When What Irritates Us Becomes a Mirror

There are irritations that pass.
And then there are those that linger — the ones that come back several times in the same week, leaving a subtle inner trace.

Those are worth paying attention to.

What irritates us often says much more about ourselves than about the other person. Not because the other is necessarily right — but because emotion acts as a mirror. Sometimes uncomfortable. Sometimes revealing. Almost always instructive.

What annoys me the most?
People who reflect back to me… what I am not yet fully daring to become.

Does that sting? Good.
Anger, irritation, and tension are rarely enemies. More often, they are signals. Valuable indicators of our inner tensions, of values being challenged, of needs that remain unspoken.

Provided we are willing to look at them honestly.

Behind irritation, a need trying to emerge

In my work as a sparring partner for senior leaders, I see this mechanism constantly at play. Two recent situations illustrate it well.

An industrial director, member of a European executive committee, feels strongly irritated by a colleague who asks for help before having really explored the problem.

As we unpack it, the irritation is not so much about the request itself, but about what it touches in him:
the difficulty of expressing his own needs, of letting go of a flawless image, and of accepting — without losing authority — that he too may need support.

His irritation was pointing toward vulnerability held at bay, control, and reputation.

A CHRO, on the other hand, arrives deeply annoyed with her CEO who left on vacation in the middle of a sensitive reorganization.

Beneath the anger, another pattern appears:
a tendency never to prioritize herself, to carry everything alone, to let others encroach on her energy. And, paradoxically, a certain comfort in not setting boundaries — because it reinforces the inner narrative of “I hold everything together.”

In both cases, the emotion is not the problem.
It is the entry point. The starting point for discernment.

My role in these moments is a bit like that of a balloon pilot: helping leaders gain altitude, so that an emotional mirror can become a concrete lever for action.

When the mirror also concerns me

I am not exempt from this dynamic.

What irritates me are certain ultra-visible figures on LinkedIn:

those who publish content without real substance, or recycle AI-generated words without infusing their own truth;
those who promote authenticity without ever truly embodying it.

My reactions are telling:
I often avoid them, sometimes tease them lightly, and at times freeze and feel illegitimate.

With a bit of honesty, I can see what this reflects back to me:
my own difficulty in daring to be fully visible, in owning my voice, in stepping into my singularity rather than hiding behind the comfort of discretion — the quiet logic of “live happily, live discreetly.”

This post, in its own way, is a small step outside that comfortable cave.

Irritation as an instrument of discernment

Rather than enduring our irritations or projecting them entirely onto others, we can use them as a tool for strategic clarity.

A simple — though rarely comfortable — exercise:

1. Identify what genuinely irritated you over the past few days.
A person, a situation, a recurring pattern, a remark.

2. Observe what it touches in you.
An unexpressed need?
A value being challenged?
A fear?
A boundary that was not set?

3. Choose one action that concerns you.
Not to correct the other.
But to adjust your own posture, your way of deciding, setting boundaries, showing up, asking.

When irritation is approached as a source of discernment, its intensity often softens — not because it disappears, but because it finds meaning and direction.

What irritation quietly asks us to look at

What matters about irritation is not what it says about the other.
It is what it reveals about our inner tensions, our silent compromises, the small renunciations we sometimes normalize.

With the leaders I accompany, these signals are often precious. They point to an area where something needs to be recalibrated: a boundary to be clarified, a word to be spoken, a decision to be owned, a place to be reclaimed.

It is neither spectacular nor comfortable.
But this is often where the real work begins.

Not to become a “better leader” in an abstract sense, but to practice leadership that is more conscious of its inner drivers, more aligned with what truly matters, and more accountable for its impact.

So perhaps the next time irritation arises, the useful question will not be:
“How can I make this go away?”
but rather:
“What is this situation asking me to look at, shift, or take responsibility for?”

Very often, this is precisely where posture begins to evolve.