When You Want to Burn It Down—But Don’t.

How to walk into the war zone without becoming a casualty.

There’s a specific kind of tension that builds in your body when you know you’re walking into a situation that’s not just uncomfortable, but laced with unspoken resentment, bruised egos, and the potential for detonation on all sides. It’s not the kind of nervous energy you feel before say job interview or a difficult conversation with a friend.

No, this is deeper. This is heavier. This is the vibration of anxiety buzzing your veins of being attacked, underestimated, dismissed, or just plain fed up. Of knowing things were said, feelings were hurt, gossip was spread behind your back. Now you’re expected to show up, poised, professional, and not at all the vengeance you feel.

It wasn’t a meeting.

It was a landmine with a calendar invite.

I already knew walking in that it wasn’t going to be productive in the traditional sense. We weren’t going to hug it out. No one was going to suddenly come clean or apologize with tears in their eyes and a heart in their hand.

That’s the stuff of rom-coms and redemption arcs I write all the time.

What I expected—and what I got—was four people entering the same room with four different stories, each convinced theirs was the truth. Each one carrying their own version of events, wearing their defense like armor, ready to burn it down rather than work it out.

 I was walking into a courtroom where everyone was both plaintiff and defendant. And to be clear, I wasn’t exactly innocent either. I came armed. Just not with what I wanted to bring, what I had to bring to win the argument and the damn case.

The Emotional Setup—What I Almost Let Happen

In all honesty, I wanted to burn it all down.

I wanted to take a page from my old corporate America days, when it was dog-eat-dog on most business days. Thirty years of always being prepared, ready to defend myself at any given moment, the last five of which were the most challenging, confrontational, and divisive environments that hammered my armor into the tightest and most formidable mold of second skin possible.

I was more than ready for that type of showdown.

I wanted to say everything I’d been holding in. The sarcastic-laced one-liners, the character assassinations disguised as observations. The “Oh really? That’s interesting, because I have receipts” tone that would’ve been so deeply satisfying in the moment. I wanted to unleash every last bit of righteous rage, the kind that doesn’t even shake your voice because it’s so practiced, so prepared, so done. I had an entire inner monologue queued up, ready to spill over like gasoline just waiting for a spark.

And if I had let that version of me lead?If I had gone full scorched earth?

It would’ve felt incredible for about five minutes. Until the adrenaline wore off and I had to sit with the fallout.

The Shift—Choosing Logic Over Fire

So instead of leading with emotion, I led with clarity. Not because I’m some enlightened, spiritually elevated human who’s above reacting, but because I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—sometimes for all the Tums I ate working in corporate America, that it’s just not worth it.

I didn’t raise my voice.I didn’t exact the venom and acid I once did to a bullying colleague years ago. I didn’t lash out as I had been lashed to.

All learned behaviors to survive the life I USED to live. Not the blessed and joyous one I have now.

Instead, I took off my dented and rusted armor suit and laid down my weapons. Old relics of a past approach that no longer suited the person I had become after therapy and shadow work.

I simply listened.

Asked the other parties to communicate their remembrance of the events. Heard their words formed against me as weapons and utlimatums. But as the record of what happened was spoken around the room, with everyone else rewiting their narrative or tweaking it after hearing others speak before them, I was still holding my original script but my approach and demeanor had changed.

It wasn’t emotionally charged. It didn’t give me that dopamine hit of a perfectly delivered comeback or the cathartic slamming the door on my way out. It gave me something different. Something subtler. More reflective of my growth journey.

Peace

The Fallout—When You Don’t Explode

Here’s the part no one talks about: Sometimes doing the mature thing doesn’t feel good. Sometimes choosing the high road doesn’t feel like a triumph. Sometimes it feels like swallowing broken glass while everyone else keeps flinging it.

Because the truth is, nothing really got resolved. There were no grand gestures. No lightbulb moments. Just the sound of people processing their discomfort in real time, confronted with information they didn’t expect—or maybe didn’t want—to hear. There were awkward silences. Some shifting in chairs. One very long sigh. And then the meeting ended with a quasi-amenable conclusion. An agree to disagree in some parts.

But I didn’t leave feeling destroyed.I didn’t leave questioning myself.I didn’t need to call three friends immediately afterward to say, “You won’t believe what happened?”

That, in and of itself, was the win.

What I Know Now And Hope Helps You 

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is not match someone’s energy and chaos. Not let that manipulative, snake-in-the-grass of a coworker drag you down to his level, which is in the fiery inferno of hell.

Sometimes protecting your peace looks like sitting in a room full of a-hole and choosing not to light the match you brought with you. Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re scared. But because you’re finally clear on one thing: You don’t need to burn everything down to prove you were right.

You can be furious, and still composed. You can be hurt, and still grounded. You can be right, and still kind.Kindness doesn’t mean soft. Trust me. It means lowering your voice, forcing them to lean in and speaking slower with emphasis on certain words to convey who’s really in charge.

Leading with logic doesn’t mean you’re giving in. It means that speaking last, hearing every other person’s words spoken first gives you valuable insight into their inner workings.

From that vantage point, you have all the fire power you want and its quietly retained.The silence that follows while all eyes are on you, waiting for your reaction is wisdom and strength.

It’s louder than the fireworks that went off at the start of the meeting. Because silence leaves it’s own mark, deeper and heavier than loud explosions.

So if you’re standing on the edge of your own burn-it-down moment, I’ll say this:

Bring the match.

Let them speak first.

And wade through the bullshit and lies to find the truth.

Then pause, say your peace in a calm and collected manner, then walk out, knowing that sometimes, the strongest person in the room is the one who didn’t need to set it on fire to make a point.

And if you still find you need your battle armor on before the meeting, by all means. Pencil on a perfectly lined lip, swipe a bold color across them, and spritz your favorite perfume on. Because trust me, those are the things that always get noticed. And if they are coming for you, it’s best to do it glowing like the queen you are.

Have you ever walked into a conversation knowing it could combust? What helped you lead with logic instead of emotion—or did you light it up and deal with the ashes later? Drop your story in the comments because we’ve all been there.