A Series: Lessons I learned teaching in my 20s

Subliminal Haters

Working in a corporate setting in leadership roles at a young age exposed me to the dark sides of people.

You’d think your rivals would be the ones competing with you head to head for the perceived finish line—but no. It’s the ones who have no drive or ambition that secretly harbor resentment. The ones way out of your league, you let your guard down around them.

You confide in them because they’re so content where they are; there’s no way they’d partake in slowing you down. On the contrary, they are the ones you think are helping uplift you, or so you think.
The closer they are to your grind, and the more you try to pull them up with you, the more seething their hate becomes—and the more frequent their attempts to drag you down.

I had a recent experience with someone I believed in so much. I poured my heart and soul into carving out opportunities for them to help them shine. Instead, they used my investment in them against me.

I still remember sitting across from you, trying to motivate you, explaining that once this project is over, you’ll thank me for how hard I pushed you, because it’s no small feat what we’re trying to achieve. You met my genuineness, and whatever hope I had left in you, with viciousness so subtle only I would notice it.

I had given you credit for an idea I labored over for months because I wanted you to have an achievement of your own. I wanted to use whatever leverage I had to open a door for you.
Why? Because I liked you. I believed in you. I didn’t want anything from you—except for you to succeed. I put my name on the line for you. I knew it was a risk, but I was sure I’d back you up all the way, to the top, no matter what it cost me.

After you continuously wore me down with your lack of ambition, you were so lazy you didn’t even try to hide the fact that you wanted to take advantage of me through and through.
Funny though—even when I saw it clear as day, I still had hope that I was wrong. That you were just conditioned to be that way. That if I tried hard enough, you’d pull through.

That day, when we finally made it to the end—my sanity and the majority of our friendship collateral damage—you sat across from me, spitting your venom in tiny doses.
You called me a thief.
You told me that the very idea I handed you on a silver platter was actually stolen from someone else. That I wasn’t capable of producing anything original of that value.
That I wasn’t deserving of the position I have. That I’m just like you.

Of course, you didn’t say it in those exact words. You said it much more eloquently—the hate interwoven so intricately behind masked pleasantries. But I heard it loud and clear—the shot you aimed and fired at my character.

You saw the bewilderment on my face at your statement. You thought it was your big win. That the shock in my eyes was some sort of admission to your accusations. You reveled in this.

The truth is—even in that very moment—I knew your existence in my life would easily be erased. But even though I knew this was something you were capable of, it still shocked me.

The revelation that you probably invested weeks planning your attack. You calculated it to the detail and waited patiently to seize the opportunity to hurt me. Not only that, but when you thought you had successfully done it—you engulfed in the joy of it. You were licking my blood off your hands, devouring every last bit of it, satisfied.

That’s precisely what caught me off guard. The magnitude of hate you harbored behind those eyes for me.
Even though I was on guard—because I always am—and you didn’t necessarily ever make me feel safe, I still could never imagine the capacity of your ill will towards me. Me?

All I have done since I met you is help you and shower you with love, kindness, support, and all the good I could offer.

Why do you hate me this much?

Now I see it so clearly. As I replay every interaction we’ve had, I see how hard you worked to hide how much you loathed me. You couldn’t mask all of it, though. It seeped between your teeth when you smiled. It leaked through your backhanded compliments.

Is this envy?

Why did I keep going when my gut told me not to trust you, from the moment I met you?

I’m so unfamiliar with this fabric of evil. I’ve never worn it. I believe I’ve encountered it before—but maybe not to this extent.

It scares me how close I was to someone who didn’t only want to kill me, but wanted to savor it. Make it slow. Subtle. Torturous.

You used whatever energy you had not to invest in yourself, but to invest in my demise.

To give you the benefit of the doubt, I don’t think you did it intentionally at the start. It was subconscious for you.
I assume it’s because you’d never met anyone who awakened that part of you so abruptly and intensely.

But with more time around me and exposure, you became more calculated, intentional, and specific in the ways you wanted to hurt me.

Congratulations—you did hurt me. You took multiple shots at me. But just like everything you do, it was far from a well-aimed attempt.

You actually taught me to sharpen my senses and be on the lookout for subliminal haters.

Thanks to you, I’ve collected a list of tell-all signs that you may be dining with a secret hater:

1. They notice every little thing and remember everything you say.
2. They ask you so many unnecessary questions before they congratulate you.
3. They give backhanded compliments and hide the ugly truth behind jokes.
4. They find justifications for your success, things that have nothing to do with your ability and hard work.
5. They love-bomb.
6. They are vulnerable with you only to get you to trust them.
7. They enjoy your struggle (as much as they try to hide it—you’ll see it).
8. They’re proactive about covering up their sabotage. They’ll come to you justifying wrongdoings you hadn’t even discovered yet.
9. They cling to you.
10. They are always testing you, asking questions in a way that makes you feel defensive, as if you’re hiding something. That’s their way of getting you to spill the beans on everything.

Be aware: those types of people are like a silent disease.
It kills you slowly—and then all at once. The pain becomes all-consuming.

You need to be proactive about prevention and early detection.

In the end, I want you to know that the only reason I was hurt is that I genuinely liked you. Even the power you had over me was never earned. It was given.

I realize now that your actions had nothing to do with me.
You don’t hate me, you hate yourself.

And I am recovering from your betrayal. I will heal and it will be easy, because thank God, despite it all, I never fully let you in.
My gut told me to prepare for this moment. And when it came, yes  it was harsher than I imagined,  but I rose above it.

I hope you take the time to recover and heal whatever wounds made you this way.
I genuinely wish you—and all the subliminal haters out there—a speedy recovery.