Let’s start by not pretending.

Some people are genuinely problematic. They drain meetings, repeat the same complaints, spiral loudly, or seem determined to offload their emotional state into any available room. Calling that “not a problem” doesn’t help anyone, least of all you.

But here’s the part that often gets missed.

If you are someone who naturally works with problems, and many of the people I work with are exactly that, then this isn’t a dead end. It’s a training ground.

Most thoughtful, neurodivergent, creative, or leadership-leaning people are problem solvers by nature. We notice patterns. We sense dynamics. We’re often already asking, “What’s actually going on here?” before anyone else has finished reacting.

So when a difficult person shows up, the challenge isn’t that there’s a problem. The challenge is remembering that you are equipped to work with it.

What tends to happen instead is that we either try to fix the person, which is exhausting and usually ineffective, or we absorb their frustration as if it’s ours, which is draining, or we shut down and disengage completely, which leaves us feeling resentful or diminished.

There is another option.

You can treat the situation as what it is: a live, human, slightly messy problem that gives you something very specific to practise.

Difficult people are excellent at showing us where our boundaries still blur, where our nervous system gets pulled into someone else’s emotional weather, and where we lose our own footing. That information is not a failure, it’s useful data.

The first skill to practise is separating what belongs to you from what doesn’t.

Their frustration, fear, resentment or stuckness is theirs. It isn’t an assignment you’ve been given, even if it feels like it in the moment. The second you take it on, you stop being able to respond thoughtfully and start going under with it.

I often picture this as the difference between being on the sinking ship and being in the lifeboat. The situation hasn’t magically improved, but from a little distance, you can actually see what’s happening and decide how, or whether, to engage.

This is where validation becomes a practical tool rather than a trap.

Validation doesn’t mean agreement. Saying “I hear you” or “that sounds really frustrating” isn’t the same as saying “you’re right” or “I’ll fix this for you”. It simply acknowledges what’s present. For many people, that alone is enough to reduce the emotional pressure and make the space easier to breathe in.

And this is often a relief to hear: you don’t need the perfect response. You don’t need a solution. You don’t need to correct or educate in the moment.

Curiosity does a lot of heavy lifting.

If you do want to add something, it helps to build rather than negate. “I can see why this feels difficult, and another thing I’m noticing is…” keeps the conversation open without dismissing anyone’s experience. It’s not softness for the sake of it, it’s skill.

Of course, not everyone is ready for that. Some people are deeply invested in their narrative and want you to stand in it with them. This is where another useful question comes in: is this the hill I want to die on?

Good problem solvers know that energy is finite. You can validate without colluding, listen without absorbing, and stay competent without being pulled into chaos. Sometimes the most regulated response is knowing when to close the conversation and move on.

The real work here isn’t about changing other people. It’s about staying regulated enough to choose your response rather than having it chosen for you.

That’s a skill. One that matters in work, relationships, leadership, and life more generally. And like most skills worth having, it isn’t built in calm, ideal conditions. It’s built in the messy, repetitive, occasionally maddening situations we’d rather not have to deal with.

So yes, some people are a problem.

And if you are someone who knows how to work with problems, that’s not bad news.

It’s practice.