I sat across from my client Sarah (name changed) on zoom, watching tears well up in her eyes as she described years of subtle racism and cultural dismissiveness from her in-laws. Each holiday dinner, each family gathering had become an exercise in swallowing hurt, plastering on a smile, and trying to belong in a family that didn't seem interested in understanding her experience or background.

"I know I need to say something," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes. "But how do I tell them about years of hurt without it turning into a laundry list of every painful moment? How do I help them see without making them defensive?"

Her question struck a chord deep within me. How do we address behavior that wounds us without creating more wounds in the process? How do we invite growth instead of inciting defensiveness?

I knew exactly what story I needed to share with her – one I've only told to a handful of people. A story about how I learned this lesson the hard way, involving sushi, an inappropriate comment about penis skin, and an HR complaint I never saw coming.

The Lunch That Changed Everything

It was 2017, and my startup, the Digital Trades School, was riding high. We'd just secured new funding to create a digital marketing graduate certificate program, and we were interviewing for a research assistant to evaluate the program's effectiveness. After sorting through dozens of applications, we'd narrowed it down to a few promising candidates.

My co-founder and I had a ritual for final interviews – we'd take candidates to lunch. It wasn't just about evaluating their qualifications; we wanted to understand their aspirations. Where did they want to be in 2-3 years, with or without us? We believed in helping people make choices that would genuinely serve their growth, even if that meant not working with us.

Enter Heather (name changed), a recent master's graduate beginning her Ph.D. in English Literature, focusing on feminist authors. On paper, she was perfect – experience in research methodology, qualitative analysis, interviewing skills, and a genuine interest in experiential learning. We met at a local sushi restaurant, eager to get to know her better.

The conversation started smoothly. Heather shared stories about moving to the area, her hobbies, her academic interests. When she asked about my interests outside of work, I mentioned my Ironman training and current focus on reducing body fat. At the time, I was deep into Tim Ferriss's "Tools of Titans," and in an attempt to be funny and relatable, I shared a quote from strength coach Charles Poliquin: "You know you're under 10% body fat when your abs have penis skin."

We all laughed. The lunch continued. Heather seemed engaged, asking thoughtful questions about the role and sharing her excitement about the possibility of joining our team. My co-founder held the door for us as we left, his hand briefly touching her back in what seemed like a friendly gesture. We exchanged hugs, promised to be in touch soon, and parted ways. My co-founder and I immediately agreed – she was perfect for the role.

The Call

The next day, I flew to Montreal for my grandfather's funeral. Monday morning, still processing the loss of my papa, I sent out the job offer to Heather. That afternoon, standing in the middle of a Montreal mall, I received a call that would reshape my understanding of human interaction.

"Is this David Inglis? This is the head of human resources at the university. I'm calling about a sexual harassment complaint we received from a candidate you've been interviewing."

My world tilted. Surely there was some mistake? But as the HR director continued, my stomach sank. Heather had filed the complaint, citing multiple issues: the inappropriate penis skin comment, the power imbalance of two men interviewing one woman, our insistence on paying for lunch without giving her the option to pay for herself, and the unwanted physical contact when my co-founder touched her back.

I felt physically ill. Here I was, someone who had dedicated his career to developing and supporting others, learning that I'd caused real harm. What I'd interpreted as comfortable rapport and professional courtesy had been experienced as threatening and inappropriate. Her enthusiasm hadn't been genuine excitement – it had been a coping mechanism to get through an uncomfortable situation as quickly as possible.

I immediately apologized and asked for the opportunity to apologize directly to Heather. She declined. We never worked together. Later, I learned that she had experienced significant trauma in her past interactions with men – context that, had I known, would have completely changed how I approached our interaction.

The Lesson

This experience shook me to my core, but it taught me something invaluable about addressing harmful behavior in others. When someone's actions hurt us, we have three common responses:

1. We swallow the hurt and say nothing, letting resentment build

2. We wait until we can't take it anymore and explode, calling them out in ways that create more damage

3. We avoid them entirely, letting relationships wither rather than addressing the issue

But there's a fourth way – one that I learned through my own humbling experience. We can call people UP instead of calling them out.

The Framework

When we need to address someone's harmful behavior, whether it's cultural insensitivity like my client faced or inappropriate comments like my own, here's the framework I now use:

1. Identify the core value being violated (respect for others' experiences, cultural sensitivity, appropriate boundaries)

2. Understand the impact of the current behavior (how is it affecting people? what hurt is it causing?)

3. Envision what's possible if they embrace this value (stronger relationships, deeper understanding, safer spaces)

4. Most importantly, share your own story of how you learned this value

That last point is crucial. When we call people out, we position ourselves as teachers and them as students. But when we share our own journey of learning – our own moments of getting it wrong – we meet as fellow students of life. We create space for vulnerability, growth, and real change.Permission to be human.

Putting It Into Practice

I shared this story with my client Sarah. As I finished, she looked at me with new understanding. "So how would you suggest I approach my in-laws?"

"Start by thinking about what value you're really advocating for," I replied. "It sounds like you want them to understand the importance of respecting different cultural experiences and perspectives. 

Then, share a story of when you learned this lesson yourself. When was a time you unintentionally dismissed someone's cultural experience and had to learn from it?"

Sarah's eyes lit up as she remembered an interaction from her university days.

"That's your way in," I said. "Share that story with your in-laws. Show them your own journey of learning. Then gently connect it to how some of their comments make you feel. You're not attacking them; you're inviting them to grow, just as you did."

The Power of Vulnerability

Since my sushi lunch incident, I've used this approach countless times, both in receiving feedback and giving it. When I notice someone's behavior causing harm, I don't stockpile resentment or plan an ambush. Instead, I pull them aside and say, "Can I share a story with you? One that changed how I see things?"

This approach doesn't guarantee change, but it offers something powerful: the chance to transform criticism into invitation, judgment into understanding, and calling out into calling up.

A New Way Forward

The next time you find yourself needing to address someone's harmful behavior, remember: we're all learning. Share your story. Show your scars. Create space for growth. Because at the end of the day, the choice isn't between speaking up or staying silent – it's between calling out or calling up.

As for Sarah, she’s in the process of having that conversation with her in-laws. It won’t be perfect, but by leading with her own story of learning and growth, she will create an opening for genuine dialogue. Sometimes that's all we need – a crack in the defensive armor where understanding can begin to seep in.

You deserve to live a life where you can share your truth - especially with your family. I hope my experience and story help you discover a way to speak yours.