We Were Supposed to Grow Out of This

Funny how some lessons are easier to teach than to live by.

We teach children not to bully. Not to laugh at someone for being different. Not to whisper, spread rumours, deliberately exclude others or make someone feel they don't belong.

We explain that bullying isn't always loud. Sometimes it's quiet, calculated and almost impossible to prove.

Then we grow up.

And apparently, the rules change.

At work, exclusion becomes not fitting in. Gossip becomes concern. Interference becomes helping. And someone who finally speaks up becomes difficult.

How wonderfully professional.

Sometimes it starts with someone who needs things done their way. They question your decisions, interfere with your work and gradually make even the simplest tasks unnecessarily complicated.

You try to explain. You try to resolve it.

Management suggests you sort it out between yourselves.

Fair enough.

You try again.

Nothing changes.

Instead, conversations happen elsewhere. Your actions are questioned when you're not present. The person creating the difficulties somehow becomes the one who feels mistreated.

And you find yourself explaining things you never thought would need explaining.

Months pass.

Eventually, you stop arguing. You stop correcting every unnecessary intervention. You let things happen because constantly defending yourself has become more exhausting than the work itself.

Then comes the complaint.

Apparently, you're not doing your job properly.

An interesting conclusion, considering how difficult you've been finding it to do your job without interference.

And when you raise the issue?

“It comes from a good heart.”

Does it?

Perhaps it does.

Perhaps the person genuinely believes they're helping.

But good intentions don't automatically make harmful behaviour harmless.

And sometimes what is described as kindness feels remarkably like control.

The most extraordinary part comes later.

The same person works with another group.

They're delightful.

Helpful. Friendly. Considerate.

Everyone loves them.

Of course they do. That's the person they've experienced.

And suddenly, the person who spent months trying to explain the problem looks unreasonable.

Oversensitive.

Perhaps even jealous.

Because how could someone so lovely possibly behave differently elsewhere?

Apparently, people are only capable of being the version of themselves we've personally met.

How convenient.

But here's the uncomfortable part.

We rarely know the whole story. One person's interference may be another person's support. One person's attempt to set boundaries may look like resistance to someone else.

Not every disagreement is bullying. Not every complaint is malicious. And being hurt doesn't automatically make someone right.

Yet neither does being popular.

Neither does being charming.

And neither does having a good reputation with management.

We teach children that repeated exclusion, rumours, intimidation and controlling behaviour can be bullying. We tell them to speak up and ask adults for help.

Then, as adults, we sometimes find ourselves being told to sort it out quietly, be professional and give people the benefit of the doubt.

Even when the same problem keeps returning.

Perhaps that's what makes adult bullying so difficult to recognise.

It doesn't always look like cruelty.

Sometimes it looks like concern.

Sometimes it comes with a smile.

Sometimes everyone else thinks the person is wonderful.

And sometimes the person raising the concern is the one who ends up being questioned.

We spend years teaching children to recognise bullying.

Then we become adults and start giving it more acceptable names.

I wonder what we'd call it if we saw the same behaviour in a playground.