Where Do You Stand on the Scale Between Being Tolerant versus Offended?

By Deb Boelkes

What kinds of things offend you? How do you respond when someone tells a joke with a sexist, or ethnic, or political connotation? Do you feel insulted, or are you typically tolerant of—or perhaps even curious about—people who have a point of view that’s different from your own?

I must admit, I’m not easily offended. In fact, I don’t recall ever really being offended in the workplace. Maybe this is because I simply don’t get offended by the personal opinions of others. While I may disagree with them, I believe everyone has a right to their opinions. 

About the only thing that might offend me would be an unfair attack on my personal integrity. I don’t take kindly to people flagrantly misrepresenting who I am or what I stand for.

One of the best leadership lessons I ever learned came early in life, when my very proper British grandmother would recite to me the old adage:

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Occasionally, whenever some childish kerfuffle might occur, Nana would put this little spin on it:

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.

 Even before I entered kindergarten, through those rhymes, I learned not to let my feelings or emotions get the best of me. I learned to avoid being overly sensitive to rude, belittling, or bullying remarks. I learned to deal effectively with those not-so-nice children who resorted to name calling. I knew such tactics only demonstrated their lack of ability to engage in a reasonable, rational, and intelligent discussion. I learned to never lower myself to using such childish tactics, lest I too be viewed as unable to knowledgeably articulate sound facts and logic to support my point of view. Yes, even at that tender age, I learned to remain above the fray and behave respectably.

 These simple lessons have served me extremely well ever since.

 One day, early in my career—after I had been promoted to regional support staff but was not yet in management—a male second-line manager passed by my desk and made an overtly sexist remark. Thanks to my grandmother’s “leadership” training, my only response was an unimpressed grimace and a side-to-side shake of my head to convey my disapproval. That was the only recognition I believed his comment deserved. I simply made a mental note that the guy wasn’t suited for management.

 Turns out, a female second-line manager happened to overhear his remark. As soon as he was gone and out of earshot, she came to my desk and told me, in no uncertain terms, that my reaction wasn’t harsh enough. She urged me to report him to the VP of Human Resources.

 Because I hadn’t really paid that much attention to what he had said, I couldn’t possibly repeat his remarks, even if I had wanted to report him, which I didn’t. It had never been my style to rely on tattle-tale tactics unless the offender was doing something unethical, illegal, or physically harmful. What this guy had said was nothing like that.

 Interestingly enough, within a month or two, he resigned. I never saw nor heard from him again. Neither did I ever discover why he resigned, but I always wondered if the offended female manager had something to do with it.

 My career sailed along quite nicely for years after that. Thanks to the leadership lessons of my grandmother, I simply focused on doing the best job I could do, in the most professional, ethical, and respectful manner possible.

 Fast forward two decades. I was leading a national professional services organization. A guy who did not report to me but considered himself to be the technical subject matter expert—in a peer organization—decided to take very public aim at me. I never quite understood why but I’m guessing it had something to do with him feeling somewhat insecure.

 One-on-one, he was congenial enough. But one day, when we were each presenting at a very important executive review with one of our largest global accounts, he chose to refute almost everything I said. I was stunned and, for once, felt somewhat offended. Yet, the last thing I wanted to do was take him on in front of the customer’s—and our own—executives.

 The first time he chose to verbally challenge me, I politely—and with relatively few words—corrected his misunderstanding. The second time he challenged me, I could see that the customer executives were becoming a bit uncomfortable. So, I simply said, “Well, that’s not how I see it, Joe. Let’s discuss this off line.”

 Eventually, he literally usurped my presentation with his own skewed narrative, so I politely stepped back and let him behave as the jerk he was proving himself to be. It didn’t take long before one of our own Vice Presidents interrupted Joe and, in front of everyone, reprimanded him for his flagrant lack of decorum. Essentially, our VP told Joe to sit down and shut up. With that, our VP apologized to everyone else in the room and handed the reins back over to me. For the rest of the meeting, our VP stood guard against any further interruptions from Joe.

 I had every right to be offended by Joe’s behavior. He had done everything he could to make a mockery of my presentation and he attacked my personal integrity, right in front of the very people who mattered most to each of us in terms of our respective career success. But frankly, I was too stunned to be offended. Rather, I was just incredulous that Joe didn’t seem to have even the slightest clue about how he was coming off—as a pompous you-know-what. In that moment, I actually felt sorry for him. His lack of self-awareness was that pitiful.    

 Joe never did apologize to me, but I never expected he would. Since our own senior executives had observed his behavior first hand, I simply left dealing with the situation to them. Instead, I followed my grandmother’s advice to not be offended, or at least not show it in public. I had learned long before, doing so simply doesn’t serve one well.

 Within two months, Joe was sent on a 9-month unaccompanied reassignment to Asia. It was essentially a demotion, yet one that allowed him to save face as an expat. My own VP boss shared confidentially that Joe was given no choice but to accept the reassignment or resign. After his performance in front of our customer executives, remaining in his current capacity was not an option.                                           

Turns out, the old “sticks and stones” adage was one of the most valuable leadership lessons I ever learned.

Perhaps you have your own “sticks and stones” lesson to share. If so, I’d love to hear from you. Contact me and let me know!