Blame and accountability

When I first started my job in corporate IT, there was this guy who kept stopping by my desk and talking to me and asking me questions and making subtle passes at me.

To be honest, I was pretty mortified by the situation. 

But I also did not ask him to stop. 

I wanted him to just ... magically know that his behavior was unwanted. 

But I also didn't want to tell him that. 

I didn't want to say anything because I did not want to have an awkward conversation. 

But I also did not want to say anything because at that point in my life, I was not very well-versed in asking for what I wanted in a direct manner. 

I remember wanting so badly for things to be different - for this guy to just leave me alone - but I also remember the panic and fear I felt when I thought about saying something. 

I was afraid that he might think I was a bitch or that he might say mean things about me to other people we worked with. I was also afraid that I would upset him or hurt his feelings. I didn't want to be mean or make things any less comfortable than they already were. 

And it makes sense that I would have those thoughts.

Those thoughts reflect a lot of the social conditioning we receive as womxn. And they also reflect concerns that are very real. I didn't know how it would go over if I asked him to stop. 

And while I did totally believe in standing up for myself and speaking my mind, I was also a diehard people pleasing perfectionist who had just started a new job that I didn't feel totally qualified for, and I felt wildly uncomfortable just trying to navigate the new office in general, much less while shutting down unwanted advances. 

So here's what happened: I did not choose on purpose how to handle the situation. I did not ask him to stop dropping by my desk. Instead, I sort of just tried to shrug it off, all the while hoping things would magically resolve themselves. 

I wanted him to, like, get the hint. Without me having to actually do anything.

There's nothing wrong with me handling things that way. But it didn’t get me what I actually wanted, and it felt terrible. Because the whole time, not only was I not saying anything to him, I was also judging myself and judging him and judging the world and ruminating on how terrible it all was. 

I wanted him to read my mind. I didn't want to come right out and say: it's never gonna happen, dude. (Because I didn't want to deal with whatever the consequences might have been had I been honest.)

And y'all, I felt put upon that he did not get my invisible hint. 

Now, let me be clear that I believe womxn everywhere should be able to show up and work and do whatever they want without getting hit on at their desks (or anywhere else for that matter).

AND - What coaching has taught me is that in any situation, whether it's wanted or not, choosing how I want to handle it ON PURPOSE and owning that choice and having my own back about my choice is the key to everything. 

We live in a world where we cannot control other people. We live in a world where things will happen that we think are terrible or that we simply don't prefer. 

Sometimes, people are going to behave in ways that we don't like.

But no matter what other people do, we always, always get to decide what we will do. And we get to decide how to think about our choice. 

Like I said, choosing not to say anything is a totally fine choice. The real question, as my coach, Kara, has taught me is this: what are your reasons and do you like them? 

I didn't like my reasons for not speaking up. But I could have chosen not speaking up and chosen some reasons I liked. Instead, I felt like the situation was just happening to me, like it was outside my control.

And on the one hand, that guy hitting on me was outside my control. But my reaction to it was within my control. I just didn't know how to exert that control on purpose back then. 

At the time, I wanted to just chalk this situation up as "sometimes people suck." 

But here's the problem with that very popular assessment. It solves nothing. It assigns blame, sure, but it also puts all the power of the situation outside of my control.

As long as my assessment is that people suck sometimes, oh well, then I am not doing ANYTHING to create the reality that I want to live in. And if that felt great, it would be one thing, but it felt TERRIBLE. 

I am not saying it was my fault that this guy was swinging by my desk leaving cookies and inviting me out for drinks. It wasn't. His actions are totally his responsibility. 

But my actions and inactions are always in my control. And, y'all, I do not think there's anything wrong with not saying anything in a situation like this, but for me, I wanted to be the kind of person who did say something. And I judged myself so harshly for not saying anything. 

And this brings me to the second problem with the thought "sometimes people suck." 

When we tell ourselves that people suck sometimes, our brain will turn right back around and tell us that we suck sometimes. We can't teach our brains to use this idea and only apply it to one person or one kind of person or one kind of behavior.

In my situation with that guy in my office, I thought that he was being sucky by hitting on me but I also did apply the same judgment to myself: I thought I was being sucky by not saying anything. 

I wasn't just judging him. I was also judging me. Because the brain that judges outward judges inward, too. 

And the more I raged against that guy from inside my head, the more I also raged against myself. 

Which, again, solved nothing. 

This is why it's so important to understand the difference between accountability and blame. 

I wanted to blame that guy. But then I also blamed myself. 

Whereas, when I learned to be accountable for how I show up, no matter what others are doing, then I can also let them be accountable for how they show up, no matter what anyone else is doing. 

Everything we want from blaming others, we actually get from choosing what we'd like to do on purpose and doing it for ourselves (not against whatever the other person is doing).