The Disease of Niceness

They call it a “disease of niceness.”

The symptoms are simple – an inability to shout at other people, a tendency to keep quiet when feeling angry, a habit of trying not to displease anybody or force one’s opinion on someone not willing to accept it.

I am supposed to be suffering from it. Two people have said so – one of my editors and one of my friends. Both called it a “disease.” In other words, it is something that is wrong. Something that needs to be cured.

Because it shows a lack of assertiveness. An absence of aggression. Aggression which is so necessary to survive in this “tough, globalised world.” It is also being “dishonest,” because one ends up being nice to even those who one does not like.

It leads to a lot of problems. It leads to people taking your help and often not having the grace to say “thanks.” It leads to people taking you for granted – whether it is in matters of work or just keeping appointments for lunch. It leads to your message or call being among the last to be answered – if answered at all - by many people who call themselves your “friends.”

Because they know you won’t get angry. You might just not talk for a while. But you will be OK after that. You won’t shout.

You won’t even walk away. You will be there to help them again if need be. Even if they don’t ask you.

Because you suffer from a disease of niceness.

I know.

Perhaps I do suffer from it.

I know something else too.

I know that somewhere out there, there will be the odd person for whom my not shouting will make a difference. I know that there will be people who will find it easier to talk to me, just because they know I am not going to criticise what they say or hassle them.

And maybe, just maybe, there might be one person – one would be enough, believe me - for whom my being quiet will be worse than my shrieking at the top of my lungs.

Yes, I do suffer from the disease of niceness.

Know something?

I am not looking for a cure.