trusting myself to "love my neighbor" ✨

So, Reader,

Yesterday, I told you about an interaction that felt off— Not dramatic. Not overtly dangerous. Just … wrong in a way and to a degree that it left my nervous system buzzing.

And I told you how, instead of brushing it off or placating or dehumanizing anyone, I chose to trust myself.

That choice didn’t come from instinct alone. It came from something I’ve spent years learning to practice––and now, finally have language for:

🧠 💞 Neighboring Intelligence

Neighboring Intelligence is both an interpretive lens and the practiced, embodied capacity to perceive, engage, and respond to ourselves and others with mercy, discernment, and dignity.

It’s rooted in the belief that every person bears the image of God––and the capacity for extraordinary good–– but also the capability to collude with evil and cause deep harm.

Neighboring Intelligence doesn’t flinch at that tension.

Nor does it attempt to resolve it prematurely.

Instead, it helps you live wisely within it.

It teaches you to name what’s happening, notice (and name) the nuances, and make decisions that honor both your humanity and theirs— without abandoning yourself, exalting yourself, or falling into the trap of rescuing or demonizing them.

And it’s not something reserved for just a few––you can cultivate, too.

When I encountered the kind of man who was testing boundaries while maintaining enough ambiguity to avoid accountability, I didn’t panic—but I didn’t dismiss it either.

Here’s some of what flagged him to me as such a man, within a conversation that was about 5 minutes long:

• He opened with personal questions—asking if I was married and what ties I had to the area. It seemed casual, but it was also a way of quickly gauging my availability, vulnerability and boundaries.
• He mirrored false vulnerability—sharing too many details about divorce, death, dating and receiving unsolicited nudes. It gave the illusion of genuine vulnerability, but was designed to extract more openness from me.
• He destabilized the conversation—jumping between topics with emotional, energetic and body language incongruence. The pace, content, and shifts left me cognitively disoriented and off-balance.
• He ignored social cues—twice reeling me back in with emotionally charged comments precisely when I signaled I was ready to end the interaction.

This is the kind of somewhat subtle behavior many of us have been conditioned to dismiss.

It’s often minimized as miscommunication, brushed off as social awkwardness, or blamed on our own “paranoia.” Sometimes we can’t figure out why someone wants to manipulate us, so we assume we’re overreacting.

But here’s the truth: you don’t need to know the motive to name the manipulation.

Whether someone is simply angling for time and attention or is intentionally setting you up for harm, manipulation is still a form of deception and trickery that hijacks your ability to make clear, informed decisions that are in your best interest.

He hadn’t done anything grandly overt. And it is possible that he didn't even realize what he was doing. But whether he was clueless, careless, or calculating—or some messy mix of all three––my nervous system clocked a pattern that was consistent with predation, regardless of his awareness or intent.

So here’s how I chose to neighbor us both as a result:

🧠 I processed what happened without minimizing, shaming or spiraling.

👄 I gave myself permission to call it what it was: manipulative boundary-testing cloaked in casual conversation.

👁️ I didn’t wait for him to prove his intentions—I let the patterns speak for themselves.

🛡 I made a plan to disengage and avoid. I adjusted my routines, and clarified my internal “no” with myself.

🗣️ I rehearsed boundary-setting phrases and made a safety plan for myself, just in case.

🚫 I let go of the internal pressure to be “friendly,” “light,” or “missional.”

📢 I alerted the homeowner to my experience. BIG props to her––she believed my experience, took me seriously, and made herself a safe person to share with.

And I did all of that without needing the situation to escalate first.

That wasn’t fear.

That wasn’t an overreaction.

That wasn’t "Karen" behavior on display.

That was Neighboring Intelligence at work.

It's the kind of thing you can practice too—learning to trust your gut, set your boundaries, and act with grounded clarity before crisis forces your hand.

In this case, neighboring this man in this context didn’t look like friendliness or hospitality. It looked like boundaries, distance, and disengagement.

Because neighborly love doesn’t always involve granting access or extending friendship.

Sometimes it means honoring your Creator by staying distanced in a way that protects both your humanity and theirs.

Neighboring Intelligence is built around six core postures that I return to again and again––not just in moments of tension, but in the everyday journey of life.

They help me stay rooted and responsive in a world that too often demands we either disappear ourselves—or dehumanize others—in the name of survival, belonging, or just making it through.

The heart of Neighboring Intelligence is exactly what we’ll be exploring at the upcoming roundtable conversation I’m hosting.

Over the next few emails, I’ll share how adopting these six core postures of Neighboring Intelligence can shape the way you love and connect with your neighbors—including the neighbor who lives in your own skin.

It’s one thing to clock it when something feels off. It's another to believe yourself before the evidence piles up.

When you trust what you notice— and you stop second-guessing your early knowing—

👉 what might change about the way you neighbor yourself, your people, and show up in the world around you?

More soon,

Camille

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