There is so much division in the world today, and far too little tolerance for the thoughts, feelings, and lived experiences of others. It seems we’ve forgotten how to sit with someone we disagree with without turning them into an enemy. We’ve blurred the lines between holding fast to our values and holding people at arm’s length. Somewhere along the way, conviction and compassion stopped being neighbors; they became strangers passing each other in silence.

I hold fast to conservative values because they are more than political stances: they are the principles that have grounded me throughout my life. I believe in personal responsibility because I’ve lived through seasons when no one else was going to show up and fix what was broken. I believe in the strength of the family unit because I’ve watched love, discipline, and devotion shape my children into capable, kind, resilient people. I believe in faith-based living because it has carried me through times of heartbreak and doubt, when I had nothing left to offer but a prayer and a whisper of hope.

I believe in hard work, not because it’s a slogan, but because I’ve felt the ache in my feet after long shifts and found dignity in showing up regardless of the odds. I believe in fiscal responsibility, not just in government but in life; I’ve stood at the grocery checkout calculating whether I had enough to cover diapers and dinner. I believe in protecting freedoms, including the right to speak, to worship, and to raise our children according to our own values. These aren’t abstract ideas to me; they are lived truths.

I carry these values into every space I occupy: into the workplace, where I lead with integrity and encourage those around me to grow; into my home, where love and accountability coexist; and into conversations with those who see the world differently than I do, where I try to be both steady in conviction and open in heart.

But here’s what I’ve learned: I cannot inspire change by raising my voice. I cannot build trust by slamming doors. Real change does not come from overpowering people; it comes from offering them a seat and a chance to speak.

Holding space for another person does not mean I agree with everything they believe. It does not require me to water down my principles or erase my convictions. It simply asks me to listen, to pause, to take a breath, and remember that every person I meet has their own story, their own battles, and their own reasons for seeing the world the way they do.

Some of those stories are hard. You can see it in their eyes: the flicker of grief that never quite left, the guarded way they carry themselves, the tired look of someone who’s fought to be heard. And some of those stories are beautiful: stories of redemption, grit, and second chances. If we never listen, we never get to know the full picture.

I believe in truth. I believe in boundaries. And I believe in standing my ground, even when it’s not popular. I am who I am. I refuse to compromise my ideals, but I also refuse to compromise my humanity. Because if I abandon compassion in the name of conviction, I’ve missed the point entirely. We can be unwavering in our beliefs and still tender in how we treat others.

If we are serious about building bridges instead of walls, then we must stop mistaking kindness for weakness. We must stop assuming that every disagreement is a threat. Our nation was built on differences: different ideas, different voices, different dreams. That tension has always existed, but it has also always made us better. When we lean in instead of lashing out, we create space for unity without demanding uniformity.

It is still possible to be principled and kind; to be firm and respectful; to be deeply rooted and wide open.

So today, I remind myself, and maybe someone else, that holding space for others does not mean losing yourself. It means choosing to lead with humility and strength. It means listening more than we speak. And it means showing up with a heart that is soft enough to care, but strong enough to stand.

We cannot fix everything, but we can be part of what heals.