When two people decide they just don't like each other
Judie had been with the organization for more than 40 years when Nelson arrived. Their very first conversation set the tone for what would become a deeply entrenched conflict. Judie had been promised a team member from another department, and when she mentioned it to Nelson, he simply said, "She's not coming to work for you." No context, no discussion—just a flat contradiction of what she'd been told.
From that moment, Judie made up her mind about Nelson: He was inexperienced. He didn't understand how things worked here. He'd be gone in a hot minute. Nelson, for his part, felt dismissed from day one—the new guy whose thoughts and perspectives didn't matter because Judie was the expert and everyone defaulted to what she wanted.
What followed was years of professional tension. In meetings, they sat on opposite sides of the room. Conversations were short, abrupt, just the facts. Nelson felt like Judie was a hindrance to moving the organization forward. Judie felt like Nelson was an obstacle in her way. They both felt ignored, marginalized, and dismissed by the other.
As Judie put it simply: "We don't like each other." And Nelson was equally convinced: "This relationship was never, ever going to work."
What looks like a personality conflict is often a collusion
When Judie attended an Arbinger workshop, the facilitator introduced the concept of collusions—those mutually reinforcing conflicts where both people are contributing to the problem while blaming the other. Judie's first reaction was dismissive. "I didn't think Nelson and I were in a collusion. We simply just didn't like each other."
That's the thing about collusions—they rarely feel like collusions from the inside. They feel like justified responses to difficult people. Nelson saw Judie as a hindrance, so he became dismissive. Judie saw Nelson as inexperienced and temporary, so she became resistant. Each person's behavior gave the other person more evidence that they were right to feel the way they did.
The cost of this dynamic wasn't just personal frustration. There was a financial cost, a timing cost, an opportunity cost. Problems that should have been solved together went unaddressed. Both of their professional reputations suffered. And the people around them had to navigate the tension every day.
A phone call nobody expected to answer
During the workshop, participants were encouraged to reach out to someone they were having difficulties with. Judie decided to call Nelson—but not because she wanted to repair the relationship. She called because she knew he wouldn't answer the phone, and at least she could say she'd made the good faith effort.
But Nelson answered. And Judie, caught off guard, found herself being honest: "Nelson, I just get the feeling like you and I, we have to work together and we're not doing it as well as we could. Are there things that we can do to try to just get along better?"
Something clicked for Nelson in that moment. He realized what Judie was trying to do, and he made a commitment—not just to her, but to himself—that they would try to make this thing work. He suggested they meet for coffee when he was in her building later that week.
The shift: From colleagues who tolerated each other to people who saw each other
That first coffee meeting led to another, and then another. For months, Judie and Nelson met regularly—sometimes conversations went on for an hour—just talking. Not about work problems or organizational politics, but about their lives. Nelson learned that Judie had a daughter, that her parents lived nearby. Judie realized that Nelson understood more than she'd given him credit for.
"Once we got into the mindset of looking at each other as people," Judie reflected, "there was a lot that we did." The shift wasn't about tactics or communication techniques. It was about seeing another human being instead of an obstacle.
More than a year later, the organization went through a reorganization. Judie's supervisor came into her office, closed the door, and delivered what he assumed would be bad news: Judie was going to be reporting to Nelson. He braced for her reaction. Instead, she said, "I am 110% fine with working for Nelson."
From adversaries to trusted colleagues
Today, Judie looks to Nelson as a mentor. Nelson considers Judie one of his most trusted colleagues. The relationship that both of them were convinced would never work has become one of the strongest professional partnerships in the organization.
"From where we started," Nelson said, "I would have never, ever thought we would be where we are." And the impact extends beyond just the two of them. "There's a new vibe out there," Nelson observed. "And I think Judie and I working together is part of that vibe."
The relationship you think can't be fixed might just need a different starting point
Judie and Nelson's story is a reminder that the conflicts we're most certain about are often the ones we're most wrong about. They were convinced they simply didn't like each other—that it was a personality issue, an irreconcilable difference. What they discovered was that they'd never actually seen each other as people. They'd only seen obstacles, hindrances, problems to work around.
The shift didn't require either of them to become a different person. It required them to see the other person differently. And that started with a simple, honest question: Are there things we can do to just get along better?
If there's someone in your organization you've written off—someone you're convinced you just don't like—it might be worth asking whether you've ever really tried to see them. Not their role, not their style, not the ways they frustrate you. Them.
Frequently asked questions
Q: What if I try to reach out and the other person doesn't respond?
A: Judie assumed Nelson wouldn't answer the phone—that was part of why she called. But even if he hadn't answered, the attempt itself matters. You can't control how someone else responds, but you can control whether you're genuinely trying to see them differently. Sometimes it takes multiple attempts. Sometimes the other person needs to see consistency before they'll engage. The question isn't whether they respond immediately—it's whether you're approaching them as a person rather than a problem.
Q: How do you have these conversations without it feeling forced or awkward?
A: It probably will feel awkward at first—and that's okay. Judie didn't have a polished script when Nelson answered the phone. She just said what was true: We have to work together, and we're not doing it as well as we could. Honesty about the situation, combined with genuine curiosity about the other person, goes further than any technique. The awkwardness fades as the relationship becomes real.
Q: What if the other person really is the problem?
A: That's what both Judie and Nelson believed about each other—and they were both wrong. The nature of a collusion is that each person is contributing to the problem while being convinced the other person is the cause. That doesn't mean there are never genuine performance issues or behavioral problems that need to be addressed. But before you conclude that someone else is entirely at fault, it's worth honestly examining how you might be contributing to the dynamic. Often, when one person shifts, the whole relationship shifts.
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