Why Intention Doesn’t Cancel Impact
Part 1 of 2: Understanding the Three Types of Harm
MICROAGGRESSION SERIES · TWO-PART SERIES
Someone says something that lands hard. The person on the receiving end names their pain. And almost immediately, the conversation shifts: “That’s not what I meant. I would never want to hurt you. You know my heart.”
And just like that, the impact disappears from view.
This happens so often, and so fast, that most of us don’t even notice the switch. One moment we are talking about how someone was hurt. The next, we are talking about whether the person who did it is a good person.
These are two very different conversations. And only one of them leads anywhere worth going.
Impact First. Intention Second.
In the work of responding to microaggressions, one of the most important things I teach is this: attend to impact before intention.
This doesn’t mean intention doesn’t matter. It does. Understanding why someone said or did something can bring relief and context. It can help the person who was hurt make sense of their experience and decide how much risk they want to take in continuing to engage.
But intention cannot be the first thing we reach for. When we lead with intention, we ask the person who was hurt to hold their pain and comfort us at the same time. We shift the weight of the moment onto the person who is already carrying the most.
Attending to impact first says: What happened to you matters. Let’s start there.
Not All Harm Looks the Same
Here is something that often gets missed in conversations about microaggressions: harm doesn’t always arrive the same way. And the kind of harm that happened shapes everything about how an actor can show up in response.
I find it useful to think about three distinct situations.
The first: deliberate harm. This is when someone knew what they were doing and chose to do it anyway. The slur muttered just loud enough to hear. The comment made to remind you that you don’t belong. There is no ambiguity about intent here. The person who caused the harm was aware of it, and they meant it.
The second: unintentional harm, eyes open. This is when someone didn’t intend to cause pain, but once they see the impact, they recognize it. Something was said with warmth, or curiosity, or what felt like good humor. And then they could see on the other person’s face, or hear it in their voice, that something landed wrong. The intention was genuine. The impact was still real.
The third: unintentional harm, eyes closed. This is often the hardest. Someone said or did something that caused harm and has no idea. They walked away from the interaction feeling fine, possibly even good. The person they affected is carrying something they don’t even know they put down.
Each of these situations calls for a different kind of response from the person who caused the harm. And each one, in its own way, tests something in us.
The Melon Story
Let me tell you a story I share in my workshops, because it gets at something important about the second type of harm.
It’s a warm summer afternoon. My family loves melon, and I’m cutting some up for my kids. My whole intention in that moment is nourishment, pleasure, something cool and sweet for their bodies. As I bring the knife down through the fruit, one of my children reaches out to grab a piece and the knife catches their hand.
Now: would it make sense for me to say, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so devastated that you think I hurt you. I just wanted to give you something delicious. You know how much I love you. That melon was going to be so good”?
Of course not. The child is bleeding. What matters right now is the cut.
This is what it looks like when we rush to intention. We stand over someone who is hurting and talk about how much we didn’t mean for it to happen. We make the story about ourselves, at the very moment someone else needs our full attention.
Attending to impact first means picking up what needs to be tended to. It means asking: Are you okay? Let me look at that. What do you need right now?
Intention can come later, after the wound has been acknowledged. Often it does bring some relief. But it cannot come first, and it cannot come in place of care.
What Can an Actor Actually Do?
The answer depends, in part, on which of the three types of harm applies.
When the harm was deliberate, the work is different and harder. It requires something deeper than technique. It asks the actor to look honestly at what drove the action and to take responsibility not just for the impact, but for the intent behind it. This is not a conversation that can be rushed or performed. If you caused deliberate harm and want to do something meaningful about it, begin with your own inner work. Seek support from someone outside the situation. When you return to the person who was harmed, come without any expectation that your accountability will be received as repair. It may take time. It may not be welcomed at all. That is yours to sit with, not theirs to resolve for you.
When the harm was unintentional but you can see it, the path is clearer, though still not easy. The most important thing is to resist the pull to explain yourself. That pull is strong. It feels urgent. It comes from a real place, from the genuine desire to be known for who you actually are rather than the impact you inadvertently created. But that desire, as understandable as it is, belongs elsewhere. Take it to a friend. Take it to a journal. Take it somewhere you can receive care for it. Then come back to the person you affected.
