It's Not About the List

Then he said something else: "But knowing that doesn't help me change how I react to them. I still hate lists even though I know why."

He's right. Insight alone doesn't change behavior. Understanding where a reaction comes from doesn't automatically make the reaction go away. He can intellectually know that his coworker's list is not his mom's criticism, and his nervous system can still respond as if it is.

This is the gap that frustrates so many people. "I know why I do this, so why can't I stop doing it?"

Because knowing isn't the same as healing. What actually changes these patterns are corrective experiences: repeated situations where the thing that used to mean danger or criticism turns out to be safe.

The Thing Is Never Just The Thing

His mom was constantly on him. Relentless reminders of what he hadn't done, what he was doing wrong, what needed to be fixed. And now, when someone sends him a bulleted list (even a helpful, well-intentioned one), his brain sees the format and translates it as that same critical voice: "Here's everything you're failing at. Here's what you should have done already. Here's proof you're not good enough."

The person sending the list thinks they're providing helpful structure. His nervous system hears criticism and judgment.

Now he's an adult with ADHD working in tech, and every list of action items or next steps triggers that same feeling. The list itself feels like it's judging him for not having already done the things on it.

The list itself is neutral. It's just a format. But for him, lists carry decades of emotional weight.

And here's what I've been thinking about since that conversation: we're all walking around with these loaded associations. Lists, feedback, certain phrases, organizational structures. Neutral tools that feel anything but neutral because of what they've meant in our past.

The Patterns We Don't See

I started noticing this everywhere once I knew to look for it:

The senior engineer who tenses up when someone says "can we chat?" Because that's what their volatile parent said right before an explosion. Now their manager uses the same phrase for routine check-ins, and their body prepares for danger every single time.

The designer who shuts down completely at "constructive feedback." Because in their family, "constructive" was code for tearing someone down while pretending to be helpful. The words haven't changed, but the meaning has been poisoned.

The product manager who can't stand being cc'd on emails. Not because they don't want visibility, but because their last job used cc'ing as a surveillance tactic. Every notification felt like being watched and evaluated.

The developer who avoids pair programming. Not because they can't collaborate, but because being watched while they work triggers old feelings of being monitored and judged. Maybe a parent who stood over their shoulder during homework, criticizing every step. Now any collaborative coding feels like that same scrutiny.

The tech lead who gets defensive during code reviews. Not because they can't handle feedback, but because they grew up in a family where any mistake was pointed out and criticized. Every code review comment, no matter how constructive, triggers that old fear of being found inadequate.

The engineer who won't ask questions in meetings. Not because they don't have questions, but because they learned early that asking for help meant being a burden. That you were supposed to figure things out on your own. Now silence feels safer than risking being seen as needy or incapable.

The senior developer who overprepares for every presentation. Not because they're naturally thorough, but because they learned that anything less than perfect wasn't acceptable. That making mistakes meant disappointing people. Now the idea of presenting anything unpolished triggers intense anxiety.

The staff engineer who resists writing documentation. Not because they're lazy or territorial, but because writing things down feels like creating permanent evidence that could be used against them. Maybe they grew up where anything they said could and would be brought up later as proof they were wrong. Now keeping knowledge verbal feels safer.

The engineering manager who struggles to delegate. Not because they don't trust their team, but because they learned that the only way to ensure things get done right is to do them yourself. That relying on others leads to disappointment or being let down. Now letting go of control feels genuinely unsafe.

The developer who avoids unfamiliar systems. Not because they can't learn new things, but because they learned that making mistakes has severe consequences. That it's safer to stick with what you know than risk getting something wrong. Now "I don't know that system" becomes protection against the possibility of failure.

None of these reactions are about the actual tool or practice. They're about what that tool has represented in someone's lived experience.

Why This Matters in Workplaces

When someone has what seems like a disproportionate reaction to something neutral, the typical response is confusion or frustration.

"Why are you making this difficult? It's just a list." "Other people appreciate feedback, why are you so defensive?" "Everyone else is fine with quick check-ins, why do you panic?"

But here's what I've learned: the reaction is never disproportionate. It's proportionate to their history with that thing, not to the current reality of the thing.

