Emotion Work in Unhealthy Organizations

COR Working Papers Series © 2007 Center for Organizational Reform [COR] All Rights Reserved

Emotion Work in Unhealthy Organizations

Nancy Isaacson, Ph.D.

COR Working Paper #4

The Center for Organizational Reform [COR] www.corhome.org

The COR Working Papers Series is an online, reviewed collection sponsored by the Center for Organizational

Reform. The purpose of the series is to provide a collection of reflective writings, easily accessible to the public, which will stimulate reflection, conversation, and action on issues relevant to COR’s mission.

The COR Working Papers Series seeks to offer a broad perspective on these themes which cross

organizational and occupational fields. Some papers in the collection reflect issues specific to a particular setting, occupation, or type of organization; others are more generic in their focus. All Working Papers posted

by COR are available to the general public via the COR web site.

COR makes no representation or warranty whatsoever regarding the completeness, accuracy, currency, or adequacy of any information, facts, views, opinions, statements, or recommendations contained in the Working

Papers series. References to any product, process, publication, or service does not imply endorsement or recommendation by COR. Readers are responsible for seeking the advice of professionals as appropriate

regarding the information, recommendations, opinions, and advice of the content within each document.

Working Paper #4: Isaacson. Unhealthy Organizations Page 1

Emotion Work in Unhealthy Organizations

Nancy Isaacson

Imagine, if you can, an extremely psychologically unhealthy person. There are many ways

an individual can be psychologically unhealthy, of course, but here is a description of one

specific kind of sick individual:

He will choose you, disarm you with his words, and control you with his presence.

He will delight you with his wit and his plans. He will show you a good time, but you

will always get the bill. He will smile and deceive you, and he will scare you with his

eyes. And when he is through with you, and he will be through with you, he will

desert you and take with him your innocence and your pride. You will be left much

sadder but not a lot wiser, and for a long time you will wonder what happened and

what you did wrong. (Hare, 1993, p. 21)

Perhaps some of us have encountered a person like this, and, if so, it is a difficult memory to

call up. This type of unhealthy individual is charming, flattering, enticing, and charismatic;

but he is also controlling, manipulative, and dismissive. You feel like the most entranced

and lucky person on the face of the earth in the beginning of the relationship, and can only

marvel at the good fortune your life‟s path has now taken.

And then, after some confusing episodes in which—because you tend to be pretty accepting

and give others the benefit of the doubt—this person who entranced you is gone with no

explanation. Either “gone”, as in “gone”, or “gone” as in “has changed into someone else

you no longer recognize.” You wonder what happened, you wonder what was real and what

wasn‟t, and you wonder if you are crazy.

Now suppose we can magically transpose this same “personality” onto an organization‟s

culture. The story line would be similar: You apply for a position in this organization and,

after lavish positive attention to your professional credentials, you are offered the position of

your dreams. You‟re made to feel as if you are just the person the organization has been

seeking. Your initial experiences in this new workplace are also flattering and encouraging,

and you begin to settle into a rosier career pattern than you‟d ever dared to imagine for

yourself. Of course, there are some pockets of weirdness, some colleagues who don‟t seem

to fit the picture you‟ve been presented, some seemingly contradictory practices, but—

because you tend to be pretty accepting and give others the benefit of the doubt—you

assume that, well, no place is “entirely perfect.”

And then some day, either all at once or with an increasing sense of clarity, it all turns into

something else. Either you stumble over some barely visible trip-wire, or there‟s a terrible

misunderstanding, or somehow the veils lift and you see an entirely different situation, there


all along, but subterranean and invisible to newcomers. And the bubble bursts, the dream is

gone. Either “gone”, as in “you‟re fired or your job‟s been eliminated,” or “gone” as in “has

become transformed into a workplace very different—now that you can see clearly—from

the mirage you took it to be.” You wonder what happened, you wonder what was real and

what wasn‟t, and you wonder if you are crazy.

Unhealthy Systems: Individuals and Organizations

The portrait of the individual described above has been variously referred to as a sociopath,

psychopath, or a person with an antisocial personality disorder (Hare, 1993; Stout, 2005).

Here are some of the descriptions of such a person:

1. A psychopath is an individual without conscience as society defines it, driven by

the desire to meet his own needs without the capacity to consider or to care about the

consequences for others (Hare, 1993).

2. Clinically, someone with an antisocial personality disorder possesses at least

three of the following characteristics: (a) failure to conform to social norms; (b)

deceitfulness, manipulativeness; (c) impulsivity, failure to plan ahead; (d) irritability,

aggressiveness; (e) reckless disregard for the safety of self or others; (f) consistent

irresponsibility; lack of remorse after having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another

person (Stout, p. 6).

