Feedback

“How do you like to receive feedback?”
I have been sitting with that sentence.
Recently, in a social setting outside of work, someone learned that I am in a lesbian relationship and responded with a sexualized comment about his own preferences.
In the moment, I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
I laughed because my body reached for the response I have been trained to offer in uncomfortable moments: soften it, smooth it over, make it less awkward for everyone else.
That giggle was not for me. It was for him.
And almost immediately, I was angry with myself.
I replayed the moment later and found the sentence I wish I had reached for instead:
“How do you like to receive feedback?”
Not “Can I give you some feedback?”
Not “I’m sorry, but…”
Not a nervous laugh.
A pause. A breath. Eye contact.
“How do you like to receive feedback?”
It is curious. It is direct. It does not attack. It does not over-function. It does not require me to educate, rescue, or make the moment more comfortable than it was.
It simply creates a doorway.
Because there was feedback to offer.
The comment reduced me to who I love. It turned my identity into an opening for sexual commentary. It placed me in the position of deciding, in real time, whether to absorb it, confront it, laugh it off, or risk being seen as too sensitive.
Many women know this moment.
Many LGBTQ+ people know this moment.
Many people from underrepresented communities know the moment when something lands sideways, and your body responds before your voice catches up.
I am not sharing this because I handled it perfectly.
I did not.
I am sharing it because I want that sentence in my toolbox for next time.
And maybe it belongs in yours too.
“How do you like to receive feedback?”
A sentence for the moment before self-abandonment.
A sentence that gives us time to come back to ourselves.
A sentence that reminds us we can be calm, grounded, and clear without making ourselves smaller.