What To Do When No One Wants to Hurt Each Other - But You Still Walk Away Bleeding

My stepson recently hosted his end-of-school-year party at my place. Dozens of energetic sixteen-year-olds - boys and girls - bouncing through the house, the garden, and in my case, the jacuzzi. It can be a bit of a challenge, sure. But mostly, it’s joy. And yes, finding a stray sock or swim trunk weeks later in some unexpected corner of the house? That’s just part of the deal.

But that evening turned out to be different from the ones before. Around six in the morning, when I got up, I found his friend - let’s call him Tom - sitting at the dining table with another boy. I asked how he’d enjoyed the party. Turns out… he hadn’t been there. He’d shown up around 2 a.m., after a fight at home, not knowing where else to go. He stumbled into the party late and only then realised he’d missed something he would’ve really enjoyed.

This video is created with the help of AI so I can share this in languages I don’t speak natively.

Of course I pulled him aside and asked what had happened. According to him, it had all escalated out of nowhere. He was just sitting on the couch when his mother suddenly started saying all kinds of things that -  in his words -  simply weren’t true. Then she got angry. Suddenly. Sharply. And because he felt accused, he felt he had no choice but to get angry too. He had to push back. Because he can’t stand injustice -  not even a hint of it. He’s one of those kids who just can’t stay silent when something feels wrong, even if it costs him the peace. At some point, she stormed upstairs, and he stormed outside. And by the time they were texting each other, they’d already crossed that invisible line -  the one where it’s no longer about what was said, but about how it made them feel. The kind of line where both end up saying things like, “This just isn’t working anymore.”

But listen closely, because Tom said a few things that really stood out - things I’ve often seen in conflicts between adults too. Whether it’s in private relationships or at work, these same patterns show up again and again.

First, he said: “She suddenly started saying all kinds of things.” As if nothing had happened before that. As if his mother just snapped out of nowhere and launched into accusations for no reason at all. The way he told it, you’d think she belonged in a facility - irrational, unpredictable, unstable. He was absolutely convinced it had come out of the blue. And sure, at his age, that kind of lack of self-reflection is still common. But let’s be honest: this kind of narrative isn’t limited to teenagers. I’ve heard grown adults frame conflict in exactly the same way -  as something the other person started, entirely unprovoked.

Then he said the second thing: “I had no choice but to get angry too. I had to push back. I can’t stand injustice.” That one’s just as telling. Because in that sentence lives an assumption: that what he heard wasn’t just wrong, but false. A lie. And not just one -  

“all lies,” as he put it. But when we talked a little longer, the content of the argument came out. Not being on time. Leaving things everywhere. Not sleeping enough. Staying in bed too long. You know -  the usual things a sixteen-year-old gets called out for. Nothing unusual. Nothing vicious. And deep down, of course he knew she had a point.

But that’s the fascinating part - and the part that follows us into adulthood.

We’re not always angry because someone is wrong.

We’re angry because they’re right, and we’re not ready to admit it yet.

But here’s the thing -  this argument could have been prevented so easily. Not by sending his mother to a course on how to be a better parent. And certainly not by giving her a bottle of calming pills, tempting as that might sound to any parent dealing with a furious teenager. No, what would’ve made the difference here is something much simpler - and much more powerful. The form of communication used by the listener. Not the one who's angry, but the one who's being confronted. That’s something even a sixteen-year-old can learn. And in Tom’s case, it’s something he already started applying.

Because when someone is angry - whether they’re a parent, partner, friend or colleague -  the most important thing you can do is help them feel heard. Not fixed. Not corrected. Just heard. Even for a few seconds. That alone can shift the energy of an entire argument.

I asked Tom if I could show him something, and with his permission, we did a quick exercise. I told him to say something unpleasant to me - anything that might normally provoke a reaction. Without missing a beat, he said, “You’re terrible at football!” I responded sharply, as if genuinely offended: “What do you know about football anyway?” Then I asked him, calmly, “Where do you think this conversation is going? And how does it feel?”

One sentence. One reaction. And instantly, the emotional tone changed. It felt tense, closed, uninviting. Like most real-life arguments do.

So I asked him to try again. He pointed his finger at me - just like he said his mother had done - and said, “You’re always late!” This time, I responded differently. I said, slowly and calmly, “So if I understand you correctly, you’d like me to be more on time?”

Tom laughed. “Well… now I’ve got nothing else to say,” he grinned.

And that was it. I didn’t need to ask him what felt different - he already knew. He felt heard. And when someone feels heard, even just a little, the emotional charge drops. That one step -  asking for confirmation of the complaint instead of defending against it - is often the moment everything begins to de-escalate.

But Tom isn’t stupid. And at that age, agreeing with your parents can feel like betraying yourself. So he challenged the exercise. “But if I say that,” he asked, “doesn’t it sound like I’m saying she’s right? And she’s not. I am on time sometimes.” Of course, I had to bite my lip not to smile at his choice of words - sometimes on time. But we continued.

He gave it another go. He sat up, pointed his finger like before, and said with conviction, “You always leave your stuff lying around!” This time, I responded calmly: “So if I understand you correctly, you’d like me to leave less mess everywhere?” “Yes,” Tom said, with even more force. “But you’ll never do that - because you never have!”

I kept the role-play going and looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you,” I said. “I hear you. 

I understand that you want me to be more mindful about the mess. I struggle with that sometimes, but I’ll try to pay more attention going forward.”

“Yeah, but now it just sounds like I’m saying she’s right!” Tom snapped back.

And that’s when I explained it. I told him that yes, it can sound like agreement -  but in reality, it’s something else. It’s a way of defusing the tension. Of avoiding the spiral. Of taking what’s useful from someone’s frustration and choosing to grow from it - on your own terms.

Tom went quiet. He looked at me for a second. And then he said, “I think I need to call my mom. Just to talk. Let her tell me what’s really bothering her.”

And if a sixteen-year-old boy can do that, I honestly hope every adult who hears this story lets it sink in too.