When discomfort feels like harm

A former teacher recently shared a post on social media that began with a provocative observation: we are raising a generation of students who think being told “no” is being mistreated. She described teachers asking pupils to put their phones away, redo rushed work, remain in class or follow an ordinary instruction, only to find themselves accused of being disrespectful, unfair or of “targeting” the child.

It is easy to dismiss this as another complaint about younger generations. Every generation seems to find fault with the one that follows, and I am wary of labels such as “snowflakes”. But the post raised a question that extends well beyond the classroom: when did feeling uncomfortable become evidence that someone had done something wrong?

I see variations of this in many areas of life. A parent says no and is accused of not understanding. A teacher corrects a piece of work and is considered overly critical. A partner disagrees and the other person feels rejected. A manager asks why something was not done and is accused of being aggressive.

Of course, parents can be unreasonable, teachers can humiliate, partners can be dismissive and managers can bully. None of that should be minimised. But sometimes it’s not easy for us to accept when somebody has simply said no, the work really does need improvement, an expectation is reasonable, we have made a mistake or the person’s frustration justified.  

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Feelings are important but not the entire story

As a psychiatrist, I would be the last person to suggest that feelings are unimportant. How we experience an interaction deserves attention, and feeling anxious, hurt, angry or embarrassed can tell us a great deal about what is going on for us. Part of emotional maturity, however, is learning to distinguish between our experience of an event and what actually happened.

I may feel rejected when somebody tells me no but that does not necessarily mean they have rejected me. I may feel criticised when someone points out an error without having been treated unfairly. I may feel disrespected because I dislike another person's tone, although they may simply have been brief, direct or frustrated. Equally, there are times when our discomfort is a perfectly reasonable response to the way we have been treated.

There is a small but important space between: “I felt humiliated” and “You humiliated me.” This space is where reflection needs to happen.  What actually happened? What was said? What was expected of me? Was the expectation reasonable? Was the way it was communicated appropriate? Is there something about my own response or behaviour that I also need to consider?

I often think of feelings as important data. But data still need interpretation. Feelings are data. They are not always verdicts. We can validate a feeling without agreeing with every conclusion. Sometimes we forget this.

If a child tells us that a teacher made them feel awful or an employee says a conversation with their manager was upsetting, we should listen. The same applies when a partner tells us that something we said was hurtful. Listening, though, does not require us to conclude immediately that the other person was in the wrong. In psychiatry and psychology, validation does not mean accepting every interpretation as fact. We can take someone's feelings seriously while still allowing for accountability, different perspectives and reasonable expectations.

Psychological safety is not psychological comfort

In the workplace, psychological safety is incredibly important. People should be able to ask questions, disagree, admit that they do not know something or that they made a mistake. They should be able to raise concerns without being mocked, humiliated or punished for speaking up. But I worry that we have sometimes allowed the idea of psychological safety to drift towards an expectation that work should not make us uncomfortable.

Work will sometimes be uncomfortable since working with people can create friction. A colleague will disagree, a deadline will be inconvenient, our work may sent back for revision, we may not get the opportunity we hoped for, a manager may be disappointed in our performance or we may be told no. 

And, yes, somebody may ask us quite directly: “You were responsible for this. What happened?”. That is not automatically bullying or evidence of a toxic work environment. 

The way the question is asked is naturally significant. There is a world of difference between accountability and humiliation. Nobody should be shouted at, demeaned or repeatedly intimidated. But asking someone to account for work that was their responsibility is a normal part of working life. Perhaps we need to become better at distinguishing between feeling uncomfortable and a difficult conversation, and an unsafe environment. 

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Do I have to put a heart emoji on it?

This is where the generational conversation becomes interesting. There are countless courses teaching managers how to understand Gen Z and Millennials: how to communicate with the, how to motivate them, give frequent feedback, recognise their contributions and adapt their management styles. Much of this is useful. Every generation of leaders needs to learn and adapt. We should not hide poor communication behind “that's just how I am”. Seniority does not give us permission to be rude. We should be willing to rethink how we work, listen to younger colleagues and learn from them.

