How to create safety for the hardest conversations—and why this might be how we come back to each other

I recorded a video about this because it felt too important to just write about. [Watch it here.]

But I also wanted to go deeper—into the science of why we're so activated, why arguing makes things worse, and why this simple skill might be the thing that actually helps us bridge the divide. So here's the longer version.

We are living through something unprecedented.

I don't mean the politics or the news—I mean what's happening between us. Between people who love each other.

Canyons have opened up. Family dinners have become minefields. Friendships of decades hang by threads. And underneath it all, many of us are reaching for food more than ever.

I want to talk about why this is happening, what it has to do with our food patterns, and how we can create space to talk about anything that's impacting us—without destroying the relationships we cherish or deepening the divide that's hurting all of us.

Where Else Can You Go?

I want you to sit with this question for a moment:

Where else in your life can you show up—exactly as you are, feeling exactly what you're feeling—without first having to assess whether it's safe?

Think about it. Really think.

Can you do this at work? Probably not. You have to manage your image, navigate office politics, protect your livelihood.

Can you do this with family? For many of us, family is where the deepest canyons exist. We tiptoe. We avoid. We change the subject.

Can you do this with friends? Maybe some. But even longtime friendships are fracturing over differences that feel too dangerous to name.

Can you do this on social media? Absolutely not. Social media is where we perform our most curated selves, hoping to avoid the pile-on.

Can you do this at church? At your support group? At the gym? In your neighborhood?

For most people, the honest answer is: nowhere.

There is almost nowhere left where you can bring your whole self—your fears, your grief, your confusion, your exhaustion, your broken heart—without first calculating whether you'll be judged, rejected, argued with, or abandoned.

But it doesn't have to be this way. Safety for hard conversations can be created. I know, because I've watched it happen.

What Makes Safety Possible

In my community—a group called "Where the Magic Happens"—we've built something rare: a space where people with different views, different backgrounds, different beliefs can sit together. Not because we agree on everything, but because we've agreed on something more important.

We've agreed that how you feel matters more than what you believe.

We've agreed that your humanity isn't up for debate.

We've agreed that being witnessed is more valuable than being right.

I don't know every person's views on every screen in every call. And honestly? I don't need to. What I know is their hearts. What I know is that they show up, day after day, trying to heal their relationship with food and with themselves. What I know is that they're doing the deep work of understanding why they turn to food when life gets hard.

That's the common ground that makes everything else possible.

What This Looks Like in Practice

I need you to understand how unusual this is.

We live in a time when people are being expelled from families, friendships, and communities for having the "wrong" opinions. When a single post can end a relationship. When "we can't talk about that" has become the default in most social spaces.

In a recent call, we had people from different countries, different political perspectives, different life experiences—all sitting together. And we talked about:

• The grief of relationships fractured by disagreement
• The helplessness of watching the news and feeling like you can't do anything
• The canyon that exists in someone's own home
• The pain of not being able to talk to your own child about why they believe what they believe
• The fear of what's coming

And no one left feeling attacked. No one was shamed. No relationships were destroyed.

We felt things together. That's what's possible when you create the right conditions.

The Neurochemistry of Charged Conversations

Here's where the science comes in—and why understanding this might change how you approach every difficult conversation from now on.

Your brain is literally wired to seek out charged, sensational information. It's not a character flaw. It's biology.

When we encounter information that feels urgent, threatening, or emotionally charged—whether it's political news, gossip, or conflict—our brains release dopamine. This is the same neurochemical pathway that gets activated by highly palatable food, by gambling, by anything that promises a hit of significance or reward.

Dr. Anna Lembke's research shows that we actually crave this activation. Our brains are designed to pay attention to information that signals danger or social significance. In ancestral environments, this kept us alive. In our current environment, it keeps us scrolling at 2 AM, unable to look away from the horror.

So when we start discussing charged topics—politics, values, beliefs—we're not just having a conversation. We're activating each other's dopamine systems. We're literally giving each other neurochemical hits.

And here's the connection most people miss: this is the exact same reward system that drives us toward food.

Why Charged Topics Lead Us to Food

When we engage with sensational, emotionally charged content—whether we're consuming it or producing it—our sympathetic nervous system (fight/flight) activates. Our heart rate increases. Stress hormones flood our system. We feel alive in a way that can almost feel addictive.

But what goes up must come down.

After the activation comes the crash. And what does our body reach for to regulate back down? The same thing it always has: food.

