Personality Clashes: it’s not me, it’s you.

Let’s just be honest from the start — some people won’t like you.

Doesn’t matter how polite you are, how professional, how hard you try. There are people who, for reasons you’ll probably never fully understand, will decide that your face — or voice or tone or lanyard choice — just doesn’t fit.

And if you’ve worked in medicine for more than about five minutes, you’ve probably run into one of them. If not, hold tight — they’re coming.

Now, I want to be crystal clear: this isn’t about blaming anyone.

This isn’t one of those “oh woe is me, the public is so unreasonable” rants. This is more like having a quiet meltdown when one system on your PC won’t talk to another and all you get are gibberish error messages saying “talk to your administrator”

Bitch, I don’t know who my supervisor is - don’t talk to me about administrators…

Instead, it’s about acknowledging that communication is a performance art, and sometimes, despite your best rehearsed monologue, the audience is determined to boo.

And sometimes, it’s not even a patient. It’s a colleague. Or a supervisor. Or someone on the internet who’s got a little too much time and a very specific axe to grind.

“Professionalism” as a Stick

The word “professionalism” gets thrown around a lot — often as a euphemism for “I don’t like how you are.”

It’s squishy. It’s weaponisable. It sounds objective when it’s anything but. I’ve been on the receiving end of it (hold your gasps) and odds are if you’re reading something like this blog, you probably have too.

I’ve mentioned before; there’s a flavour of complaint that doesn’t come from feedback, it comes from friction

• From the fact that your tone doesn’t match someone’s vibe.

• From someone who wants to score points by scolding.

I’ve had it happen after lectures, after tutorials, in the depths of study groups — once for a mislabelled antidepressant on a summary sheet I’d made and shared for free. Not a dangerous error, not life-altering. But you’d have thought I’d pissed on the BNF.

Sometimes, it’s not the error they’re mad at. It’s you.

• Your enthusiasm.

• Your visibility.

• Your confidence — or your attempt to fake it.

There’s a flavour of aggression that comes from deeper than disagreement; you’ll recognise it when it lands like a punch instead of a point.

And you’ll try to reflect, because we’re trained to reflect - not ruminate, not retaliate - but sometimes what you’re reflecting on isn’t your mistake. It’s someone else’s decision to hate you on sight.

And that’s hard to say without kicking Impostor syndrome in the teeth.

The Ambush

There’s a particular kind of confrontation I call the professional ambush. You think you’re getting feedback, but you’re actually on trial.

It’s not just “you could’ve worded that better” — it’s “you shouldn’t even be here.” And no matter how contrite or curious or collaborative you try to be, you will not win.

Because it was never about the thing.

It was about you:

• The way you speak.

• The way you laugh.

• The way you carry yourself

• Or the fact that you dared to carry yourself at all.

It’s like online trolling — only the face is in the same corridor as you.

And because we’re in medicine, and because the concept of professionalism has been inflated into some godlike ideal of perfection, people get away with this.

They use professionalism as a cloak for bias, envy, discomfort, or good old-fashioned personality clash.

A Hard Lesson in Stand-Up and Scrubs

Being a GP-comedian is like juggling newborn puppies - a moral minefield masked as entertainment that could have drastically consequences if you drop it.

I’ve had feedback weaponised from things I’ve said on stage. I’ve made a joke about HRT overdose once — a gallows humour moment in a closed conversation — and had it land in the wrong ears.

The way that person flagged it? Impeccable. Respectful. Adult-to-adult. And I was mortified, and we talked, and I learned.

That’s how it should be.

Compare that with vague accusations of “unprofessionalism” that don’t actually name what was wrong — just that I was wrong. And no amount of humility or editing or apologising would be enough.

It’s hard to learn from feedback when the feedback is: you shouldn’t be like that.

What To Do When They Just Don’t Like You

You can’t win everyone. You’re not gin. And even gin gets complaints.

You can apologise. You can adjust. You can examine your blind spots, ask trusted colleagues, gut-check your tone. You can reflect your arse off into your PDP and send it to the moon.

But sometimes, there’s nothing to salvage. And when that’s the case, when the knives are out and the wounds are already bleeding, your best bet is quiet dignity. Distance. You say:

“Thank you. I appreciate the feedback. I’ll take that away and reflect on it.”

And if the daggers keep coming? You smile, you repeat yourself. If needed, you document, you escalate, you move sideways.

Because if someone is hunting a scalp, your contrition won’t satisfy them. It will feed them.

Professionalism Is Not Perfectionism

This might sound hypocritical coming from someone who routinely swears in both the clinic and the comedy club, but I actually believe in professionalism.

I do. Stop looking at me like that.

I think it matters, but I don’t think it means being sterile. I don’t think it means being soulless. And I don’t think it means being passive in the face of nonsense.

True professionalism isn’t robotic. It’s relational. It’s humble. It’s human. It includes knowing when to shut up, but also knowing when to stand your ground. It’s about being teachable — but not tear-downable.

So if you ever find yourself being hunted under the guise of “professional feedback,” take a beat. Reflect, absolutely. But remember: it might not be you. It might just be your face.

And if that’s the case?

You wear it anyway.

Stay Punchy

—DW