The misinterpreted side-eye 👀

Recently, I was doing a pre-project briefing with a group I don't usually work with.

There was a sea of faces listening to me — and one face that seemed to be giving me... the side-eye.

My brain immediately got to work.

-            They think you’re stupid.

-            Who does she think she is, telling us what to do?

And, because apparently my internal critic likes to diversify:

-            She's bigger in person than she looks online!

Excellent. Thanks, brain.

Meanwhile, externally, I was still standing there delivering the briefing. It took quite a lot to stay on track and not allow this completely imaginary conversation I was having on someone else's behalf to affect my confidence or my ability to deliver the day.

Fast-forward to lunch. Side-eye person starts walking towards me. Internal alarm bells. Here we go. Shoulders back. Brace yourself. And then:

"Sorry to ask a personal question, but what makeup do you use? It's pretty."

GOBSMACKED.

Never — and I mean NEVER — in all the possible scenarios my brain had helpfully generated that morning had that made the list.

This happened a few weeks ago, and I keep coming back to it. Every time I wobble. Every time I notice myself thinking, they think I'm stupid or God, they hate me, I remember the Great Side-Eye Misinterpretation.

Because what did I actually know that morning? Someone looked at me. That was it. Everything else was a story I'd written.

And perhaps that's the bit worth noticing. We do this all the time. A facial expression. A short email. Someone doesn't respond quite how we expected. A colleague is quieter than usual.

We collect one tiny piece of information and our brains enthusiastically fill in the rest. Often with the least generous interpretation of ourselves. I'm trying to get better at catching myself when I do it.

I don't know what they're thinking. And I don't need to.

Their thoughts — good, bad or completely unrelated to me — belong to them. My job is to carry on with mine.

And one final thought.

How lovely was it that she actually said the nice thing? She had absolutely no idea what had been happening in my head that morning. But one small, gracious comment completely reframed an interaction she'd probably thought nothing about.

So maybe there's another challenge here. Next time you think:

-            Nice trainers.

-            Great presentation.

-            Her hair looks lovely.

-            That was a really clever point.

Say it.

Don't just think the nice thing.

You never know what internal monologue you might interrupt.