

We piled onto my bed and did what I now realize is what mediators and people who are REALLY GOOD at facilitating call looping: uncovering the understories, working toward what Jayson Gaddis calls “getting to zero”, when the angst and edginess of conflict has melted.

Their bodies started to relax as they understood the real issue wasn't the airplane — it was about feeling misunderstood and unseen, in both directions.

We've been doing this for years with the kids. The hope is that someday they'll do it themselves. If I'm being honest, that day is a ways off. 

But they've given us plenty of “chances to practice” (see 75.23 fights per day, on average) what I now know are the foundations of what Amanda Ripley calls "good" conflict — the kind that leads to breakthroughs, not the intractable morass where conflict itself becomes the point.

Why chronic conflict is a burnout driver (and a health crisis you might not see coming)

Let's talk about conflict. There are two big kinds: good conflict, where folks are working towards an exit from the conflict, curiosity remains, good will is intact, and high conflict, where none of that is true. 

Maybe you don't see yourself as in any kind of conflict at all.  But if you live in the same zip code as another human, I assure you, conflict of some sort will arise, and you'll have the chance to nudge it towards energy-giving, life-improving “good conflict” or draining, exhausting, spiraling “high conflict”.

High conflict doesn't have to be fireworks and derangement. It can also just be…  perpetual low-grade frustration at a certain person, people, or… life. It can be perpetually finding fault in other people, blaming someone else when something goes wrong for you.

But if any of that is happening, usually the way you're talking to and about other people is how you're talking to yourself, internally.  Show me someone who self-blames, self-shames, and self-criticizes, and I will show you one brittle, exhausted human.  

And maybe that's just how life is for you, maybe you don't think of perpetual low-grade frustration as a health issue.

But it is. Chronic conflict activates your stress response in measurable, harmful ways. Your nervous system stays in threat mode. Cortisol spikes. Your immune system degrades. Your memory gets fuzzy.

This accumulation of stress is called allostatic load — the wear and tear from living in a baseline state of stress. It's a burnout driver just like overwork or impossible deadlines. Maybe more insidious, because it feels justified.

And here's the thing: there's a difference between conflict that moves you forward and conflict that swallows you whole.

Researcher Arleen Geronimus has spent decades documenting how allostatic load shows up differently depending on who you are. For Black and Brown people in America, chronic stress isn't just about individual conflicts — it's about navigating a society where racism is still very much alive. The hypervigilance, the inherited trauma, the requirement to be "twice as good to get half as far," the perpetual self-doubt — these accumulate in measurable ways. Higher blood pressure. Stiffer arteries. Higher inflammation. Metabolic disorders, heart disease, Alzheimer's, earlier onset of diseases of aging.

This isn't about diet or individual choices — it's about the cost of existing in a system that wasn't built for you, compounded across a lifetime and across generations.

When you add individual high conflict on top of that systemic stress, the wear and tear is compounded. If this is you, the stakes of getting out of the tar pit are even higher.

Good conflict vs. high conflict: what's the difference?

Here's what separates conflict that moves you forward from conflict that traps you:

Good conflict has curiosity at its core. People ask questions. All sides want to find a solution, even if they disagree about what it is. There's genuine sadness when bad things happen to the other side — you still see them as human. The thinking is expansive: there might be more than one right answer here, and maybe we can both get something we need.

High conflict runs on assumptions, not questions. People deliver monologues instead of conversations. One or all sides have stopped wanting a solution — the conflict itself has become the point. There's a feeling of happiness, even satisfaction, when bad things happen to the other side. The thinking is zero-sum: if you win, I lose. If I win, you should suffer.

Six signs you're already stuck in high conflict

1. You've stopped being curious about the other person's actual experience.

In good conflict, people still ask questions. They still wonder. In high conflict, you've decided who they are and why they do what they do. You're not really listening anymore. Ripley found that when conflict escalates past a certain point, the original facts fade into the background. You're arguing about whether they're a good person or a bad person, not about the thing that actually started it.

2. The conflict has become a way to feel in control.

This is the paradox Ripley names, and it's crucial: people want out of conflict as much as they want to stay in it. Because in a world where so much feels chaotic and out of your hands — the news, your kids' futures, the state of things — conflict gives you something to do, someone to blame, a narrative that explains your unease. It's terrible, but it's something. And something feels better than the helplessness underneath.

3. You're overcategorizing people.

Ripley quotes Gordon Allport: "Overcategorization is perhaps the commonest trick of the human mind." Once someone becomes "the asshole," or "the incompetent one," or "the person who doesn't care," you stop seeing them as complicated. They become a category. Everything they do gets filtered through that lens. A neutral action becomes proof of their badness. You're no longer seeing a person; you're seeing a story you've decided is true.

This is related to something called the Fundamental Attribution Error — a concept Pancho and I dive into on the upcoming episode of Now That You See It podcast. It's the reason every person driving faster than you on the road is a maniac, and everyone driving slower is an idiot. (George Carlin nailed it.) In high conflict, this error runs wild: everyone is morally depraved, incomprehensible, acting with malice when they're actually just... responding to their own nervous systems, their own childhoods, their own constraints.

