Uncouth but Misunderstood

I’ve always believed that mixing family and business is risky. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But sometimes, you don’t get to choose how opportunities come.

Few years ago, I worked for a family member. Looking back, it was the hardest job I’ve ever done—not because the work itself was difficult, but because of the expectations, the unspoken scrutiny, and the constant fear of offending someone I cared about. The job was virtual, but it followed me everywhere. I worked at least 16 hours a day, seven days a week. My official hours were meant to be 9 hours, five days a week, but the workload always spilled over into my spare time. Courtesy of being “family.”

I was burnt out. Overwhelmed. Anxious.

Still, I couldn’t speak up. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I didn’t want drama. And most of all, I didn’t want to disappoint someone who had trusted me.

The truth is, I’ve never been good at expressing myself without fearing I’ll offend someone. It’s something I still struggle with. I overthink what to say, how to say it, when to say it. I rehearse conversations in my head a million times before I say a word, and even then—it might not land right. That fear has made me shrink myself more times than I care to admit.

One day, my boss—my family member—called to express frustration over how “slow” I had been at work lately. I tried to explain, calmly and professionally, that I’d been overwhelmed and needed support. I promised to do better.

But she got angry. Very angry. She said a lot of things I’ve since forgotten, but there’s one word that still echoes in my head: uncouth.

She called me uncouth.

That word hit me harder than I expected.

It didn’t just mean I was awkward. It meant I was unrefined, unpolished, rude—lacking grace. I remember going through our messages afterward, even showing them to a few people to ask, “Was I rude?” The answer was always no.

Still, the word stuck.

What made her think of me that way? I had spent Christmases with her family growing up. I don’t even blame her for what she said in the heat of the moment. But I do wonder: Did she always see me that way?

The truth is, I’ve always known I was… different. A little awkward. Maybe even weird. You don’t have to tell me—I already know. But there’s a part of me that never wanted people to see that. I’ve tried so hard to be composed, soft-spoken, well-mannered. To be refined. And when I can’t do that, I hide. I go quiet. I fold into myself.

But lately… I’m learning to come out of that shell.

To spread my wings.

To accept my weirdness without apology.

To grow, learn, and express myself more freely—

And still not lose my authenticity.

That word—uncouth—hurt me deeply.

But maybe it also pushed me closer to understanding who I really am.

And who I no longer need to pretend to be.