A few weeks ago, I was talking to my therapist about how I want to be less conflict-avoidant. This is a topic that’s come up again and again over the years, but in this particular session, she asked me something new: “Can you think of anyone you admire who handles conflict in a healthy way?”
Without thinking, I said, “The women on Real Housewives.”
She blinked.
I know how that sounds.
But let me explain.
When I first started watching the Real Housewives franchise, I was deep in postpartum recovery and going through a major identity crisis. I had been seeing the same early-morning moms at my local Starbucks for weeks, and they all kept recommending one show: Real Housewives of New York. I was curious. I was exhausted. I decided to start from the beginning.
From the pilot episode, I was hooked.
In between toddler tantrums and midnight feeds, I watched Ramona, Bethenny, and Jill navigate a strange, sparkly version of New York life. Some of it made me cringe. A lot of it made me laugh. But more than anything, I was fascinated by the relationships—especially the arguments.
I had spent so many years trying to avoid conflict, keep the peace, and be “nice,” that it was oddly therapeutic to see people get things out in the open. Even if it was messy. Even if they sometimes said the wrong thing. Even if it wasn’t “productive.” The point wasn’t that I wanted to start screaming at brunch—I just needed to see that not all conflict was scary. That sometimes, having the fight was better than swallowing it whole.
There’s a moment in Season 3 of Real Housewives of New York when Jill and Bethenny’s friendship falls apart. They were close. They had each other’s backs. But then something shifted. Feelings were hurt. Words were exchanged. And for the next several episodes, they danced around a reconciliation—sometimes trying to fix things, sometimes resisting it entirely. I watched their scenes on a loop. Not because I liked the drama, but because I could relate. I had gone through something eerily similar with a close friend, and it helped me to see that I wasn’t alone.
That’s the thing about Real Housewives. For all its over-the-top moments and memeable one-liners, the show does something incredibly real: it captures the emotional complexity of female friendships. It shows how deeply women can care for one another—and how devastating it feels when that care is taken for granted. It shows the thrill of being chosen, included, and understood—and the sting of being left out. And, yes, it shows how badly things can go when egos and cameras get in the way.
But it also shows something else. Something powerful.
It shows women changing their minds. It shows them admitting fault. It shows them walking away from what no longer serves them—and sometimes, it shows them finding their way back.
That’s the part that always gets me.
I’m not saying Real Housewives is a replacement for therapy. But I am saying that sometimes, seeing our mess mirrored back at us—through a slightly glossier, Bravo-filtered lens—can be surprisingly healing. It reminds us that we’re all just doing our best. Trying to connect. Trying to be heard. Trying to make sense of this thing called life.
And occasionally, throwing a glass of pinot in the process.
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