4. You're exhausted, but stopping feels impossible.

Not because you're actually busy doing things, but because the conflict is taking up mental real estate. You're replaying conversations. You're building your case. You're waiting for the moment you can finally make them understand. This is different from being tired from actual work — this is the fatigue of perpetual readiness, of holding a grudge, of waiting for justice that never quite comes.

5. You've stopped expecting things to actually change.

In good conflict, you believe progress is possible. You're fighting for something. In high conflict, you've settled into "this is just how it is with them." Or "the world is broken and there's nothing to be done." You're not fighting to solve anything anymore. You're fighting because you've forgotten how to stop.

6. Your identity is at stake.

Somewhere along the way, being right became part of who you are. Or protecting your group. Or being the person who sees what's wrong. Admitting you were wrong, or changing your mind, or seeing the other person's point doesn't feel like growth — it feels like betrayal. It feels like losing yourself. This is when conflict becomes existential, and it's almost impossible to get out of because getting out would mean being a different person.

Red flags you're heading into high conflict territory

These accelerants don't all have to be present for high conflict to take hold. But if you see them showing up, pay attention. You might be heading toward the tar pit.

Group identity is solidifying.

"People like us don't do things like that." "You either believe this or you're one of them." The world is becoming simpler and more divided. You're noticing you're spending more time with people who think like you do and less time with people who complicate the picture. This is a warning sign. Reality is always messier than any group identity allows for.

Conflict entrepreneurs are showing up — or you're becoming one.

Ripley uses this term to describe pundits, politicians, and leaders who have a stake in keeping conflict alive — because their identity, their income, or their sense of purpose depends on it. But in your daily life, this might be the friend who always agrees with you and never helps you "go to the balcony" and get some perspective. It might be the family member who validates your anger but never asks you what you're actually responsible for or where your perspective might be incomplete. It might be you — when you realize you've become the person who keeps the conflict alive because stopping would mean losing the narrative that makes sense of your pain.

Humiliation is at stake — or its opposite, dignity.

Someone feels genuinely humiliated, and humiliation is one of the most powerful forces in human conflict. Or someone feels their dignity has been violated, and they're willing to fight to the death to restore it. This is when conflict stops being about solving a problem and becomes about honor. And honor is almost impossible to compromise on.

The original facts are fading, replaced by moral judgments.

This is what Ripley calls corruption — not necessarily financial corruption, but the corruption of the original story. The facts that started the conflict are getting replaced by judgments about character. "They did X" becomes "they did X because they're fundamentally a bad person." "We disagree about policy" becomes "they want to destroy the country." The facts get buried, and all that's left is moral outrage.

If these red flags are showing up, it's worth asking: Am I heading toward high conflict? And if so, what small move could I make to complicate the narrative before it hardens?

How to actually get out

Here's what surprised me about Ripley's research: you don't get out by avoiding conflict or by "just letting it go." You get out by leaning in, but differently.

Here are Amanda's five moves:

1. Understand the understory — ideally together in the same room

What is this conflict actually about underneath the surface? Not the shoes, not the toaster, not the political stance — but what's underneath? What do you need to be true about yourself or the situation? What are you afraid of? What's your dignity at stake for?

With Rose and Oren, the understory wasn't about the paper airplane. For Rose, it was about feeling like her love wasn't understood or appreciated. For Oren, it was about the bewildering, exhausting pressure to perform gratitude for something that didn't make sense to them. Once we named those, the conflict shifted. It wasn't personal anymore. It was a pattern they could both see.

People listen better when they feel heard. So start there. Try going first — be the one to make the other person feel heard first. Summarize what you're hearing without judgment. Ask if you got it right. Let them correct you. Keep going until they say "yes, exactly." Only then is it your turn to be heard.

This requires being in the same physical space, ideally. Phone calls work. Text does not. Zoom is better than email. In-person is best. There's something about being in a room together, maybe over food or coffee or tea, that makes it easier to remember the other person is human.

Ripley found that in couples who could name their understory together — "I'm afraid I don't matter; I'm terrified I'm failing as a parent; I need to feel heard" — something shifted. The conflict started to feel less personal and more like a puzzle you could solve together. Instead of "you're impossible," it becomes "I'm afraid you don't think I matter, and I need you to know that I do."

2. Remove the binary

High conflict lives in "you're either with me or against me." Reality is messier. Your spouse loves you and drives you crazy sometimes. Your kid cares about your opinion and is going through something you don't fully understand. Your leadership has constraints you don't see and makes decisions that feel tone-deaf. Your family's inherited patterns shaped you and you get to choose something different. Both things can be true.

When you let go of needing it to be one or the other, the tar pit loses its grip.

