My husband and I were talking and walking our dogs. One of those winding conversations where you lose track of time.
He said something that landed in my body and sank deep into me:
“There’s friction with connection.”
Simple. And true. So true it took my brain a moment to process it.
Because it’s easy to talk about connection as the goal.
As the balm. The light. The arrival point.
We crave connection. We build entire lives in service of it—romantic connection, familial connection, spiritual connection, community.
But what we don’t always name is what connection costs.
To be connected means to touch.
And when things touch, friction becomes possible.
It’s physics.
And it’s also relational truth.
When you come into true contact with another person—when you allow your edges to touch theirs, honestly—there will be moments of discomfort.
Moments of heat.
Moments where your shape grinds up against theirs and something begins to change.
Sometimes, that friction polishes us.
It rubs off the outdated patterns, the hardened assumptions. It helps us see more clearly where our boundaries are and what matters most. It teaches us how to soften, how to yield without disappearing.
This kind of friction can strengthen connection.
It builds intimacy through repair. It invites growth through contrast.
But not all friction is healthy.
Sometimes, the connection itself starts wearing us down in ways that don’t feel aligned.
Pieces of us get shaved off to maintain closeness.
We quiet our voice too often.
We contort to avoid conflict.
We let our needs get ground down to dust.
And sometimes, the friction becomes a fire.
The kind that scorches.
That ignites old wounds and consumes the safety we once felt.
That burns both people and leaves only ash.
So if you are choosing connection—real, skin-close, soul-open connection—know this: you are also choosing friction.
The question is not if it will happen.
The question is:
How will you meet it?
Will you let it teach you something about yourself?
Will you name what’s rubbing the wrong way before it ignites?
Will you pause to ask, “Is this helping us shape each other more clearly… or is it wearing us down?”
Friction, like fire, isn’t inherently bad.
When tended with care, it can warm.
It can illuminate.
It can transform.
So next time you feel the heat rise in a connection, whether it’s a small irritation or a big rupture, pause.
Breathe.
Get curious.
Where are your edges? Where are theirs?
And what truth is trying to emerge through this contact?
Because connection isn’t just about closeness.
It’s about choosing to stay in contact, even when it’s not smooth.
Especially when it’s not smooth.
It’s about learning how to stay present when sparks fly, without letting them burn down the bridge between you.
And it’s about remembering:
Even in the friction, there can be love.
Even in the rubbing, there can be revelation.
P.S. In coaching, I help people get clear on their shape, so you can meet connection with integrity, not just accommodation. If you’re navigating relational friction and want support unpacking what’s yours, what’s theirs, and what’s worth keeping, I’d love to walk beside you.
👉 [Let’s connect.]
