The Subtle Asshole Problem (And How to Avoid Becoming One During a Merger)
When High Standards Look Like Toxicity
In this article, I wrote about surviving mergers by being the Hero—the person who solves problems, builds bridges, and makes things work when everything’s falling apart.
But I left something out. Something that’s been eating at me since I hit publish.
The Asshole Problem isn’t what you think it is.
The Obvious Jerks Are Easy
You might be brilliant. You might deliver results. But if you’re also toxic, condescending, or impossible to work with? You’re on borrowed time.
Mergers are the perfect excuse to clean house. Leadership won’t tolerate jerks when they’re rebuilding culture. Being great at your job isn’t enough if you’re terrible at being human.
Excellence without humanity is just expensive liability.
That part’s obvious. The person who insults people in meetings, who openly dismisses others’ ideas, who makes people feel stupid—that person gets identified and dealt with. Eventually.
But here’s the tricky part: you might not actually be an asshole. You might just have high standards. You might see problems clearly and name them directly. You might challenge bad ideas and push for better solutions. You might move fast and expect others to keep up.
And some people—especially people who are insecure, conflict-averse, or protective of mediocrity—will call that assholery.
The Real Danger Is Subtle
The real danger isn’t the obvious jerk who insults people in meetings. That person gets identified and dealt with quickly.
The real danger is the subtle toxicity that looks like excellence. The behaviors that seem professional on the surface but leave people feeling diminished, invisible, or stupid.
The subtle patterns that destroy trust:
You ask someone to present their work in a meeting, then spend the entire time on your laptop. When they finish, you look up and say, “Sorry, can you start over? I want to make sure I catch this.” You weren’t intentionally rude. You were just busy. But you just told that person their work wasn’t worth your attention.
You consistently “build on” other people’s ideas in meetings without acknowledging they said it first. “I love what Sarah started with, and what if we took it further and...” becomes “So here’s what I’m thinking...” You’re not stealing credit intentionally. You’re just excited about the idea. But Sarah now wonders if anyone noticed she said it first.
You send meeting invites without context or agendas. People show up not knowing why they’re there or what you need from them. When they ask for clarity, you say, “Let’s just jam on it and see where we land.” You think you’re being collaborative. They think you’re wasting their time because you didn’t prepare.
You respond to questions with questions that make people feel like they should have known better. “What do you think we should do?” sounds like you’re coaching. But if the person already felt uncertain enough to ask, you’ve just made them feel stupid for not having the answer.
You consistently redirect conversations to your experience. Someone shares a challenge and you respond with, “Oh yeah, when I dealt with that at my last company...” You’re trying to be helpful by sharing context. But you just made their problem about you.
You send messages after hours and on weekends, not demanding immediate responses but creating an ambient pressure. “Just thinking about this and wanted to share...” at 11 PM. You’re just excited about the work. They’re now anxious about whether you expect them to be working too.
These Patterns Aren’t Obvious Assholery
They’re death by a thousand paper cuts.
The person doing them often has no idea they’re having this effect. They’re not trying to be dismissive or condescending or controlling. They’re just... not paying attention to their wake.
And that’s the problem. Because intent doesn’t matter when impact is the issue.
The Test Most People Fail
Do people bring you problems or do they solve them without telling you? If your team is constantly coming to you for input, great. If they’re solving things without involving you, pay attention. They might be taking initiative. Or they might be avoiding you.
Do people speak up in meetings when you’re there? Or do they stay quiet and have the real conversation after you leave? If you’re getting silence followed by sidebar conversations, that’s not respect for your authority. That’s people protecting themselves from you.
Do people volunteer for projects you’re leading? Or do they find reasons why they’re too busy? If you’re always short on volunteers and long on excuses, you might be the reason.
When you give feedback, do people engage with it or do they just nod and leave? If every development conversation ends with “thanks for the input” and no follow-up questions, they’re not learning from you. They’re enduring you.
The Difference Between High Standards and Toxicity
High standards: “This isn’t quite there yet. Here’s specifically what needs to improve and why it matters.”
Subtle toxicity: “Hmm. This isn’t what I was expecting.” (Then moving on without clarity about what was expected.)
High standards: “I need this to be excellent because it’s going to the executive team. Let’s make sure we’re representing our best work.”
