Getting over someone else's bad behavior

Sometimes people treat you badly. Sometimes you are treated badly even though you haven’t done anything wrong. Sometimes you are treated badly because of who you are, not because of what you do.

This happened to me recently. I was treated badly by a man who became enraged when I told him no. It wasn’t a work thing, it was in a volunteer group. But I’ve had the same thing happen to me at work.

There are men, in my experience mostly white men, who hear a woman telling them any kind of no as an affront, an insult, a threat. They believe that women who disagree with them should be attacked with vitriol and ridicule. I assume this particular man is politically conservative because of how he used around the word “woke” but I’ve had this same experience with men who purport to be liberal.

This isn’t the first time I’ve told a man he doesn’t get his way and he’s lost his shit. In fact, I’m an old hand. I wanted to write about what an asshole this guy was. I wrote a version yesterday that detailed what he did and said, that excoriated him.  It felt good, for a minute, but then it felt bad later. Like my dad used to say, “If you lie down with dogs, you’re going to get up with fleas.” Do I want to be rolling around in that particular infested mudhole?  

So today I’m going to write about how I get over this kind of an interaction, and what I tell my clients who are trying to move past something similar.

Metabolize. First, you have to feel the feelings. People often want to skip this part and go straight to some Zen master acceptance level, but it’s never worked that way for me. I spent some time ranting about his behavior to people I trusted. I needed that validation - yes, it was shitty. And, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. Then I wrote about it, since words are how I process things. Words that won’t see the light of day. I’ve written letters I never intend to send, filled journals, there are multiple ways to use the written or spoken word to metabolize bad experiences.

Unbraid. Often, when something hurts in a way that feels disproportionate to the initial insult, I look at old injuries that lurk beneath the surface. I’ve been treated really badly in multiple jobs by men. Breast-grabbing, screaming, gaslighting, name-calling, firing me badly. I quickly realized that the deep ache I felt after my interactions with this man was more about the past wounds than this current slight. This guy’s just not that important to me.  I shifted to comforting myself around those old hurts and injustices.

Perspective. This guy spent lots of time with this, engaging others in his efforts. Which shows a lack of perspective. I don’t want to have that same lack of perspective. Lots of bad shit has been happening in the world over the last few weeks. How much emotional energy do I want to spend on this? How important is it, really, is a useful question to ask.

Assess. Is this a place I want to keep volunteering? Other members of the group stood up to this guy. I was supported. But he’s still there. I can vote with my feet and leave. Or I can stay, realizing that one of the challenges of being in community is that you sometimes have to deal with broken people who are unskillful, angry and afraid.

Reality. I need to catch up to the reality that the divisiveness in what passes for our political discourse has seeped into every part of American life. Jobs, break rooms, school boards, PTA meetings, churches, community and civic organizations, neighborhoods – very few places are free from this kind of acrimony. It’s naïve for me to be shocked, shocked, that this is happening in a place I identified as relatively safe. There are many places I can move through easily because of all my privilege, this is just one place that isn’t safe. Many people have almost no safety in our current political climate.   

Compassion. I’m not here yet, but I’ll get there. It can take a while to soften from anger and hurt to pity to genuine compassion. I will try to imagine what must it be like to be so afraid, since I think this man and men like him are terrified. I doubt they are afraid of me, a gray-haired grandmother. But they are reacting as if the hounds of hell are on their heels, lashing out as if they are backed against a wall fighting for their lives. It probably feels like that for them. I want to be as compassionate to them as I am to the old guy at my gym who argues with people who aren’t there between sets.

Gratitude. In the end, I get to gratitude. That always helps me regain perspective. I have a wonderful partner, and a daughter and grandchildren who get to be their full unedited selves, at least around family. We don’t do tone policing at my house. Whoever my grandchildren grow up to be, whoever they love, we will love and accept them. Not every child gets that gift.

Right action. When this guy was attacking me, I noticed no one in the group leapt, specifically, to my defense. I think it’s because they know I can take care of myself. And I can. I want to make sure I’m taking right action to protect other people who might not have the privilege, mouth, and wits I can bring to these interactions. While also doing what my friends did – understanding, correctly, when a person is fully equipped to fight their own battles in whatever way they see fit.

I like the previous screed version I wrote yesterday. There’s an edge to rage that can cut through, I see why it drives algorithms and political discourse. But I don’t want to play that game. If I really am here to try to be helpful, then I should, you know, try to be helpful. And since I’m certainly not the only person who has been at the receiving end of attacks more about who they are than anything they did, hopefully someone will find this little how to useful.