I Chose War. Next Time, I Hope I Choose Grace.
- Hampton Law Firm ⚖️
- Jun 18
- 6 min read
There are some people you try with over and over again, not because it is easy, not because they make it pleasant, and not because they give you much reason to believe the next interaction will be any different from the last one, but because something in you keeps hoping that maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time they will soften. Maybe this time they will smile. Maybe this time your kindness will be met with even the smallest amount of kindness in return.
For close to a decade, I have known a woman like that. She is not someone I know closely, but someone I have crossed paths with many times over the years. Her husband’s family has been connected to my office, so I have seen her in and out of professional settings for a long time. And every single time I see her, I try. I try to be warm. I try to be polite. I try to compliment her. I try to get her to smile. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt, even when she gives me very little reason to do so.
But some people make being kind feel like a test you did not sign up to take. This woman has always carried a hard, sharp energy with her. I have watched her speak harshly to her own family right in front of me. I have watched her be condescending not only to me, but to my staff. She has a way of walking into a room as if everyone in it has already disappointed her. You can say, “Hi, you look so pretty today,” and she will look back with a scowl and respond with something like, “Why am I even here?” That is the kind of energy I am talking about. Not one bad day. Not one awkward interaction. Years of it.
This week, she came into my office again. At first, my assistant tried to help her kindly. She did what we try to do in our office: she met the situation with patience, professionalism, and kindness. But that did not work. Instead of receiving the help, this woman chewed on my assistant until I had to step in. By the time I walked into the room, I could already feel the familiar tension that comes when someone has decided that everyone around them is going to pay for whatever they are carrying.
I went in and tried again. I tried to be nice. I tried to compliment her. I tried to help her feel at ease. I tried to calm the room down without making her feel cornered. I tried to do what I have done so many times before with difficult people, which is to absorb the first few blows and see if kindness will eventually lower the temperature. But she pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. She was giving me attitude from the second I walked into the room, and this time, something in me finally snapped.
And when I snapped, I did not do it softly. I did not do it gracefully. I did not do it in the calm, measured, professional way I would later wish I had chosen. I cut into her. I said the hard things. I said them sharply. I let her know exactly what I thought, exactly what she could do, and exactly what would not be tolerated in my office anymore. And then I saw it. I saw the moment my words landed. I saw the change in her face. I saw the quiver. I saw her eyes water. I saw the shock of someone who is used to swinging at other people suddenly realizing that someone was swinging back.
In that moment, I felt triumphant. I felt like I had finally said what everyone else had probably wanted to say for years. I felt like I had defended my assistant. I felt like I had protected my staff. I felt like I had taken control of a room that had been filled with disrespect for far too long. When I kicked her out of my office, it felt, for a brief moment, like a victory. My staff felt it too. There was this strange rush in the office, like we had finally stood up to the big bad beast and won.
It didn't take long for word to spread in the legal world and within a few hours another law firm was calling to find out the funny, dramatic details of me kicking the big bad out. Victory. . . but.
But later that day, that victory did not feel quite like victory anymore. It started to feel heavier than that. Once the adrenaline wore off, I kept seeing her face. I kept seeing the moment she broke. I kept thinking about how good it felt in the moment to finally bite back, and how different it felt once I had time to sit with it. Because the truth is, I did not just set a boundary. I did not just protect my staff. I made a choice to wound her, and I knew enough about her circumstances to know she was already in the middle of a hard time.
That is the part I cannot quite shake. I am not saying her behavior was acceptable. It was not. Being in pain does not give someone the right to mistreat other people. A hard season does not give anyone permission to walk into a room and belittle, bully, or condescend to the people who are trying to help them. Boundaries are necessary. Protecting your staff matters. Protecting the peace and dignity of your workplace matters. But there is a difference between setting a boundary and choosing war. There is a difference between saying, “You cannot treat people this way,” and saying it in a way that is meant to make someone feel small.
I think that is what bothered me later. Not that I stopped the behavior. Not that I defended my assistant. Not that I refused to let someone continue disrespecting my office. What bothered me is that I saw an opportunity to be firm and chose to be cruel instead. I saw an opportunity to stop the damage and chose to do damage of my own. I took a person who was already hard, already bitter, already difficult, already in pain, and instead of refusing to let her hurt other people while still holding on to my own grace, I decided to hurt her back.
And if I am being honest, I know better because I have been the awful person going through a hard time. I have been the woman carrying too much. I have been defensive before anyone attacked me. I have been sharp because I was scared, angry, humiliated, exhausted, or hurt. I have had seasons of life where I was not my softest, kindest, easiest self. That does not excuse bad behavior. It does not make it right. But it should make me quicker to recognize pain when it walks into a room wearing anger as armor.
I will probably never be the kind of person who sits quietly on the sidelines while someone mistreats people. I have tried, but that is not really how I am built. If a dog barks, something in me wants to bite back. Sometimes that instinct protects me. Sometimes it protects the people around me. But sometimes it also takes me too far, and this week I had to sit with the uncomfortable truth that I could have handled that moment differently. I could have been firm without being cutting. I could have removed her from my office without trying to break her down first. I could have protected my staff without becoming the sharpest person in the room.
Maybe that is the lesson I am supposed to take from it. Maybe growth does not always look like getting it right in the moment. Maybe sometimes growth looks like realizing afterward that you were not the person you wanted to be, and instead of excusing it, you let that realization teach you something. Maybe noticing the difference between a boundary and a blow is the beginning of becoming the kind of person who can choose better the next time.
So that is what I am carrying with me. The next time someone walks in carrying anger, I do not have to let them throw it at my staff. I do not have to tolerate disrespect. I do not have to shrink, smile, or pretend bad behavior is acceptable. But I can choose my words more carefully. I can hold the line without throwing the punch. I can remember that some people are hard to love because life has hardened them first.
And next time, when I am given the choice between grace and war, I hope I choose grace.
Not sure where to get started? Submit our secure intake form here.
Judith L. Hampton
Attorney At Law
Hampton Law Firm
header.all-comments