3. One of the more frequently observed traits of the sociopath is a glib and

superficial charm that allows this person to seduce others, figuratively or literally: a

kind of glow or charisma that, initially, can make the sociopath seem more charming

or more interesting than most [other] people around him. He or she is more

spontaneous, or more intense, or somehow more “complex,” or sexier, or more

entertaining than everyone else. (Stout, p. 7)

It is possible for therapists to consult the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental

Disorders, Fourth Edition (DSM-IV) (1994), the “Bible” of psychological mental health, in

order to document evidence of the behavioral “symptoms” of a patient, and arrive at a

diagnostic profile of the individual‟s “illness”. Theoretically then, based on this diagnosis,

different forms of treatment can be considered and attempted.

When we move to considering similar characteristics at the organizational level, we are left

in a very different situation. We have no “Organizational DSM-IV,” no common source for

institutional symptomatology. Yes, there is a small, and growing, literature about ways

organizations can become unhealthy, but it is a drop in the bucket compared to the

ubiquitous literature on organizations, businesses, management, leadership, and

administration in various institutional sectors. Pick up almost any contemporary book or

article within this universe and you will either find no reference to applying the author‟s

premises to “abnormal” organizations, or insinuations that any failures of the organization to


“behave” in a healthy manner can be placed at the feet of identifiable errant individuals

(e.g., “weak leaders” or “entrenched employees”). Therefore, if “the right people are on the

bus” (Collins, 2001), the bus will click along in the correct direction without further

breakdown.

I am very aware that “the problem” in some unhealthy organizations is exactly the presence

of one or more unhealthy individuals, as it would obviously be the case if a

psychopath/sociopath was present. But this is precisely my point. In many types of

unhealthy organizational cultures, we have no rational way to know the “cause” of the

pathology, or, as White (1997) contends, the problem in closed systems is that people lose

access to the kinds of feedback that can help answer the question “Is it me or this place?”

Hennestad (1990) calls this situation a double-bind organization, in which “members are

prevented from analyzing and increasing their insight into their own organizational

culture…. The models of reality which form the basis for organizational actions are neither

common knowledge, nor presented for public scrutiny, and thus they remain untested. A

fundamental effect of this situation is that organizations become characterized by a

“foreignness” where organizational processes emerge behind the backs of the organization‟s

members” (p. 276).

Getting Personal: My Purpose

I recognize that there are, indeed, many more types of unhealthy individuals and

organizations than those I discuss here. Perhaps I selected these examples because I‟ve

known both—I have trusted, and subsequently been harmed by more than one individual

that fits (what I now recognize as) the profile of a “socially proficient”

psychopath/sociopath.

I have also “done time” in an organization that fits both White‟s (1997) description as

“closed/ enmeshed” and Hennestad‟s (1990) “double-bind” situation. In both kinds of

relationships (human and organizational), I recognize that emotional scar tissues remain, but

I have also, over time, strengthened my capacity to reflect upon these experiences from a

more grounded perspective. Our recent paper (Fein & Isaacson, 2005) on the emotion work

of leaders in situations of organizational violence has been a catalyst for this (more

personal) reflection paper, and has provided a readiness to apply what I have learned to the

sense-making of my own experiences.

The purpose of this paper is to reflect on ways in which individuals may internally

experience and manage the emotional experience of membership in one type of unhealthy

organizational situation. To do so, I use the conceptual lens of emotional labor or emotion

work (Hochschild, 1979, 1983, 1990) which frames the individual management of

emotions, to a great degree, as a socially constructed phenomenon. This concept, therefore,

has both the dimensions of the very personal (feelings) and the very theoretical and abstract


(organizational sociology)—a blend which feels alternatively frightening and secure as I

share some perspectives on this phenomenon.

Emotion Work and Emotional Labor

The terms emotion work and emotional labor refer to individually- and culturally-proscribed

ways of experiencing, expressing, and managing emotions. And, although some scholars

distinguish between the two terms, I will follow the pattern of others and use them

interchangeably here. Unlike more popular psychologically-based research on emotional

intelligence and emotional competence, attention to emotion work/emotional labor uses a

more sociological perspective for exploring how shared meanings shape how we feel, how

we want to feel, and how we project feelings—authentic or contrived—to others around us.

The seminal work in this area was conducted by Arlie Hochschild (1979, 1983, 1990), who

identified two broad types of emotion work: (1) the evocation of emotion, in which the

cognitive focus is on a desired feeling which is initially absent, and (2) the suppression of

emotion, in which the cognitive focus is on an undesired feeling which is initially present.

Emotion work and emotional labor refer to the active management of one‟s emotions in

whatever ways seem to “fit” the situation as one defines it—a socially-constructed idea of

what it is appropriate, and inappropriate, to feel.

If I feel a specific emotion, and I display this emotion outwardly, exactly as I feel it, I am

not engaging in emotion work. Rather, I am expressing precisely what I am feeling, and I

haven‟t had to “do work” in any way. But if I exaggerate the degree of feeling or suppress it

at all, I have “managed” the expression of emotion, whether or not I am conscious of the

reason for doing so. Hochschild believes that this “reason” is culturally learned, “pulled

out,” and used as a (conscious or unconscious) guideline for whatever situation I find myself

in at the time. Putnam and Mumby (1993) argue that emotional labor is experienced most

strongly when people are socially “required” to express emotions that contradict their inner

feelings.

