My dad’s a robust dude. I call him every day while walking Izzy (the Wonder Dog).
Earlier, I was wracking my brain for something to write. Inspiration? Nowhere to be found. “Maybe Dad will give me something to work with,” I thought, and dialed him up.
“I just read your story from yesterday,” he said, “Wasn’t very good. Not funny at all.”
Apparently, neuroscience isn’t his jam.
That’s the beauty of an 85-year-old dad. He delivers pure, uncut truth. No sugar-coating, no hand-holding—just a stream of unfiltered perspective. It’s kind of refreshing. No second-guessing his meaning, and he never holds a grudge. He says it, it’s done. You just have to make sure you have thick skin.
But why do we let things get to us? Why do we take others’ comments as a personal attack on our very being?
I know one business where “taking it personally” is the company sport. Nearly every remark and suggestion is met with a dramatic, visceral reaction. They’ve gotten to the point where they avoid speaking to each other at all. It’s exhausting—and it’s crushing their productivity.
So, how do we avoid turning into overly sensitive drama queens (or kings)? How do we cultivate thicker skin so we don’t take things personally?
Here’s a 3-step guide to developing that coveted rhino hide:
- Remember: It’s Not About You. This can be the hardest one, but it’s crucial. Most people are way too wrapped up in their own stuff to be maliciously targeting you. Even if they are, it’s their perspective—not a verdict on who you are.
- Choose Your Reactions. You have this superpower called choice. You get to decide how you respond. You can choose to take offense, or you can choose to shrug it off. Nine times out of ten, shrugging is the superior option.
- Use the Mel Robbins Method. As the wise Mel Robbins says: let them. We all have those people in our lives—at work, and sometimes even in our families—who can drive us nuts. The key is having a strong sense of self so other people’s words just slide off like rain on a waxed car.
My dad, with his blunt assessments, has inadvertently taught me this. His words, though sometimes lacking in the “warm and fuzzy” department, are never meant to harm. They’re just his way of seeing the world. And that’s okay—it’s not about me.
The point is, we can’t control what other people say or do, but we can control how we react. We can choose to be victims, constantly wounded by every stray remark, or we can choose to be resilient—to develop that rhino hide, and to move through the world with confidence and grace.
And maybe, just maybe, we can even learn to appreciate the brutally honest, and surprisingly wise, feedback from the 85-year-old dads we love.