Food—especially highly palatable food—activates the parasympathetic nervous system. It literally calms our biology. So after the dopamine hit of charged conversation or doomscrolling, our intelligent nervous system says: "Now calm down. Eat something."

One woman in our community said it perfectly after a recent conversation: "Soon as you started talking I got hungry."

That's not weakness. That's a nervous system doing exactly what it's designed to do: seeking regulation after activation.

The Grand Canyon Between Us

Here's what makes this moment so uniquely painful: we don't just disagree about policy. We disagree about reality itself. And we've stopped talking.

Many of us have family members, friends, people we love deeply, with whom we cannot have certain conversations. Not because we're weak or they're evil—but because the activation is too intense, the stakes feel too high, and there's no container strong enough to hold the conversation without someone getting burned.

One member shared that she can't sit with her own son and ask him why he believes what he believes—because she knows she'll explode. Another can't talk to her daughter. Another hasn't spoken to a decades-long friend.

This silence creates its own kind of alarmed aloneness. We're activated—deeply, chronically activated—and we're alone with it. We can't bring our full selves to the people we love. We self-censor. We walk on eggshells. We feel unsafe everywhere.

And then we wonder why we're reaching for food.

The canyon between us is hurting all of us. Not just "them"—all of us. And the only way to bridge it is to stop throwing rocks across it and start building something together.

The Difference That Changes Everything

Here's what I've come to understand after years of holding space for people struggling with food: there's a difference between talking about what's happening and talking about how it's impacting you.

I think of it as moving the camera.

When the camera is pointed at the situation—the news, the policy, the political figure, the specific outrage—we're in sensationalism territory. We're feeding each other's dopamine systems. We're potentially triggering people with different viewpoints. We're making the space feel unsafe for anyone who might see it differently.

But when we move the camera to our internal experience—how we're feeling, what's happening in our bodies, what we're struggling with emotionally—something shifts.

Suddenly we're in territory where connection is possible. Where resonance can happen. Where people on every side of the canyon can recognize themselves in each other's humanity.

"I couldn't sleep last night. I'm so unsettled."

"My heart is breaking and I don't know what to do with this feeling."

"I feel like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from."

"There's a canyon in my own house and I don't know how to cross it."

These statements don't require agreement about the situation. They require only human recognition: yes, I know what that feels like.

Why This Matters for Food Freedom

Remember: alarmed aloneness—being activated without accompaniment—is the primary driver of emotional eating. When we're triggered and alone with our activation, food becomes our companion.

Safe spaces for hard conversations provide accompaniment through activation. They give us a place where we can be witnessed in our struggles without being fixed or judged.

But if a space becomes a source of activation—if charged conversations without containment trigger our nervous systems into fight/flight—then we've lost the healing potential.

And here's the deeper truth: we cannot process our food patterns if we're in chronic activation. A brain in survival mode cannot learn new patterns. A nervous system in constant fight/flight cannot access the calm attention required for change.

This is why creating safety isn't about avoiding difficult topics. It's about creating conditions where we can actually process how these topics are affecting us, rather than just activating each other further.

Second-Level Resonance: The Advanced Practice

There's something I call second-level resonance. It's what happens when we can hold space for people whose views might be different from our own—not by agreeing with them, but by recognizing the humanity underneath their distress.

One member beautifully articulated this when she said: "I know if I sit in hate, the others win."

Second-level resonance doesn't mean pretending we don't have strong feelings about what's happening in the world. It means recognizing that:

• Everyone in a conversation has a heart, even if you don't know where they stand on every issue.
• People arrive at their beliefs through complex pathways that usually involve pain, love, or both.
• There will never be a subject we all completely agree on—and that doesn't have to prevent connection.
• Our relationships—these precious, healing connections—are more important than being right.

This doesn't mean we can't have boundaries. It doesn't mean we accept harmful behavior. It means we lead with the underlying feelings rather than the inflammatory specifics.

This is how we bridge the canyon. Not by winning the argument, but by remembering that the person on the other side is also scared, also grieving, also trying to make sense of a world that feels like it's falling apart.

How to Create This Safety

Safe spaces for hard conversations aren't places to debate positions or share news updates. They're places to be witnessedin our human response to living in this world.

Here's the distinction:

Instead of: "Did you see what [political figure] said about [issue]?" Try: "I'm so unsettled by what's happening. I couldn't sleep."

Instead of: "How can anyone support [position]?" Try: "I feel so disconnected from people I love. It's breaking my heart."

