The People Who Press Our Buttons

I once knew someone who would ask a question, cut you off halfway through answering it, and then answer it themselves.

When you think about it though, that’s quite a talent.

I mean, why ask the question at all? Just send yourself a voice note and save the rest of us the trouble. Every conversation followed roughly the same pattern. Question, interruption, opinion. Defence of opinion. Occasional argument. Repeat.

Gosh, I found them exhausting. And I judged them a bit…ok, a lot. The thing wasn’t that they annoyed me. And believe me, they did, consistently. It’s just that I didn’t especially like the version of myself that showed up around them. That’s what really caught my attention. The irritation was one thing. The impatience, the internal eye-rolling and the imaginary speeches I never actually gave were also having a moment. What I noticed was reactions in myself that didn’t quite match how I liked to think of myself. Yeah, you guessed it, I like to think of myself as reasonably patient and compassionate.

Yet, put me in a room with this person, and boom, I’ll be mentally rolling my eyes and thinking “Here we go” before they’d start speaking. That bothered me. Obviously, I didn’t think I should like everyone that lives under the sun. People aren’t ice cream, and I’m not required to enjoy every flavour. But I became curious about what exactly was happening. Why did this person get under my skin while other people with equally irritating habits didn’t?

Maybe you’ve also experienced something similar. You meet someone and almost immediately feel resistance. Sometimes there’s a clear reason. Maybe not. You simply find yourself thinking, “Ehh… no thanks.”

I guess these moments gets uncomfortable because they clash with the story we tell ourselves about who we are. We want to be open-minded, kind, agreeable and compassionate. Then along comes a person who makes us want to leave the group chat, switch seats, or suddenly remember we have somewhere else to be.

Although, the older I get, the less interested I am in deciding whether someone is annoying and the more interested I am in understanding why certain people seem to affect us so strongly. And the more I paid attention, the more I noticed that different people seemed to press different buttons, depending on our social needs at that moment. One person triggered impatience. Another insecurity. Another competitiveness. Another guilt. You name it! These reactions seemed connected to something.

The uncomfortable truth is that while I was preoccupied with someone else’s annoying behaviour, I’ve likely been that person for others, too. Maybe I wasn’t the serial interrupter, but I’m sure I’ve talked too much, missed the point, or unknowingly irritated someone. Somewhere out there, there are probably stories about me that start with, “I once knew someone who…” Realising this feels humbling.

It’s interesting how much easier it is to spot these things from the outside. We forget that we’re both the observer and the observed. Sometimes we’re the person being interrupted, and other times, in someone else’s memory, we’re the one doing the interrupting. Life really is complicated.

That observation reminded me of an idea I’ve spent years thinking, writing, and talking about. In The Identity Bracelet, I describe identity as a bracelet made up of different beads. Each bead represents something we carry: roles, habits, beliefs, expectations, fears, strengths, traumas, and ways of being that have become familiar over time. Some beads are obvious. Others are so woven into us that we barely notice them. And sometimes another person bumps into one of those beads. Psychologically, that is. Then, something is triggered.

Their confidence might rub against our insecurity. Their need for attention irritates the part of us that learned to stay quiet. Their intensity simply clashes with our need for calm. Their certainty makes us question ourselves or reveal something we’re still unsure about.

I’m not saying this is always what happens. You’d agree with me that sometimes people genuinely behave badly, and boundaries need to be set. Sometimes the problem is exactly what it appears to be. End of story. But I’ve started to suspect that our strongest reactions are often worth paying attention to. Because they can sometimes tell us something about ourselves.

The person who interrupted me all those years may well have been annoying. I’m still willing to defend that position 🤣. But my irritation wasn’t only that I was being interrupted. It was what being interrupted triggered in me: feeling unheard, dismissed, irrelevant and invisible. Once I understood that, my reaction made more sense. The situation hadn’t changed. The person hadn’t changed. But my understanding of what was happening became somewhat clearer.

That’s why I think moments of irritation can be surprisingly useful. They can reveal the places where our identity feels sensitive. The bead on our bracelet that got bumped. The story that got activated. And the old feeling that quietly stepped into the room.

You don’t have to like everyone, absolutely not; that would wear anyone out. You don’t have to explain away or tolerate bad behaviour. You certainly don’t have to become best friends with the person who makes your eye twitch. But the next time someone gets under your skin, it might be worth asking:

What exactly got triggered here?

Which bead just got highlighted?

And what might that reaction be trying to show me?

When you don’t acknowledge your vulnerability, you work your shit out on other people. Stop working your shit out on other people. —Brené Brown

We spend a lot of time paying attention to the people we enjoy being around. Maybe there’s something to learn from the people we struggle to be around too.

What do you do when someone brings out a version of yourself you don’t particularly like?