Running Scared

You know that quote, “We hate most in others what we dislike in ourselves”? It’s attributed to Laurell K Hamilton, I think. I used to maintain that was the dumbest quote ever. I don’t like people who are mean to others. I don’t like those who lie to get others in trouble. I thought that quote implied that somehow, deep inside I must be mean or prone to lying on others. Well, duh. No. I’m not like that at all.

But I realized this week how that quote applied to me.

I work for a great boss who always has our collective backs. He’s the guy who can hire us, reprimand us, recognize us, or fire us if need be. I like working for him. Most of us do. We’ve had a good thing for four years now.

However, there’s another person who coordinates the processes and resources of the larger program under which I work. This person is not so nice. Thankfully, I don’t work directly for her, and neither does my boss. Other than moving resources around and making suggestions, she can’t hire or fire those of us whom she impacts.

Yesterday a coworker and I had yet another unpleasant email encounter with this lady. I think our biggest sources of frustration over the years have been her poor communication skills, her refusal to take suggestions from those who actually do the job, and her tendency to criticize and blame others for issues arising from those miserable communication skills.

About a year ago, I decided through armchair psychology that the lady’s real issue is that she’s running scared. She’s scared of being wrong, scared of being blamed, scared of being thought incompetent by her superiors. She manifests that fear by micromanaging, refusing to state clearly what she wants, and second-guessing every thing everyone else does, to the point of contradicting herself frequently. She is a true control freak when it comes to planning, but she is lightening fast at pointing a finger when something doesn’t come out quite right. In the seven years I’ve worked for the program, I have never once heard her admit that she made a mistake. She will insist that 40 people misunderstood her, or that she never gave such-and-such instruction despite the fact that all 40 people have the exact same email written by her hand.

Yesterday, while mentally telling her off for her latest (hate) email to us, I had a realization. The attitudes and actions I hate in her are grounded in her fear, and that is the very thing that allows her to have such power over me. I realized that for 7 years, I’ve been a victim of a version of the same fear that drives her. I cringe when I see an email from her, when we have a program-wide meeting to attend, or when I hear she’ll be in the building for a few hours.

When I know we have to meet with her, I get all twisted up inside thinking of how we are going to defend our choices (our department is very successful), how we’ll respond to her never-ending criticism, and what we can say to stop her interrogation tactics so that they don’t eat up hours of our time, energy, and good will.

Yesterday, after fielding no fewer than four emails from her in under an hour criticizing something we’d done, I realized that her power lies in her ability to get under our skin. But wait, what are we actually afraid of? She can’t hire, she can’t fire. She can’t write us up or force our direct boss to. She can be a pain in the ass, but that’s about it.

My now -retired dad once had a person like this who was in a position for several years to impact him in a very negative manner at work. Looking back, I remember that my father, one of the most logical, polite, and calm people I know kept this guy at bay through two chief strategies: one, Dad always took responsibility for any choice he made. He didn’t make excuses, throw others under the bus, or point fingers. Dad would look anyone in the eye and explain that he made the best choice he could, based on the best information at his disposal. Two, my dad was unflappable publicly. He once told me that you could say pretty much anything you need to say to someone as long as you say it politely. I’ve heard him basically tell someone he was a damned idiot, but using a tone and language that was above reproach.

Last night, I was still stewing over this lady’s latest attack on our department. I was going through the dialogue in my head: what she’ll say tomorrow, what we’ll reply, what she’ll say next, how we’ll explain ourselves, the criticisms she’ll level…..wait.

Then it hit me: If I practice my father’s strategies, she loses power. If I am willing to say, “Yes. This was our decision based on the resources we had, the time frame in which we had to work, and the information at our disposal. I’m sorry it does not suit you. Perhaps you can clarify what you’d like us to do next time,” there’s really nothing more to say. I don’t have to defend, explain, offer excuses, or even really dialogue with her much beyond that. Declining to engage a detractor holds a lot of power. That makes me think of a Mark Twain saying, “Never argue with a fool; onlookers might not be able to tell the difference.” Hm. I think I’ll let her be the fool, not me.

Most of all by adjusting my response to her, I conquer the fear in myself, the same fear that is reflected in her—-the thing I hate. Sure, my fear and hers take different forms, which is why I didn’t recognize it for what it was for so long.

I may have two or three emails from her tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve given her the only answer I have, the best answer, and I may have to politely remind her of that, but that’s all I intend to do because our department’s work speaks for itself.