Microaggressions at work: small cuts hurt

Most microaggressions aren’t delivered with malice. They’re habits, assumptions and clumsy attempts at connection — which is exactly what makes them so easy to miss and so hard to name. The person on the receiving end is left deciding whether to say something and risk being “difficult”, or let it go and carry it. Joanne Lockwood’s framing is simple: the issue isn’t whether you meant harm, it’s whether harm landed.

What are microaggressions? Small cuts hurt

Microaggressions are everyday verbal, non-verbal and environmental slights or insults that may be unintentional but still cause harm. They’re the throwaway comment, the assumption about who you are, the joke that isn’t quite a joke. “Micro” describes the size of each event, not the size of its effect — because the effect isn’t in any single cut. It’s in the accumulation.

Common examples: words like daggers

You’ll recognise these. “Where are you really from?” Reaching out to touch a colleague’s hair without asking. Assuming the most junior person in the room made the tea, or that the senior person is the one speaking. Expressing surprise that someone is “so articulate”. Each is offered casually — sometimes as a compliment — and each carries a quiet message: you’re not quite what I expected someone like you to be.

The cumulative impact: invisible bruises

Here’s the part that’s easy to underestimate. One comment is survivable; that’s the defence people reach for — “it was only a little thing.” But microaggressions accumulate over time, wearing away at wellbeing and at someone’s sense of belonging. They’re invisible bruises: you can’t see them, the person carrying them often can’t point to the one that did the damage, and yet the weight is real. When you understand that, “it was only a little thing” stops being a defence and starts being the whole problem.

If you experience one: you’re allowed to name it

You don’t owe anyone a confrontation, and you’re not obliged to educate. But you are allowed to name what happened, on your terms. A calm, curious question often does more than an accusation: “What did you mean by that?” invites the other person to hear themselves. Sometimes naming it later, or to someone you trust, is the right call — and that’s legitimate too. The goal isn’t to win the moment; it’s to stop carrying something that was never yours to carry alone.

If you witness one: allies act

Bystanders have more power than they think. Noticing a microaggression and saying nothing leaves the targeted person to absorb it alone; a quiet word — in the moment or afterwards — changes that. You don’t need a dramatic intervention. “I’m not sure that landed the way you intended,” or simply checking in afterwards with “are you OK?” is allyship in action. This is the everyday hold the rope work: showing up when it costs you a little, not just when it’s comfortable.

If you commit one: defensiveness shields guilt

You will get it wrong sometimes — everyone does. When someone tells you a comment caused harm, every instinct says defend yourself: explain what you meant, prove you’re not that kind of person. Resist it. Defensiveness shields your guilt and does nothing for the person in front of you. Focus on impact rather than intent. Listen, acknowledge, and take immediate action to correct your behaviour. Learning from the experience is the work — not proving you didn’t need to.

“You can mean no harm and still leave a bruise. The grown-up move is to own the impact, not litigate the intent.” — Joanne Lockwood

Apologies heal: repair over perfection

A sincere apology is not an admission that you’re a bad person — it’s repair. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention but I can see the impact, and I’ll do better” costs you very little and gives a great deal. Then move forward without making the other person manage your remorse. Nobody is asking you to be perfect. They’re asking you to be willing to mend it. If owning mistakes well is something you’d like to get better at, our guide on getting it wrong gracefully goes deeper.

Curiosity over correction: call people in

When you’re the one challenging a microaggression — your own organisation’s, or a colleague’s — lead with curiosity, not correction. Calling people in assumes good intent and opens a door; calling them out shames them and drives the behaviour underground. The same instinct runs through courageous conversations at work: you can be honest about impact and still leave someone’s dignity intact. That’s how change built on understanding outlasts change built on fear.

Building the culture: hear the unheard

None of this is only an individual fix. Organisations reduce microaggressions by making it safe to talk about them — open, non-defensive listening, clear and confidential ways to raise concerns, and leaders who model the behaviour rather than just mandate it. The aim is a workplace where naming a small cut isn’t treated as making a fuss, but as everyday maintenance of belonging. That’s the heart of conscious inclusion: noticing the small things on purpose, before they accumulate.

Test your own instincts

Most microaggressions live in language we’ve never paused to examine. A quick way to take your own temperature is the Inclusive Language Confidence self-check — a few minutes that surfaces the habits worth a second look, with no judgement attached. Curiosity over correction starts with being willing to look at our own words first.