Instead of: Explaining why your view is right Try: Sharing what the situation is doing to you emotionally

You can absolutely share context briefly. "I saw something on the news last night" is different from detailed reporting of what you saw. The context is just the doorway. The real conversation is what happens inside you.

The Gift of Discomfort

I want to be clear: I'm not suggesting we should never be uncomfortable. Triggering is inevitable. We cannot walk on eggshells around every possible trigger—that itself would be triggering.

In fact, discomfort is often where the real work happens.

When someone shares something that activates me, I get information. I get to notice my reaction. I get to practice the pause. I get to ask myself: what is this stirring in me?

The messy middle—that uncomfortable space where we're activated but still in connection—is exactly where we get to do our best work. It's the practice ground for everything we're learning.

What we're aiming for isn't comfort. It's containable activation—enough challenge to grow, not so much that we flood.

The Underlying Reason We Go to Food

Here's what I want you to take away from this:

Every time you find yourself reaching for food after engaging with charged content—whether it's the news, social media, a difficult conversation, or even a support group that stirred something up—you're not weak. You're not failing.Your nervous system is doing exactly what it's designed to do: seeking regulation after activation.

The solution isn't to stop feeling. It's to find accompaniment for what you're feeling.

That's why safe spaces matter. That's why we show up for each other. Not to solve the world's problems. Not to agree on everything. Not even to feel better necessarily.

But to not be alone with how the world's problems are sitting inside us.

An Invitation

If you've been hesitant to have hard conversations because you're afraid of what might come up, I want you to know: your feelings matter. All of them.

If you're terrified about what's happening in the world, that deserves witnessing.

If you're heartbroken about relationships fractured by disagreement, that deserves witnessing.

If you're grieving a world that feels unrecognizable, that deserves witnessing.

If you're exhausted by the chronic activation of living through history, that deserves witnessing.

Just... move the camera. Point it at your heart instead of at the headlines. Share how you're doing, not what's happening out there.

Because ultimately, that's what real connection requires. Not debating what's true. But witnessing each other through the experience of being human in a complicated, heartbreaking, beautiful world.

And when we do that—when we find accompaniment for our activation instead of food—something shifts. The need to eat for comfort naturally decreases. Not because we're controlling ourselves, but because we're meeting the actual need underneath.

This is the work. This is how we come back to each other.

Please Share This

If this landed for you, please share it.

Not because I need the views. But because I genuinely believe this is how we find our way back to each other.

Every person who learns to move the camera is one more person who can hold space for someone else's humanity. Every conversation where we choose connection over combat is one small repair in the fabric that's been tearing.

We're not going to fix the divide by arguing harder. We're going to bridge it by remembering that "they" are also humans seeking safety, seeking connection, seeking to be seen—just like us.

Share this with someone who needs it.

Share it with someone you disagree with.

Share it with someone you love but can't talk to anymore.

Share it because this is how we come back to each other—one moved camera at a time.

Practical Language for Hard Conversations

When sharing:

• Lead with feelings: "I'm struggling today because..."
• Share the impact: "This is what it's doing to me..."
• Name the body sensation: "I notice tightness in my chest when..."
• Request witnessing: "I don't need advice. I just need to say this out loud."

When listening:

• Gentle redirect: "What is that doing to you emotionally?"
• Move the camera: "I hear the situation. Tell me how it's landing in your body."
• Name the resonance: "I can feel the weight of what you're carrying."
• Affirm without agreeing: "That sounds incredibly hard. Of course you're struggling."

When things get heated:

• "I want to make sure we have space for everyone's feelings about this."
• "Can we pause and notice what this conversation is stirring in our bodies?"
• "This is the messy middle. We're doing good work here."

Want to Practice This?

I've always believed there was a way through this—by focusing on how we feel instead of what we believe. And I've seen it work, over and over, in my community.

We practice this every single day in "Membership: Where the Magic Happens" as part of the Advanced Recovery Project. We meet three times a day, Monday through Friday, to be witnessed. To share what's actually happening in our hearts. To practice moving the camera together.

If you want a place where you can show up exactly as you are—with all your fears and grief and confusion—and be met with "of course you're struggling" instead of advice or argument, this might be your space.

[Learn more about the Magic →]

[Learn more about the Advanced Recovery Project →]

There IS a way through the divide. I've seen it. And it starts with moving the camera.

This is how we come back to each other.

💜 Sonja