I used to think dismissive comments were a form of constructive criticism. When someone cut me off, brushed off an idea, or made a joke out of something I cared about, I assumed I had explained it badly. I thought I needed to be clearer, more confident, or less affected by people’s reactions.
For a long time, I believed I needed to “grow a backbone.” If someone challenged me directly, I told myself they were being honest, and I was being too emotional. If someone dismissed how I felt, I convinced myself I was making a big deal out of nothing. I took their reactions as proof that I needed to adjust, soften, or communicate differently. Looking back, I can see how much effort went into trying to make myself easier to accept. It felt simpler to blame myself than to believe that other people just didn’t want to listen. I thought being strong meant staying quiet and letting things roll off my back, even when it left me feeling unseen.
Eventually, I started noticing how quickly some people shut down a conversation without really hearing it. I realized they weren’t offering thoughtful feedback. They were just reacting in the fastest way possible, without thinking about how their words landed. It wasn’t honesty, it was habit. That changed how I understood dismissal. It wasn’t guidance, and it wasn’t a sign that I was weak or dramatic. It was usually a sign that the other person wasn’t interested in meeting me where I was. Most people speak first and think later. They care more about ending a conversation than listening to it.
Once I saw that, I stopped treating dismissal as something I had to fix in myself. I wasn’t weak for noticing how it felt, and I wasn’t overreacting. I was simply aware of the tension it created.
Dismissal often has nothing to do with how good an idea is or how real a feeling is. It usually comes down to a lack of curiosity or care on the other side. And once I understood that, I stopped taking it personally and stopped absorbing it like it was my responsibility.
We were sitting at a table...
talking about business, and somehow the conversation shifted to why certain local companies never seem to grow, even though they’ve been around for years. I shared what I have noticed working with different owners, that many people stay busy instead of strategic, and that “hard work” isn’t the same as progress. I said it calmly, without performing or trying to sound smart. It was just something I’d seen again and again. Before I even finished, someone laughed and said, “Wow, okay, business expert,” as if I had just overstepped my role in the group. The tone wasn’t playful. It was defensive. A polite way of saying, “Who do you think you are?”
I wasn’t preaching or lecturing. I was just speaking clearly about something I understand, but the minute I sounded confident, the whole energy shifted. It was as if clarity made me suspicious, like people will tolerate you until you sound too sure of yourself, and then suddenly you’re arrogant. It was about how it made them feel. The idea of someone who looks like a regular person — not flashy, not loud, not “elite” in any obvious way, and speaking with certainty makes them uncomfortable. We’re taught to expect insight from people who look impressive, not from someone who blends in. And when someone ordinary speaks with authority, people don’t know whether to respect them or put them back in their place. Instead of asking questions or being curious, the person doubled down and said, “It’s not that complicated. People just need to work harder,” which is exactly the outdated mindset I was describing. I could have argued, but the moment I pushed back, it would have turned into a debate, not because my point was wrong, but because they didn’t want to feel challenged. So I stopped talking. Not because I didn’t believe what I said, but because I could tell the conversation had turned into something else. It wasn’t about insight anymore. It was about comfort. It’s easier for them to make a joke than to update their understanding of you.
Some people think you're a know-it-all, not because you know everything, but because you know something — and they didn’t expect you to.
A few months ago, I was talking to someone about burnout and how it shows up differently for people who are constantly “on” for others. I wasn’t giving a speech or trying to diagnose anything. I was just sharing something I had learned about myself, that sometimes exhaustion isn’t physical, it’s emotional, and it comes from holding everyone else together.
The person I was talking to interrupted me halfway through and said, “You seriously think that deeply about everything? Some people just get tired. It’s not that complicated.” Their tone wasn’t aggressive, just dismissive, the kind of comment people make when they want to shut a subject down without saying so directly. I remember sitting there feeling that quick mix of embarrassment and confusion. Not because I thought I was wrong, but because my honesty suddenly felt like a problem. They didn’t ask questions or clarify what they meant. They just dropped a statement and expected me to accept it as the final word.
