Taking a Seat

The first step in showing humility in conflict

The table wobbled slightly, just enough to be noticeable when the second person arrived. Michelle hesitated by the table, unsure if she’d be welcomed—or even acknowledged. But Lena didn’t look up. So she sat.

Lena had already ordered a coffee. She didn’t look up when Michelle slid into the booth across from her. Just a flat, quiet, “Hey.”

Michelle didn’t answer right away. She looked older than the last time they’d seen each other—though that might’ve just been the under-eye circles or the careful way she held herself, like she was trying not to spill.

“Thanks for meeting,” she finally said.

Lena nodded. Stiff. She hadn’t wanted to come. She’d almost turned around twice in the parking lot. But something in her—resentment, curiosity, some residual sense of loyalty—had pushed her through the door.

“So,” Michelle said. “I guess we should talk about it.”

Lena sipped her coffee. Still didn’t look up.

“You disappeared,” she said. “You didn’t return a single message. Not one.”

Michelle swallowed. The waitress came by and dropped off a water and two laminated menus. Neither of them opened them.

“I know,” Michelle said. “I—I didn’t know what to say.”

Lena looked up now. Dead on.

“You didn’t know what to say, so you just said nothing?”

Michelle nodded once. Then again. She looked like she was trying to keep her body small.

“I was ashamed,” she said. “I knew I hurt you.”

Lena blinked.

“You did.”

Michelle nodded again. Silent.

The pause stretched. Somewhere behind them a kid laughed too loudly. Silverware clattered.

“I was going through so much,” Michelle said, too quickly now. “That wasn’t an excuse, but—”

“Stop.”

Lena’s voice wasn’t sharp, just final.

“Don’t explain. Just… say it.”

Michelle closed her mouth. Took a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Lena looked away. Pressed her fingers into the rim of her mug.

“That took you fourteen months.”

Michelle didn’t defend herself this time.

Another pause.

“Do you want to order?” Michelle asked.

“No,” Lena said, still looking away. “But I’m not leaving.”

And so they sat. The menus remained closed. The coffee went cold. The waitress came back twice and was waved off both times.

They said a few more things—nothing profound. Just fragments. A story about a mutual friend. A half-joke. But something had shifted.

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What Humility Looks Like

Michelle could have stayed silent. She could’ve said it was all in the past. She could’ve waited for Lena to go first. But she didn’t. She sat down, and when asked, she didn’t explain—she apologized.

Lena had every right to leave. To dismiss it. To punish. Instead, she stayed too.

Neither of them handled it perfectly. Michelle stumbled. Lena guarded herself. But that’s what humility in conflict actually looks like: the willingness to sit down at the table and not run away from the mess you made—or the mess someone left you holding.

It doesn’t always end in hugs. Sometimes it ends with cold coffee and an open door.

But that’s where something new can begin.

This month we’ll return to the table each week to explore humility through conflict. It won’t be easy. But few worthwhile things ever are.

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Reflection Prompt:

Think about a conversation you've been avoiding. Who would be sitting across from you?

What would it take to take your seat—not to win, not to fix, but to be present?