Subtle toxicity: “I guess this is fine for now. We can always revise it later if needed.” (Implying it’s not actually fine but not saying what’s wrong.)
High standards: “I disagree with this approach. Here’s my concern and here’s what I think we should consider instead.”
Subtle toxicity: “Interesting. I’m not sure that’s the direction I would have gone.” (Casting doubt without offering an alternative.)
See how subtle it is? The toxic versions aren’t obviously cruel. They’re just vague enough, dismissive enough, unclear enough to make people doubt themselves while giving you plausible deniability.
You Can Have High Standards Without Making People Feel Small
The person with high standards says: “This is good work and it’s not ready yet. Here are the three things that need to change and here’s why they matter. Let me know if you want to talk through any of this.”
The subtle toxicity says: “I think we need to take another pass at this.” (No specifics. No timeline. No clarity. Just ambient disappointment.)
The person with high standards raises the bar and helps people reach it. The subtle toxic person raises the bar and watches people struggle to figure out where it is.
Watch Your Patterns, Not Just Your Moments
You might be great in any individual interaction. Patient, thoughtful, clear. But if you’re consistently late to meetings other people organized, consistently distracted when others are presenting, consistently “forgetting” to include certain people in decisions that affect them—your patterns are telling a story your words aren’t.
People don’t leave jobs because of one bad interaction. They leave because of the accumulated weight of small slights that add up to feeling disrespected.
Read the Room—And Adjust Your Approach
During a merger, everyone’s on edge. People are defensive. Anxious. Protecting their turf. Worried about their jobs. In that environment, even your normal operating mode might land differently.
The direct feedback that usually works might feel like an attack. The high standards that usually motivate might feel like criticism. The fast pace that usually energizes might feel like pressure.
That doesn’t mean you should lower your standards or slow down or stop being direct. It means you need to check your wake more carefully. Add more context. More acknowledgment. More humanity.
“I know we’re all stressed and this is tough” isn’t soft. It’s strategic. It’s acknowledging reality before you ask people to do hard things in that reality.
The People Who Weaponize “Difficult”
Some people will call you difficult because you won’t let them slide on subpar work. They’ll call you intense because you ask hard questions. They’ll call you demanding because you expect follow-through.
That’s not about you. That’s about them protecting their comfort.
But if multiple people—especially people you respect—are giving you the same feedback, pay attention. “You’re hard to work with” from one person protecting mediocrity is noise. The same feedback from three different high performers is signal.
You might be right about the work. But if you’re losing people in how you land your point, you’re limiting your own effectiveness.
Managing Your Head When Everything’s Uncertain
Mergers mess with your emotions. That’s not a character flaw. That’s being human. The uncertainty is real. The anxiety makes sense. Your fear about the future is valid.
But Heroes don’t pretend they’re not scared. They just don’t let the fear make their decisions.
Separate what you know from what you’re imagining.
Your brain will catastrophize. It’ll spin worst-case scenarios on repeat. Most of them won’t happen. Write down what you actually know versus what you’re worried might happen. The list of facts is usually much shorter and less terrifying than the list of fears.
What you know: the merger is happening, some roles will change, decisions are being made.
What you’re imagining: you’ll definitely get fired, your entire team will be eliminated, your career is over, you’ll never find another job.
See the difference? One is information you can work with. The other is panic masquerading as prediction.
Control what you can control.
You can’t control the merger timeline. You can’t control who makes the final decisions. You can’t control whether your role survives exactly as it is.
You can control how you show up. What you deliver. How you treat people. The effort you put in. The relationships you build. The problems you solve.
Focus there. Not because it guarantees anything, but because it’s the only place your energy actually matters.
Give yourself permission to feel it, then get back to work.
You’re going to have bad days. Days when the uncertainty feels crushing. When you can’t focus. When every conversation feels loaded with subtext about who’s staying and who’s going.
Feel it. Don’t stuff it down. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Give yourself ten minutes to be anxious, frustrated, scared. Then get back to being the Hero.
The person who never admits they’re struggling isn’t strong. They’re brittle. Real strength is feeling the fear and doing the work anyway.
Find your people and be honest with them.