3. Marginalize the firestarters

Who in this conflict is benefiting from keeping it alive? Who validates your anger without ever asking you the hard questions about your own responsibility? Who amplifies the worst in the other person instead of the best? These are your conflict entrepreneurs — and they need to be less involved, not more.

This might be a friend, a family member, an online community, a pundit you follow, or even a therapist who only validates you and never challenges you to see your blindspots. It might be you — when you realize you're the one who keeps the conflict alive.

Consciously spend less time with these people. Seek out people who complicate the picture instead. People who can say "I hear you, and I also see that this isn't as simple as it looks."

4. Buy time and make space — slow everything down

High conflict thrives in scarcity and urgency. So the opposite move is to slow down radically.

Get off text. Get off social media. Schedule the conversation instead of having it in the heat of the moment. Create physical space — a neutral location, time when you're both rested, maybe even literal comfort like food or tea or a walk.

When your nervous system is fried, you can't access curiosity. You can't listen. You can't think. You can only defend. So rest becomes strategic. Sleep, movement, time alone — these aren't luxuries. They're prerequisites for actually resolving conflict.

Also: ask for a break if you need one. "I want to understand this, and right now I'm too activated. Can we come back to this in an hour?" This is different from avoidance. It's a commitment to having the conversation when you can actually be present.

5. Complicate the narrative

Be suspicious of simple stories. As economist Tyler Cowen says, "Be suspicious of simple stories." If the conflict feels like a simple good-versus-evil battle, you're probably missing something crucial.

Amanda offers questions to help complicate the picture:

• What is oversimplified about this conflict?

• What do you want to understand about the other side?

• What do you want the other side to understand about you?

• What would it feel like if you woke up and this problem was solved?

• What's the question nobody is asking?

• What do you want to know about this controversy that you don't already know?

• Where do you feel torn?

• Tell me more...

These questions are designed to pull you out of the tar pit. They make the conflict interesting again — not in a destructive way, but in a way that opens up possibility instead of closing it down.

Make it interesting. Add food, humor, and music. Ripley found that the magic ratio for healthy relationships is 5:1 positive to negative interactions (this comes from John Gottman's research). That means you need five moments of connection, laughter, or tenderness for every moment of conflict. If you're only meeting to fight, the relationship will deteriorate. So eat together. Tell jokes. Listen to music you both like. Remind each other why you care.

Go to the balcony. William Ury's concept of "going to the balcony" means stepping back and looking at the conflict from a distance, as if you're watching it from above. Write out the argument with just facts — no interpretations, no judgments — from a neutral third-party view. This is also a core DBT skill. It helps you see the pattern instead of being caught in it.

Remember: you don't have to agree or even like the person. You just have to understand where they might be coming from, how they got there given their values, history, and context. Understanding is not the same as agreeing. You can understand why someone believes what they believe without thinking they're right.

What this is NOT

This doesn't mean you tolerate abuse or unkindness. This doesn't mean you stay in situations where someone consistently chooses their own interests over yours and has no interest in getting out of the tar pit. Some people aren't safe to engage with right now, and that's okay. Boundaries are sometimes the right answer.

This also doesn't mean your partner has to be willing to do this work with you. If you're trying to loop and they're still monologuing. If you're trying to understand the understory and they're still attacking you. If you're the only one making space and they're still in crisis mode — you may need a real break. Not from the relationship, necessarily, but from trying to resolve the conflict until things shift.

But for the conflicts that matter — with people you love, people you work with, situations where connection is actually possible — these moves are worth trying. They increase your curiosity. They give you perspective. They might tell you: yes, this one isn't worth the fight, I'm going to drop it. They might tell you: I'm more curious about what's happening for this person now. Or they might tell you: while we are all flawed, this person consistently chooses harm, and I need to step back. All of those are valid outcomes. The point is to choose from clarity, not from the fog of high conflict.

The experiment: a listening test

Next time you find yourself wanting to interrupt — your kid who's frustrated about something, your spouse, someone at work — try looping instead.

Let them talk until they're actually done. Not until you think they're done. Until they are.

Summarize what you heard. Ask: "Did I get that right?"

If they say no, listen again. If they clarify, loop again. Keep going until they say "yes, exactly."

Only then ask: "Can I share my side?" And if they're not ready, ask: "When would be a good time to try again?"

This is hard because it requires you to let go of proving your point. But what Ripley found — and what I've watched happen with clients and with my own kids — is that when people feel heard, the conflict stops doing damage. You can actually disagree and come out closer, not further apart.

Resources for going deeper

Amanda Ripley's High Conflict — The research and frameworks that back all of this.

Jayson Gaddis' Getting to Zero — The looping technique and how to actually have conversations that resolve things.

William Ury's The Third Side — On going to the balcony and stepping back to see the whole picture.

My Instagram post on the illusion of communication — Why we think we're being understood when we're not, and why looping matters.

Coming soon: Pancho and I explore the Fundamental Attribution Error on Now That You See It podcast — why everyone driving faster than you is a maniac and everyone driving slower is an idiot, and what that has to do with high conflict.