When you come back, come with curiosity, not defense. Name what you noticed. “I could see that something I said landed in a way that was painful for you. I want to hear whatever you’re willing to share about what that was like, and I want to figure out together what I can do to address the impact.” Then listen. Stay with them in the discomfort of what they share. Mourn with them, not for your own sake, but genuinely for what they experienced. And here’s something I return to again and again in my workshops: “I’m sorry” is most healing when it comes after the person impacted has been fully heard, not before. Said too early, it can function as a door being closed rather than one being opened.
When the harm was unintentional and you didn’t even know it happened, you are often learning about it secondhand, or much later, or from someone willing to take the risk of telling you. That willingness is a gift. Treat it like one.
The natural response when someone tells us we caused harm we weren’t aware of is to become defensive, or to collapse into shame. Neither one actually helps the person in front of you. Defensiveness says, I can’t hear this. Collapse says, Now you have to take care of me. What the person who was harmed actually needs is for you to slow down, take in what they are saying, and stay present with their experience.
You don’t have to have all the words. Here are a few ways to begin, depending on where you are:
If you’re still taking it in: “I didn’t know this happened. I need a moment to sit with what you’ve just shared. Can we talk more about what that was like for you?”
If you’re ready to listen: “I’m glad you told me, even though I imagine it wasn’t easy. I want to hear whatever aspect of your experience you want to share with me. I’m not going anywhere.”
If you want to move toward repair: “I want to understand the impact fully, and I want to take real steps to address it. What would feel like repair to you — even partially?”
None of these phrases are scripts to recite. They are starting points. What matters more than the exact words is the orientation behind them: you are here to receive, not to defend. To ask, not to explain. To find out what repair looks like to the person in front of you, not to decide what repair should look like on their behalf.
Then let yourself be changed by what they share. Accountability is not just the moment of hearing about the impact. It is also the willingness to ask: What can I do about it? And to mean it.
A Note on Shame
Whatever type of harm applies, shame is almost always nearby for the actor. This is worth naming directly.
Shame tells you that what you did reveals something fundamentally wrong with you. It freezes you, or makes you run. In the context of microaggressions, where there is so much fear of being seen as harmful, shame often comes in fast and hard.
But shame, left unprocessed, serves no one. Not you, and not the person you hurt.
What I encourage instead is what I call composting your shame. When shame arrives, instead of drowning in it or fighting it off, get curious about what it is pointing to. What does it tell you that you value? What does it reveal about the kind of person you want to be? Use that information. Let it move you toward accountability rather than away from it.
Shame that becomes self-knowledge becomes useful. Shame that becomes self-flagellation becomes one more thing the other person has to manage.
Reflective Practice
Think of a time when you caused harm, whether deliberate, unintentional but visible, or something you only learned about later.
Ask yourself:
- What did I do with my intention in that moment? Did I lead with it?
- What did the person who was hurt actually need from me?
- What got in the way of me offering that?
- If I could return to that moment now, what would I do differently?
You don’t need to have done it perfectly then to learn from it now. That’s the whole point.
In Part 2
Understanding what happened from the actor’s side is only half of the picture.
For the person on the receiving end, the kind of harm matters in a different way. Deliberate harm, while painful, is clarifying. But unintentional harm, especially harm the actor didn’t even know they caused, raises a different set of questions: Did that really happen? Am I overreacting? Do I even have the right to say something?
In Part 2 of this series, we’ll explore the particular dilemmas the receiver faces in each of these three situations, and what it looks like to trust your own experience and respond in a way that honors your needs, whatever you decide to do with it.
In Part 3
This was initially a two-part series. A reader’s letter changed that. Read Part 3: On Facilitation, Self-Forgiveness, and Who We Ask to Carry Our Repair
If this is work you want to practice in community, my upcoming course Coaching Across Microaggressions begins April 17. We explore these dynamics in real time, with real scenarios, and real support.
