Sometimes, when people don’t want to call a thing a thing (particularly with narcissism), you’ll hear them label someone “difficult.” The “difficult person” moniker has long served as a polite stand-in that lets the speaker avoid more accurate, evocative words that could get them in trouble.

Don’t get me wrong, some people can be challenging to work with, befriend, or live with, and many episodes of difficulty are situational or context-specific. An artist may become exacting about a vision. An intensive care nurse supervisor may be meticulous about standards of care. A basketball coach may push for excellence. High standards, per se, are not the problem. The problem arises when “difficult” becomes the baseline across roles and relationships, and when the label is used to shield consistent callousness from accountability. At the end of the day, standards cannot take precedence over treating people as human beings.

I run a small ballet company in Norman, Oklahoma, and I have worked with many artists who are particular about their craft and vision. I am particular about mine. In the quest to execute a vision, I do not make people collateral damage to the art. Over years of teaching, research, and clinical conversations, I have watched clients excuse a leader’s behavior by appealing to genius, tears running down their faces as they describe how vicious or demeaning that genius was in pursuit of a goal. “Genius or talent as permission” has become a tired cultural trope, as if vision or skill must be accompanied by a degree of interpersonal violence.

Opening night is two weeks away. The director calls a spacing rehearsal at 7 a.m., then walks in at 8:10 with coffee and a sigh. A principal misses a traffic pattern. He pauses the room, steps to center, and delivers a speech about excellence that sounds like mentorship until the line lands: “Try keeping up for once.” The principal nods and apologizes, eyes wet. Later, he tells the stage manager he is the only one willing to say what everyone else is thinking—“it’s ballet; you need to toughen up.” By evening, the story has been edited from “cruel and unnecessary” to “necessary.” Standards are high. Art is hard. Directors have to be harsh. The dancer goes home, texts an apology for being “difficult,” and arrives early the next morning to drill the same eight counts alone. Nothing about the choreography changed. Only the story did, and the story turned harm into leadership.

When we slap the vague label “difficult” on........

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