Every Sunday morning, I get up early and head to a coffee shop in town. It’s a quiet ritual. The streets are mostly empty, the same friendly barista is always on shift, and I sit in the same corner with a flat white and my laptop, hoping the words will come.
It’s my favourite kind of writing time: early, quiet, no pressure. Just me, the coffee, and whatever wants to be said.
This morning, a woman walked in and was — in my opinion — rude.
Snappy tone. No eye contact. Treated the barista behind the counter like they were a vending machine. No please, no thanks, just barked her order and stared at her phone.
I felt tense. I always do when I witness this kind of behaviour.
And I judged her. Hard.
I felt an instant rise of irritation and had a whole story going in my head. She was “one of those” people. Probably always in a rush. Probably talks to everyone like that. Drives an enormous car and never says thank you when someone lets her out at a junction. What a bitch.
All of this landed in my mind in a matter of seconds. Based on one moment. One interaction. One slightly raised voice.
It wasn’t my best moment, I know.
And then I caught myself.
I realised what had really happened in that moment: The woman’s behaviour had somehow felt personal. Even though it wasn’t. She hadn’t even noticed me, tucked away in the corner. But something about the way she walked in and spoke stirred something in me. That’s what made it stick. That’s why I judged her.
And when I think about it, I’ve probably come across this way too. When I’ve been stressed, tired, overwhelmed. When I’ve just had bad news. When I’m late. When my nervous system is frayed and the world feels like too much.
It doesn’t excuse it. But it does make me curious.
I wonder how often we see the sharp edge of someone else and assume it tells the whole story.
How often are we reacting to someone else’s discomfort, their story, their unspoken expectation?
In coaching, I see this a lot. My clients remembering moments where someone was short with them, or distant, or said something careless — and then carrying it around for years, as proof that they were too much, not enough, or a problem.
And I gently remind them, “what if it wasn’t actually about you at all?”
What if that comment, that reaction, that silence — was never personal?
What if someone else’s rudeness, says more about their day than your worth?
When people are difficult, it’s often because they’re in difficulty. That doesn’t mean you have to put up with it — but it might mean you can carry it a little more lightly.