You don’t have to perform composure all day, every day. Find a few people you trust—inside or outside the organization—and be real with them. “This is hard. I’m worried. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Honesty isn’t the same as spiraling. Heroes don’t do this alone. They just choose carefully who they’re vulnerable with.
Remember: this is temporary.
Mergers feel endless when you’re in them. But they’re not. Decisions will get made. The org chart will settle. Life will normalize. This acute uncertainty has an expiration date.
You won’t feel this way forever. The person who can hold onto that truth while everyone else is spiraling has a real advantage.
And here’s the part people forget: once decisions get made, you get to make yours too. Maybe they keep you and the role is great. Maybe they keep you and the role sucks. Maybe they cut you and you take the severance and find something better.
But you have power in this. You don’t have to wait for someone else to seal your fate. You can look at what they’re offering and decide if you want it. You can start exploring options now. You can build your exit strategy while you’re building your survival strategy.
The Hero isn’t just someone who survives the merger. It’s someone who positions themselves to have choices when the dust settles. That’s the real win.
What Hero Leaders Say to Their Teams
If you’re leading people through this merger, they’re looking to you for stability. Not false promises. Not fake positivity. Stability. Here’s what that sounds like.
“I don’t have all the answers, and I won’t pretend I do.”
Your team knows when you’re blowing smoke. Don’t insult them by pretending you know more than you do. Admit the gaps in your knowledge. It won’t make them trust you less. It’ll make them trust you more.
“I don’t know yet what the final structure will look like. When I know, you’ll know. Until then, here’s what I do know...”
“Here’s what I can tell you.”
Share what you actually know. Even if it’s limited. Even if it’s not what they want to hear. Uncertainty is harder than bad news. Give them whatever solid ground exists.
“I know our team’s work is critical to the transition. I know we’re being evaluated on how we perform during this period. I know I’m fighting for this team in every conversation that matters.”
“Here’s what we’re going to focus on.”
Give them something concrete to channel their energy toward. Not busy work. Real work that matters. Work that demonstrates value. Work that keeps them visible and relevant.
“We’re going to make sure every project we touch runs smoothly. We’re going to document our impact. We’re going to be the team other teams want to work with. That’s what we can control.”
“I see you, and I’m with you.”
Acknowledge that this is hard. That the uncertainty sucks. That they’re doing great work in terrible conditions. Don’t minimize what they’re feeling. Validate it.
“I know this is exhausting. I know you’re worried. I’m worried too. But I also know you’re showing up every day and doing work that matters. That doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“We’re going to get through this together.”
Don’t make promises you can’t keep about who will stay or what roles will exist. But promise what you can: that you’re in it with them. That you’ll be honest. That you’ll fight for them. That you won’t disappear when things get hard.
“Whatever happens, I’m not leaving you in the dark. We’ll figure this out together. I’ve got your back.”
“Keep doing what you do best.”
Remind them that their job is still their job. That the work still matters. That performing well during chaos is how you prove you’re worth keeping.
“The merger doesn’t change what makes you valuable. Keep solving problems. Keep delivering. Keep being the person this team counts on. That’s how we make it through.”
What Not to Say
Don’t lie. “Everything’s going to be fine” when you don’t know that is worse than saying nothing.
Don’t overpromise. “No one on this team is getting cut” when you can’t guarantee that destroys trust forever.
Don’t deflect. “Just focus on the work” without acknowledging their fears makes you seem tone-deaf.
Don’t disappear. Your team needs to see you present and engaged, not hiding in your office avoiding the hard conversations.
Don’t fake confidence. There’s a difference between “I believe we’ll be okay” and “I’m certain nothing bad will happen.” One is leadership. One is delusion.
The Bottom Line
Excellence doesn’t require making people feel stupid. High standards don’t require vague disappointment. Moving fast doesn’t require leaving people behind.
The Hero makes people better. The subtle toxic person makes people doubt themselves.
And during a merger, the person who destroys confidence—even unintentionally—is just as much a liability as the obvious jerk who insults people in meetings.
Maybe more, because at least the obvious jerk gets dealt with. The subtle toxicity just... accumulates.
Check your wake. Not just your words.
Because even if you survive the merger by being brilliant, you won’t survive it by making everyone around you feel small.
Your move.
Claude is AI and can make mistakes.
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