My coworker's resistance to lists makes perfect sense when you understand what lists have meant to him. The question isn't "why is he being difficult about lists?" The question is "what do lists represent to him that makes this reaction make sense?"

This shift (from "you're overreacting" to "your reaction makes sense given your experience") changes everything.

What The Corrective Experience Looks Like

This is what my coworker asked me: "Okay, so what does a corrective experience actually look like? How do I change this?"

Here's what I told him, and what applies to anyone trying to build a new relationship with a loaded trigger:

It's not about willpower or positive thinking. You can't just decide to feel differently about lists. Your nervous system has learned that lists equal criticism, and that learning happened over years of repeated experiences. You need new repeated experiences to override the old ones.

For him and lists specifically:

Lists that don't come with judgment. He needs to experience lists as purely informational. Here are some options, here's what we discussed, here are ideas. With no moral weight attached. Not "here's what you must do" but "here are some things that might help."

The key is that these need to actually be judgment-free. If someone says "here are some suggestions" but their tone or follow-up implies he should have already known or done these things, it reinforces the old pattern instead of creating a new one.

Agency over the tool. Creating his own lists when it serves him, not having lists imposed on him. Reclaiming lists as something he controls rather than something that controls him.

This might look like: "I'm going to jot down the key points from our conversation so I can reference them later" versus receiving a list from someone else titled "Action Items for [Name]."

Lists he can ignore without consequence. Breaking the association that list equals obligation equals failure if not completed. "Here are some thoughts I had, use what's useful, ignore the rest."

This is critical because with his mom, there WERE consequences for not completing the list. Everything on the list was mandatory and not doing it meant disapproval. He needs repeated experiences where a list is truly optional.

Collaborative list-making. Working with someone to build a list together, where it's a thinking tool rather than a pronouncement of what's wrong.

"Should we capture these ideas somewhere?" feels different than being handed a completed list. The collaboration makes it shared rather than imposed.

Repeated experiences that lists are safe. One positive experience won't override years of negative ones. But ten? Twenty? Fifty? Eventually the evidence accumulates: lists in this context don't mean what they used to mean.

This is the hard part. There's no shortcut. His brain needs enough counter-evidence to update its threat assessment of lists. And until that happens, the insight that "lists aren't actually criticism" doesn't change the gut reaction.

Importantly: He also needs to notice when positive experiences with lists happen. His brain is primed to notice confirming evidence (lists that feel like criticism) and dismiss disconfirming evidence (lists that are actually helpful). Actively recognizing "that list didn't feel judgmental" or "I actually found that helpful" helps build the new neural pathway.

The same pattern applies to all those other loaded associations. The person who freezes at "can we chat?" needs repeated experiences where that phrase is followed by genuinely neutral or positive conversations. The person who can't handle feedback needs to receive feedback that's actually constructive, delivered with care, and focused on work rather than worth.

You're not just changing someone's response to a tool. You're helping them build new evidence that the tool can be safe.

Why "Just Knowing" Doesn't Fix It

This is the frustrating part that my coworker articulated so well: understanding where your reaction comes from doesn't automatically change the reaction.

Your nervous system doesn't care about your intellectual insights. It's responding to patterns learned through experience, not logic. When you see a list, your amygdala doesn't pause to think "well, I know this is just my mom issues talking, so I should feel fine about this." It just fires the same threat response it learned to fire years ago.

This is why therapy often takes longer than people expect. Insight is just the first step. The real work is accumulating enough new experiences to teach your nervous system that the old threat is no longer present.

It's also why you can't just "get over it" through willpower. You're not choosing to have this reaction. Your brain is doing what brains do: using past experiences to predict future threats and prepare you to respond. The only way to change that prediction is to give your brain different data.

For my coworker, this means he needs to actually experience lists that don't feel like criticism, not just understand intellectually that lists don't have to be critical. The understanding creates the possibility. The experience creates the change.

The Broader Pattern We All Share

Here's the thing: we ALL have these associations. Maybe yours isn't lists. Maybe it's:

• Performance reviews (if they were used punitively in past jobs)

• Being asked to "just be honest" (if honesty was punished in your family)

• Group brainstorming (if your ideas were regularly shot down or stolen)

• One-on-one meetings (if they were unpredictable or threatening)

• Being praised (if it always came with a "but" or was used to manipulate)

• Sprint planning (if it always devolved into arguing about estimates while your manager watched judgmentally)

• Standups (if they were used to publicly shame people who were "behind")

• Slack notifications outside work hours (if your last job expected instant responses 24/7)

• The phrase "quick question" (if it was always followed by a two-hour debugging session)

• Deploy days (if you've been on-call for catastrophic production incidents)

The specific trigger varies, but the pattern is the same: a neutral thing becomes loaded with meaning from past experiences. And then we carry that into new contexts where the thing might actually be safe, but our nervous system hasn't gotten the memo yet.

Recognizing this pattern (in yourself and in others) is one of the most valuable skills you can develop.

How To Recognize When This Is Happening

In yourself: Notice when your reaction to something feels disproportionately strong. When someone suggests a reasonable approach and you feel immediate resistance, anger, or anxiety that seems bigger than the situation warrants.

Ask yourself: "What does this remind me of? When have I experienced this before? What did this tool/phrase/situation mean in my past?"

Sometimes the connection is obvious (like my coworker immediately recognizing that lists trigger the same feeling as his mom's constant criticism). Sometimes it takes more excavation. But the intensity of the reaction is usually the clue that there's something deeper happening.

In others: When someone has a strong negative reaction to something that seems neutral or helpful to you, get curious instead of frustrated.

Instead of: "Why are you being difficult about this?" Try: "I'm noticing this seems to land hard for you. Is there something about this approach that doesn't work for you?"

Instead of: "Everyone else is fine with this." Try: "What is it about this specifically that feels problematic?"

You're not trying to fix them or convince them they're wrong. You're trying to understand what this neutral thing represents to them. Because once you understand that, you can often find alternative approaches that accomplish the same goal without triggering the same response.

The Practical Application

Let's say you're working with someone who reacts negatively to lists (or feedback, or check-ins, or any other tool).

Don't:

• Insist they're overreacting

• Push harder on the same approach

• Make it about them being difficult

• Dismiss their experience because it doesn't match yours

Do:

• Get curious about what's underneath the reaction

• Ask what alternatives might work better for them

• Offer the same content in a different format

• Create opportunities for corrective experiences with the tool

• Respect that their nervous system is giving them information, even if you don't fully understand it

For my coworker, this might mean:

• Presenting information in paragraph form instead of bullets when possible

• Framing lists as "options to consider" rather than "action items"

• Asking him what format would be most helpful rather than defaulting to lists

• When lists are necessary, being explicit that there's no judgment attached

It's not about avoiding the tool forever. It's about recognizing that some tools need to be reintroduced carefully, with awareness of what they've meant before.

What This Teaches Us About Human Behavior

We like to think we're rational beings responding to present circumstances. We're not.

We're humans with histories, carrying associations and patterns formed by thousands of past experiences. A list is never just a list. Feedback is never just feedback. Every interaction lands in the context of everything that's come before.

The more we can recognize this (in ourselves and others), the more compassionate and effective we become. When someone's reaction doesn't make sense to you, it probably makes perfect sense to them given what you don't know about their history.

This doesn't mean we can't ever use lists, or give feedback, or have check-ins. It means we hold these tools lightly. We stay curious about how they land. We make space for people to have different relationships with the same tool. We create corrective experiences when we can.

And most importantly: we remember that the thing is never just the thing.

The Invitation

The next time you notice yourself or someone else having a strong reaction to something that seems neutral, pause.

Don't immediately dismiss it as an overreaction. Don't push through it. Get curious.

What does this thing represent? What history is alive in this moment? What past experience is this triggering?

Sometimes you'll find the answer immediately, like my coworker recognizing that lists trigger the same feeling as his mom's nagging. Sometimes it takes longer to excavate. But the question itself shifts the dynamic from "you're being difficult" to "this makes sense given what I don't know yet."

That shift (from judgment to curiosity) is where understanding begins. And understanding is the foundation for creating those corrective experiences that can slowly, over time, help people build new associations with old triggers.

It starts with recognizing: it's not about the list.

It's never really about the list.