However, adaptation has to work in both directions. Not every person communicates with emojis. Not every email will begin and end with reassurance. Not every piece of good work will receive applause. And the absence of enthusiastic affirmation does not necessarily mean that somebody is unappreciated. 

I believe we have started confusing being valued with being continually affirmed. They are not the same thing. Someone can see your ability, invest in you, trust you with responsibility, encourage your development and genuinely believe in your potential while still saying: “this wasn't done”, or “this needs to be better.” In fact, sometimes the person who believes most strongly in your potential will be the person who expects more of you.

It simply means that recognition cannot be the only measure of whether we are valued and that constructive criticism need not cancel out everything positive about a working relationship.

Accountability is also a skill

We speak a lot about resilience, but accountability deserves a place in the same conversation. It is relatively easy to take credit when things go well. Looking honestly at our own contribution when they do not is considerably harder.

It is tempting to focus on what somebody else did, where the system failed, why the circumstances were difficult or how the person asking the question could have communicated better. Sometimes those are legitimate explanations and deserve to be considered. However, they do not necessarily remove our own responsibility. 

There needs to be room to say, “I could have handled that better”, “I should have asked for help earlier”, “I didn't do what I said I would do” or simply, “That part was my responsibility.” Being able to acknowledge our mistakes without becoming defensive is an important part of emotional maturity and it is something people of every age must learn.

This isn't really about Gen Z

The more I think about this, the less convinced I am that it is helpful to make this a battle between Gen X and Gen Z or the Millennials. Generational stereotypes make good social-media content, but human beings are more complicated than birth cohorts. 

Some twenty-somethings cope brilliantly with feedback. Some fifty-somethings do not. Some older managers are wonderfully adaptable whilst others believe that years of experience exempt them from self-reflection. Some younger employees bring extraordinary maturity, curiosity and humility into the workplace. Others are still learning these skills. 

And that is perhaps the point: there are skills we need to develop. For example, learning to tolerate frustration is a skill. So is receiving feedback, regulating ourselves when we are angry, knowing how to disagree without attacking another person, setting a boundary, apologising, repairing a relationship after conflict, and saying “I was wrong”. We are not simply born knowing how to do these things. We learn them in families, classrooms, friendships, relationships and workplaces. Perhaps we need to become more intentional about teaching them.

When is it bullying?

There isn't a single sentence that will answer that question: context, patterns, power and intention all need to be considered, as does its impact.  Repeated humiliation, intimidation, personal attacks, threats, deliberate exclusion or the misuse of power deserve to be taken seriously. However, being given corrective feedback is not, by itself, bullying. Being held to a reasonable standard is not bullying. Being told no is not bullying. Someone disagreeing with us is not bullying. A person being frustrated with us is not necessarily bullying. And a direct conversation that makes us uncomfortable is not automatically psychologically unsafe.

Sometimes we need protection. Sometimes we need to speak up. Sometimes we need to leave. And sometimes we need to go home, think about what happened, regulate the initial emotion and ask ourselves a much less comfortable question: Was there something in that feedback that I needed to hear?

I hope we continue creating homes, schools and workplaces in which people are treated with dignity. I hope we become better at recognising genuine bullying and abuse rather than expecting people simply to endure it.

But I also hope we do not raise children or adults to believe that the goal of a psychologically healthy life is never to feel uncomfortable. Life will tell us no, people will disappoint us and we will disappoint others.  We will get things wrong and occasionally, somebody will point that out.

Perhaps resilience is less about becoming tougher and more about learning to distinguish between situations that require us to stand up for ourselves and those that ask us to reflect on our own behaviour. Sometimes the treatment we receive really is unfair. Sometimes we need to challenge it. And sometimes it is simply uncomfortable, and we need to sit with that discomfort long enough to understand what it is telling us.

Perhaps the most useful response is not to decide immediately that an interaction was toxic or unsafe, but to pause and consider what happened, why it affected us as it did and whether there is anything we can learn from it.