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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.
A quick scene
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 someone who is actually being careless, chronically dismissive, or outright demeaning, we move the behavior into a gray zone where it can persist. Soft language becomes a permission slip.
Clinically speaking, persistent patterns of entitlement, need for admiration, and impaired empathy sit at the core of narcissistic personality functioning, whether the presentation is brash and grandiose or thin-skinned and wounded (American Psychiatric Association, 2022; Miller et al., 2011; Pincus & Lukowitsky, 2010). In workplaces, the softer label often allows a vulnerable or communal presentation to fly under the radar: the leader who frames contempt as “standards,” who claims public virtue while withholding private repair, or who expects deference as the cost of belonging. The outcome is predictable—eroding morale, heightened anxiety, and turnover that gets chalked up to “fit” while the pattern continues (Porath & Pearson, 2013).
To be fair, there are many paths to being hard to be around that have nothing to do with narcissism. Stress, illness, grief, and nervous-system dysregulation can make any of us more irritable, reactive, or messy. Some people live with chronic conditions—PTSD, mood and anxiety disorders, neurological disorders, chronic pain, or undiagnosed neurodivergence such as ADHD or autism—that keep their systems on edge. Context matters. Two things can be true at once: A person’s nervous system may be taxed, and their behavior may be harsher. That ambivalence is precisely why the vague label fails us. It hides the ball we need to keep our eyes on: empathy and repair.
Here is the practical distinction. When empathy slips during a difficult moment, non-narcissistic structures generally seek interpersonal repair. They can name the behavior, acknowledge the impact without defensiveness, and sustain a change. Behaving badly once in a while is not a moral failure; it is human. Taking accountability—especially for adults who know better—is a reliable indicator that empathy is intact. Narcissistic structures tend to do something different. They rename harm as “standards,” require others to absorb the cost, and treat repair as optional or performative.
Culturally, we employ a lot of clever language to avoid naming what is happening. We point to genius, success, expertise, or heavy responsibility as if those absolve someone of compassion. Pressure can temporarily make compassion inaccessible; it does not make it absent. Even if compassion never comes online in a given moment, owning one’s behavior and its impact is the minimum of interpersonal decency. The refusal to own it is diagnostic at the level of pattern.
Grace still has a place. Offering grace during stressful or unusual circumstances is noble and humane. We should expect reciprocity. The artist who is chasing a masterpiece still owes basic respect to the people enabling the work. The parent who had a brutal day still owes the child an apology for snapping at them—grace, understanding, and permission to be fallible work both ways. With high narcissistic traits, however, grace is rarely offered and always expected.
Because language shapes behavior, upgrading our language helps. Instead of “They’re difficult,” try specifics: “They are dismissive when asked to repair,” “They are habitually demeaning under stress,” or “They avoid accountability and call it standards.” Specific language keeps behavior in view and makes repair measurable. It also prevents you from gaslighting yourself when the narrative inevitably gets smoothed over by charisma, credentials, or outcomes.
Narcissism Essential Reads
A simple behavioral test can clarify what you are dealing with. Think of the person you have labeled difficult. After the harm (and after you’ve communicated it, which is your side of the street), did they name the behavior, acknowledge the impact without counterattack, and change it for a meaningful period of time without demanding praise for basic interpersonal accountability? If yes, you are likely dealing with someone in a pressure situation that can be worked with and supported. If no, the label probably isn’t “difficult.” Instead, it is disregard, and, if you zoom out, you will see the lack of relational care repeated across contexts.
For leaders who worry this standard will neuter excellence, it won’t. Excellence is still achievable with boundaries and interpersonal respect. You can set a high bar, give hard notes, and protect the work without erosion of human dignity. The difference shows up in what happens after a misstep: contempt or coaching, image management or repair, fear or trust.
If you are on the receiving end, small boundary steps help. Use clear, time-bounded responses (“I’ll respond tomorrow after I’ve reviewed what’s needed”), ask for terms (“What exactly are you asking, by when, and with what resources”), and give clean no’s when needed (“No, I’m not doing that”). Watch what happens next. Healthy structures adjust. Narcissistic patterns escalate, deflect, or remain unchanged. Document what you observe. Patterns are easier to see on paper than in memory, and a record helps when the story gets rewritten as “necessary.”
Language is not a cure, but it is a start. Retiring “difficult” in favor of specific, observable behavior protects dignity, clarifies expectations, and makes room for real repair. That is better for art, care, performance, and the ordinary work of being human.
