Peter Bregman* says complaining to others about a co-worker or your boss is unproductive and will only increase your own frustration — but there is an alternative.
Photo: Omar Prestwich
I looked at my watch.
It was 3.20 pm.
I had been on the phone for over an hour, almost all of that time listening to Frank, a senior manager at a technology company, complain about his boss, Brandon.
“He’s so scattered,” Frank griped about Brandon, “He’ll waltz into a meeting — late, mind you — and share his most recent idea, which is often a complete distraction from our current plan.”
“Totally ignoring our agenda.”
“And then he’ll micromanage everything we do, reorganising our work — though we’re still accountable for the stuff he’s ignoring.”
Earlier that week I had spoken to several others at the same company, as well as a few members of the Board.
And they weren’t just complaining about Brandon — they were complaining about each other as well.
I also spoke directly with Brandon, who had a mouthful of complaints about Frank and some of the other staff.
He also complained about the Board.
This is, unfortunately, not unusual.
My friend the executive coach Marshall Goldsmith interviewed more than 200 of his clients and what he discovered matched previous research: “a majority of employees spend 10 or more hours per month complaining — or listening to others complain — about their bosses or upper management. Even more amazing, almost a third spend 20 hours or more per month doing so.”
And that doesn’t even include the complaining they do about their peers and employees.
Which would be hard to believe if not for the fact that, if you pay attention to what you experience during your day, you’d find it’s pretty accurate.
Why do we complain about other people?
Because it feels good, requires minimal risk, and it’s easy.
Here’s what happens: someone annoys us.
Maybe we’re angry, frustrated, or threatened.
Those feelings build up as energy in our bodies, creating physical discomfort.
When we complain about someone else, the uncomfortable feelings begin to dissipate because complaining releases the pent up energy.
(But, as we’ll see, that dissipation doesn’t just release the energy, it spreads it.)
Additionally, when we complain to people who seem to agree with us — and we almost always complain to people who seem to agree with us — we solicit comfort, camaraderie, connection, support, and justification, which counteracts the bad feelings.
Complaining changes the balance of negative/positive energy and, for a brief moment at least, we feel better.
It’s actually a pretty reliable process. Addictive even.
Which is the problem: like most addictions, we’re feeding a destructive, never-ending cycle.
The release of pressure — the good feeling — is ephemeral.
In fact, the more we complain, the more likely the frustration, over time, will increase.
We almost never complain directly to the person who is catalysing our complaints.
We’re not having direct conversations to solve a problem, we’re seeking allies.
We’re not identifying actions that could help.
Why is complaining such a bad move?
Complaining has a number of dysfunctional side effects: it creates factions, prevents or delays productive engagement, reinforces and strengthens dissatisfaction, riles up others, breaks trust, and, potentially, makes the complainer appear negative.
We become the cancer we’re complaining about.
Worse, our complaining amplifies the destructiveness and annoyance of the initial frustration.
Think about it: someone yells in a meeting.
Then you go to the next meeting and you complain about the person who just yelled.
Now other people, who weren’t at the initial meeting, feel the impact of the yelling and get upset about it too.
Encouraged by their support, you become even more incensed, and experience the initial uncomfortable feelings all over again.
In other words, while the energy dissipates, it also expands.
Meanwhile, our complaining improves, precisely, nothing.
Complaining is a violent move to inaction.
It replaces the need to act.
If we allowed ourselves to feel the energy without needing to dissipate it immediately — which requires what I call emotional courage —we could put that energy to good use.
What’s a better move when we feel like complaining?
Go ahead and complain.
Just do it directly — and thoughtfully — to the person who is the cause of your complaints.
Talk to the person who yelled in the meeting.
If that person doesn’t listen, talk to their boss.
If you don’t like that idea, then, when it actually happens, say “Hold on. Let’s respect each other in this conversation.”
If you missed the opportunity in the moment, then meet with them afterwards and say, “Please let’s respect each other in our conversations.”
It’s not nearly as easy as complaining, but it will be far more productive and valuable.
It’s true of course that most people complain because they feel powerless.
It’s also true that most people have more power in a situation than they believe they have, even with their boss.
And, just maybe, it could be worth the risk to say something.
You could say “I see that you’re very angry and I can feel how it’s shutting me down. Can we go a little more gently here?”
It’s a risk. Because the person may blow up even more.
Or it may gain you their respect and, in one sentence, change the direction of the leader and the organisation.
And transform what could have become weeks of complaining into a moment of productive engagement.
More than once I have seen someone gain the respect of everyone in the room because they were courageous enough to be direct — caringly, compassionately, and truthfully.
Let complaining — and the feeling that leads to complaining — be the red flag that it should be: something wrong is happening and you are probably not powerless to do something about it.
That’s what happened when Frank shifted from complaining to acting and told Brandon about the impact he was having.
At first Brandon was defensive, but soon enough he began to ask questions and realised that he had a blind spot for how he was impacting the team.
It won’t always work like that, but you may be surprised how often it will.
* Peter Bregman is CEO of Bregman Partners.
This article first appeared at hbr.org.
