There are people at work who make things harder than they need to be. I’ve been learning not to name them too precisely, even in my own head. Naming has a way of sharpening things.
What I notice instead is how my body responds. The tightening. The irritation that arrives faster than I expect. The way a simple request can feel heavier than it should.
For a while, I tried to understand her. To explain her behaviour. To decide whether it came from intention or ignorance, ambition or unawareness. I spent more energy on that than I realised. It didn’t help.
What helped was noticing myself.
I noticed how easily my attention drifted outward. How much space she occupied in my thoughts, long after the interaction had ended. I didn’t like that. Not because she was wrong, but because I was no longer where I wanted to be.
There was a moment when I caught myself replaying a small exchange, rehearsing what I should have said, what I might say next time. That’s when it became clear. I was carrying something that wasn’t mine to carry.
Others experience her the same way. Knowing that was oddly comforting, but it didn’t solve anything. Shared irritation still irritates.
What changed wasn’t the situation. It was where I chose to stand.
I stopped trying to understand her inner world. I stopped correcting the story in my head. I focused instead on my own responses. On boundaries that don’t need announcements. On answering only what is mine to answer.
There’s relief in that. Quiet relief.
Work feels lighter when I keep my attention close. When I don’t let one person set the tone for the day. When I remember that professionalism doesn’t require endurance of everything, only clarity about where I stop.
I don’t need to like everyone I work with.
I don’t need to fix them either.
I only need to keep my side of the street clean.
And walk home with my peace intact.
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