People who talk about writing - uh, writers mostly - really like the idea of the muse. Specifically, how to pluck her flighty ass out of the ether and ground her into whatever you're doing. Most writerly sorts agree that you need to give her a space to land. She may or may not appear, but you need to be there to meet her. Sitting down at your desk doesn't guarantee that you'll write anything worthwhile, but letting your chair stay empty guarantees you won't. I've been real tempted to let that chair stay empty this week. Milkshakes instead of yoga, bed instead of writing, leaving instead of talking.
My experience with communication - especially in a romantic anything - is that, at best, it spackles a thick layer of soul-sucking awful to my life for days. At worst, it marks the end.
So instead of fighting, I've become a creature of pure flight. In the depths of my subconscious lizard brain, I decide to save everyone the trouble of talking and jump straight to the part where we all leave mad. This strategy has exactly the success rate you would expect.
I've been poised to fly out of two relationships this week. Something happens, my walls shoot up and I prepare to bail. I tend to live in fear of not doing things right, especially uncomfortable conversations. It's the sad plight of the perfectionist. And when you're learning how to set boundaries, it can be unclear whether you're doing the healthy thing by leaving or if you're abandoning something right before it has a chance to grow stronger.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is just show up.