How To Reframe Negative Talk In The Workplace

Forbes

23-05-2025

Stephanie Dillon is Chief Ideator at Stephanie Dillon Art.
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I've done it. You've probably done it. Whether we whisper it in the back room or broadcast it on a group text, the pattern is always the same: When we hate, we recruit. We gather the evidence. We retell the story. We embellish it just enough for dramatic tension. We say, 'Can you believe she…' And then we wait for the head nod, the 'Oh my God, yes' or the 'She's the worst.' Because outrage is lonelier when you're the only one carrying it.
It took me years and a few painful reckonings to admit this impulse in myself. The truth is that thinking about someone negatively in isolation rarely satisfies us. So we invite others in. Not because we want justice. But because we want backup. Because it's easier to stay angry when someone else is angry with you.
But here's where this gets dangerous: When we recruit others into our dislike, into our vendettas, our office politics or our silent treatments, we're not just hating. We're building a team—a team against someone else. And suddenly, it's not about what happened; it's about the power we now feel together. I've done this in business. I've bristled when someone's success outpaced mine. I've painted someone unkindly to make my version feel more justified. And I've invited others to paint alongside me. Why? Because, in the moment, it felt righteous. It felt bonding. It felt…easier. But really, it was fear. Fear that maybe I wasn't good enough. Fear that someone else's shine meant mine was dimming. Fear that if I didn't unite others behind me, I might be left standing alone with a feeling I couldn't fully explain.
In business, we justify this behavior as 'building culture.' We call it 'protecting the team.' We say, 'I'm just being honest.' But when honesty becomes a smear campaign, when culture becomes cliquey and when vulnerability turns into weaponized gossip, we're no longer leading. We're manipulating. So, how do we stop? How do we break the cycle when hating together feels better than healing alone? Here's what I practice now:
Ask a key question: Is this true—or just true to me? Most hate starts with a feeling, not a fact. Get curious about the gap.
If I need to vent, I write it down—in a note or a journal. Voice memos work, too. Just don't vent in the group chat.
Is it betrayal? Jealousy? Grief? Rejection? Call it what it is. Hate is usually the mask.
You don't have to rewrite the narrative. You can just step out of it.
Even if it's small. Especially if it's hard. The moment I do this, something in me unclenches.
Because everything we co-sign and every "huddle of hate" we join shapes our reputation more than the person we're talking about.
The truth is, none of us are immune to gossip. Not in business. Not in friendship. Not in families. We are wired for tribalism. But we are also wired for growth. For accountability. For radical empathy. So, today, I choose to stop recruiting. I choose to stop winking at cruelty. I choose to deal with my discomfort in the mirror, not through a megaphone. Because while it might feel good to be part of the takedown, it feels even better to be someone who doesn't need one. And that, to me, is the kind of leadership we desperately need more of: not the kind that weaponizes emotion, but the kind that knows the difference between connection and collusion.
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