What struck me wasn’t the comment itself, but how fast it came. This person didn’t even pause to consider what I was saying. They reacted automatically, as if reflection was an inconvenience, so it became clear that my ability to name something openly made them uncomfortable. Not because the topic was emotional, but because I was speaking about it with a level of self-awareness they weren’t used to. The more grounded I was, the more defensive they became. There’s a certain tension that arises when someone who sees themselves as “simple” or “practical” encounters someone who thinks out loud in a calm, coherent way. They interpret presence as pressure, insight as complexity, and clarity as superiority. Not because you’re judging them, but because they feel exposed if they don’t match the depth. So, instead of saying, “I don’t know much about that,” people shut the conversation down by making you feel foolish for having more language than they do. It becomes easier for them to dismiss you than to admit they don’t have the words yet.
After that moment, I noticed myself shrinking the conversation. I gave a short answer and let the topic die, even though I hadn’t finished my thought. Not because I agreed with them, but because it was obvious that trying to continue would turn into a battle of egos, and I had no interest in that. What I realized later is that dismissal often comes from people who don’t know how to meet vulnerability or clarity without feeling threatened. It’s not that they lack intelligence; it’s that they lack the emotional range to sit in a conversation they didn’t initiate or control. Sometimes, people don’t dismiss you because you’re wrong. They dismiss you because it’s easier than expanding their understanding.
What To Do With People’s Dismissal
The first thing I had to learn was that dismissal is information, not a verdict. It doesn’t tell you whether your idea or feeling is valid. It tells you whether the person in front of you has the capacity to hold it. When someone waves you off, interrupts, jokes, or refuses to engage, it’s easy to go inward and ask:
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“Did I say it wrong?”
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“Was that stupid?”
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“Why did I even bring this up?
Dismissal isn’t a sign that you should make yourself smaller. It’s a sign that this person is not a good container for certain parts of you. And that matters, because not everyone is meant to be trusted with the deeper, more thoughtful pieces. So rather than arguing, performing, or teaching someone into understanding, there are a few healthier responses that protect your energy and dignity:
1. Stop trying to convince them.
The urge to explain more is natural, but it rarely works. People who dismiss quickly are not listening to learn. They’re listening to end the conversation. You don’t need to spend ten more sentences proving something to a person who didn’t respect the first one.
2. Shift the level of conversation, not your intelligence.
If you want to stay connected without feeling drained, you can match the tone without abandoning yourself. Talk about lighter topics or ask simple questions. But don’t bring them the parts of you they’re not equipped to meet. That isn’t fake, it’s just more efficient.
3. Save depth for places where it can live.
Not all spaces deserve access to your clarity. Not all people can handle insight without turning defensive. There is nothing arrogant about keeping your more thoughtful ideas for the people who respond with curiosity instead of competition.
4. Recognize the difference between criticism and dismissal.
Criticism engages while dismissal shuts down. Criticism says:
“I see what you’re saying, and here’s another angle.”
Dismissal says: “This doesn’t matter, and neither do you.” You can work with criticism. Dismissal isn’t a discussion — it’s a wall.
5. Don’t internalize someone else’s emotional limitations.
When people feel insecure, overwhelmed, or threatened, they often respond with shortcuts: humor, cynicism, sarcasm, and certainty. Not because your idea is ridiculous, but because it’s easier for them to reject it than admit they don’t understand it. Their discomfort is not your flaw.
6. Let dismissal shape access, not identity.
You don’t have to cut people out of your life completely. Just don’t give them the same level of access. There are people you laugh with, people you love, people you respect, and people you think with. They are not always the same people. The people who dismiss you are often fine to have around — just not in the parts of your life where growth is happening.
7. Don’t fight to be seen.
One of the most painful habits dismissal creates is the belief that you need to “earn” respect by shrinking, softening, or explaining your way into being understood. You don’t. People who can meet you won’t make you audition.
A simple truth...
Dismissal doesn’t require a fight, a lecture, or a dramatic exit. It just requires a quiet internal note that says: “This is not someone who can meet me here.” And once you know that, you can stop trying to turn low-capacity conversations into deep connections. You don’t need to fix people to feel comfortable around you. You just need to be honest about what they can hold. And then, you put your energy where it belongs:
- with people who respond with curiosity instead of defensiveness,
- engagement instead of avoidance,
- and respect instead of dismissal.