Week 15: Conflict Resolution

Hello, Acton Families! This week's post is a guest post from another Acton owner, who beautifully describes the Acton Conflict Resolution Process and shares a powerful example of how it played out one day on his campus. We've seen very similar scenes unfold here in our studios and can testify to the powerful, albeit uncomfortable at times, learning that happens in these moments. I hope you enjoy!

One of the most overlooked — and sometimes most transformational — aspects of an Acton journey is the practice of conflict resolution. At its core, conflict resolution is the ability to recover when two people misalign — through misunderstanding, frustration, or competing goals. It isn’t about punishment or adult intervention. It’s about learning how to listen, speak honestly, and rebuild trust. These repetitions, built day by day, prepare learners not just for the studio, but for life as leaders who can navigate challenges with both courage and compassion — and who can strengthen relationships instead of letting them fray.

In the early years, conflict resolution may look surprisingly simple — even playful. Imagine a five-year-old who has taken a toy from a six-year-old. Instead of an adult swooping in to solve the problem, the children are guided to the “peace table.” They face each other, take turns speaking, and listen intently as they share their needs. Then they switch sides, practicing empathy by standing in the other’s place. What might appear as a short, scripted exercise is actually training for a lifetime of leadership — developing patience, empathy, and the ability to see from another’s perspective.

As they mature, the scenarios grow more complex. In upper studios, the “toy” might be replaced by a team project where one learner feels another isn’t pulling their weight. The process is still structured — perhaps using a script or rubric — but the conversations cut deeper. Learners must name their feelings, explain the impact on the group, and negotiate a way forward. Every repetition matters. Each time a learner leans into discomfort instead of avoiding it, they gain confidence. Each time they practice articulating their needs clearly, they move one step closer to navigating the messy, nuanced world of relationships with grace.

A few months ago, we saw this training play out in a powerful way.

Studio Maintenance — the last part of the day when every learner resets the space for tomorrow — was nearly complete. Steven, a focused and determined Discovery Studio learner, had just inspected a job and marked it complete. But as he walked past the doorway, he spotted a fresh pile of dirt. It hadn’t been there minutes before.

He froze for a moment, then furrowed his brow. He could have walked away. He could have cleaned it up himself and no one would have known. But something in him said this wasn’t right.

He approached the guide. “Can I show you something?” he asked softly. Together, they walked to the door. The guide didn’t fix it for him. Instead, she offered a gentle nudge: “I wonder if someone in the other studio knows what happened. Would you like to ask them?”

Steven took a deep breath. His heart pounded as he crossed the threshold to the Explorer studio. These were older learners — taller, louder, more confident. He swallowed hard but kept walking.

“Does anybody know why there’s a pile of dirt there?” he asked, pointing toward the spot. Two of the older learners shuffled their feet, eyes cast downward, and admitted, “We might have done that.”

Now came the hard part. Steven’s palms were sweaty. He remembered the conflict resolution script he had practiced so many times and let the words carry him: “When we work hard to clean up our space, I feel frustrated when you come behind us and mess it up again. Can you not do that in the future?”

The room went quiet for a beat. Then the older learners nodded. “I understand that you feel frustrated because you had cleaned up the space and after you were finished, we made a mess. We’ll clean it up and won’t do it again.”

That was it — no lecture, no adult punishment, just a moment of honesty, respect, and repair. Steven walked back to his studio a little taller with pride on his face.

Imagine your own child standing there, voice trembling but steady, holding older peers accountable with kindness and respect. These are the moments that shape lifelong leaders — the moments when children discover that they can speak up, repair what’s been broken, and still be fully part of the tribe. Picture how that courage might change your dinner table conversations, sibling arguments, and even your child’s future workplace. This is why we trust the process, even when it feels uncomfortable — because the payoff is a child who learns to turn conflict into connection.

In the words of Albert Einstein, "Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding."