You Teach People How to Treat You

We arrived today at a beautiful country estate hotel in Ireland, a mere hour outside the bustle of Dublin. It’s hard to imagine a place with more shades of green than the Irish countryside. The air is fresh and cool and our views are so breathtaking, that if I saw a photo of this place online, I’d swear it was AI generated.

 

We decided to explore the local village and have some lunch. The hotel doorman Brian, who is also the hotel shuttle driver met us at the entrance to take us into town. Brian is the kind of door man who smiles through every interaction with the kind of practiced politeness that can only be learned through repetition. He’s been holding doors for guests at the same hotel for over decades. He loves his work.

 

On the short ride back from lunch, we got to talking. No matter where we are, I noticed, people talk to me. It’s one of the best parts of my life. Brian told me about a job offer he’d recently received; better pay, more hours, a chance to move up. When he told his manager about the offer, the manager very simply said “no.” I asked, hoping for clarity. “Yes indeed. My manager simply said ‘no.’” He shrugged, like that was the end of the story.

 

I asked him if he wanted the new job. He said he wasn’t sure because he really liked the morning drive to his work and didn’t want to lose that. He was making excuses to stay where he was. I knew the feeling. We all know this feeling.

 

So, he stayed.

 

That story has remained with me through the day.

 

It’s a perfect and painful example of the truth behind a simple, sobering phrase: You teach people how to treat you. Not through what you say. Not through what you post online. But through what you tolerate. What you accept. What you keep silent about.

 

The doorman didn’t scream, protest, or storm out. He just quietly handed over the most valuable thing he had; his autonomy. And his employer learned something important: he would stay, even when treated unfairly. He would comply, even when it meant giving up more money, more respect, more growth.

 

The employer didn’t even need to threaten him. All it took was a nudge wrapped in authority and the fear of conflict. The doorman’s compliance taught his boss that he could be controlled. And from then on, that’s how he would be treated.

 

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about blaming the doorman. His reaction is one many of us have been conditioned into. We’re taught to be grateful for the job we have. To play nice. To avoid conflict. To keep the peace even when it comes at the cost of our dignity.

 

But here’s the cost of that kind of peace: your life becomes a quiet negotiation of your own value. You don’t just teach others how to treat you; you remind yourself how little you think you deserve.

 

And before long, that becomes your reality.

 

This lesson extends far beyond employment. In relationships, friendships, families…everywhere…your silence in the face of disrespect becomes permission. If someone constantly interrupts you and you never push back, they learn that your voice doesn’t demand space. If a friend only calls when they need something and you always say yes, you teach them that your time is a resource they don’t need to respect.

 

You can’t change how others behave. But you can absolutely change what you allow.

 

Respect isn’t something you beg for. It’s something you enforce.

 

And enforcing it doesn’t require rage or dramatic exits. Sometimes it just means saying no. Taking the job. Walking away from the deal. Leaving the table when love is no longer being served.

 

The doorman’s story is still unfolding. I hope one day he’ll look back and realize the job he was afraid to take wasn’t just a career opportunity. It was a test. Not of loyalty, but of self-worth.

 

We all get those tests.

 

And each time we teach the world how to treat us, we also teach ourselves what we believe we’re worth.