Dismissing others is a form of self-defense.

A self-preservation tactic. A way to survive.

I caught myself recently. A disagreement about process, about how something should be done.

These people are idiots.

That was my first reaction.

Here’s the fork in the road:

• Option A: assimilate the story — they’re dumb, I know better, it’s us vs. them.
• Option B: recognize dismissal as a defense, and get curious instead — what are they solving for, what’s behind this behavior?

If we approach others with curiosity instead of contempt, we can better understand the motives behind their actions. That doesn’t mean everyone is secretly enlightened, or that ignorance doesn’t exist. Sometimes we are, in fact, being idiots.

But there’s a particular taste in my mind that I use as a barometer. A bitterness. Resentment. Tight frustration.

When I feel that, I know: this isn’t clean discernment. This is me in reactive, self-protective mode.

So I dug a little deeper.

Why do I use dismissal as self-defense?
Where did this come from?

Our lineage and our past shape our stories and can shed light on where we are now. The past is gone, sure, but it still leaves traces.

I had a flash of my childhood.

I was raised by parents who genuinely did not know what they were doing. Not in the cute, “all parents are winging it” way. I mean:

• getting kicked out of the house for not attending the equivalent of a Bible study
• terrible advice, minimal guidance, half-truths about how the world works
• not getting picked up from school because I’d upset a parent
• punishments that were wildly disproportionate to whatever tiny “offense” happened — so small I don’t even remember the details now

It was dangerous to trust the people responsible for my care. They didn’t know what was best for me. They made questionable, often destructive financial and personal decisions. They’d say, “This is the path to success,” and I’d look at their lives and see that their path led to ruin.

So my nervous system learned:

Authority is unreliable. Don’t trust them. They don’t know what they’re doing. You’re on your own.

There’s a concept in psychology called transference — when patterns from childhood replay in adulthood in ways that don’t really fit the current situation.

For some people, that might look like:

• choosing partners who feel like a chaotic parent, because chaos feels like “home”
• shutting down every time someone raises their voice, because conflict used to mean danger

For me, one version of transference is this:

a reflexive dismissal of authority and an over-reliance on my own perspective.

That worked for me in certain chapters. Being skeptical and self-reliant was a survival skill.

But my current chapter — working at a fast-growing startup — demands new skills. Over-reliance on the self can only go so far (and straight into burnout). Skepticism of others and authority gets in the way of real teamwork.

What used to be self-protection now becomes self-sabotage.

Awareness of that pattern is the path to doing something different.

I can notice: Oh, the “everyone else is an idiot” part is driving right now.
And then ask: Is that actually true here? Or is this old wiring running the show?

That’s the invitation of this chapter: to shed an old identity so a healthier pattern can emerge.

The gift of tests and difficulties in life is the opportunity to grow. Sometimes that growth is, as Nassim Taleb puts it, via negativa — not just by adding new skills or identities, but by subtracting what no longer serves.

Shedding. Letting go. Loosening the grip of patterns that once kept us safe and now keep us stuck.

Growing isn’t always about becoming bigger. It’s also becoming more adaptable, more nimble. Sometimes it means becoming “smaller” in a certain sense:

• letting certain parts of ourselves step back
• letting other parts step forward
• leaving space for other people to help us

So next time you catch yourself thinking “these people are idiots,” it might be worth asking:

Is this clear seeing?
Or is this my old self-defense talking?

You don’t have to judge the answer. Just noticing it is already a kind of growth.