Hochschild (1979, 1983, 1990) believes that we engage in emotion work in two ways.

Borrowing from a theatrical metaphor, she terms these two approaches surface acting and

deep acting. “In surface acting,” she concludes, “we change feeling from the „outside in.‟ In

deep acting, we change feeling from the „inside out‟” (1990, p. 120).

Surface acting refers to “painted on” displays of emotion (Grandey, 2003; Hochschild,

1979, 1990). Simply put, surface acting is what we generally think of as “acting”. It is a

type of impression management, the ways I consciously try to appear to others, although

inside, I know that the truth is quite different. People engage in surface acting when they

mask their true selves in response to a social situation.


Deep acting, on the other hand, requires a person to consciously “work on” his/her inner

feelings so as to bring in line one’s inner feelings with the requirements of the situation

(Hochschild, 1983). In deep acting, I try to alter what I am feeling to truly “become” who I

want to be at the moment (Kruml & Geddes, 2000a). Much of the research on deep acting

has focused on how employees, when required to fulfill certain organizational roles, draw

on their workplace training or job requirements to “conjure up appropriate emotions—that

is, those that they are required to display” (Kruml & Geddes, 2000b, p. 11).

One consistent finding of this type of research has been that this emotion work is

exhausting. “To work on our internal states (i.e., deep acting) requires huge amounts of

attention and effort” (Grandey, 2003, p. 89). In both types of emotional labor—surface

acting and deep acting—the individual feels degrees of emotive dissonance, defined as the

difference between felt and feigned emotions (Hochschild, 1983).

Fineman (1993) concludes that the management of emotion is present in all social situations

(not only organizations), and that how we manage our emotions is culturally learned as

surely as are norms of language and behavior. Likewise, the social norms of the specific

situation also provide for sanctions if we do not “feel” appropriately.

There are subtle codes of emotion which connect all interpersonal encounters.

Learned facial movements, body postures and voice intonations offer a constant

stream of messages about feeling, which makes human interaction possible. Our

judgments of these are key to the quality or continuation of our relationships— work

or otherwise. They also test our skills at disguising private feeling with a public face,

key to many a commercial exchange…. Thus, there is a social consciousness about

what feelings to show in what circumstances. This is clear in situations such as

funerals, parties, courts of law and road accidents. (p. 16)

The Need for Emotion Work in Unhealthy Organizational Situations

In using the emotion work construct for thinking about the human experience in unhealthy

organizations, I begin with the assumption that most people do not enter or interact with

organizations expecting them to be unhealthy, just as they do not consciously expect that

people they encounter and interact with in day-to-day life will be psychologically

“abnormal”. In other words, I think “normality” is a basic assumption that most of us carry

into our interpersonal and organizational interactions most of the time.

Hochschild (1979) contends something similar in terms of how people assume they “should

feel” when they enter social situations, arguing that we notice the “prevailing mood” of a

situation and most people‟s emotional responses are to “match” the emotions of the setting.

When these kinds of assumptions are called into question in a relationship or setting that is

important to us (with either another person or an organization), the very act of questioning

itself will most likely produce an internal emotional reaction.


Emotions are urgent judgments; emotional responses are emergency behavior. An

emotional response occurs in a situation in which usual intentions are perverted or

frustrated [and therefore] an unusual response is necessary…. Emotions are

rational responses to unusual situations. They differ from "cool" judgments and

normal rational deliberate action in that they are prompted in urgency and in

contexts in which one's usual repertoire of actions and considered judgments will

not suffice…. Emotions are always urgent, even desperate, responses to situations in

which one finds oneself unprepared, helpless, frustrated, impotent, "caught." It is

the situation, not the emotion, that is disruptive and "irrational." (Solomon, 1973,

pp. 34-35)

In such an occasion however, even given the “normality of the „emotional response as

emergency behavior,‟ I would propose that most people would not outwardly demonstrate

whatever emotion they felt at the time. In other words, I believe that emotion work would be

used. It is this phenomenon—as well as others that may follow if the situation is disturbing

enough—that I want to examine through the emotional labor lens.

Surface Acting

Surface acting is essentially the same as “impression management,” the process of

consciously deciding to behave in such a way that projects an image very different from the

actor‟s true emotions at the moment. Poker players don‟t survive in the game without their

“poker faces.” After a school shooting in which children were injured and murdered, a

school principal puts on his “game face” to address the media “vultures” who want to know

how this horrible thing could possibly have happened in his school (Fein & Isaacson, 2005,

p. 15). Without his “game face,” the survival of his intact professional identity may be in

question.

What types of surface acting would individuals be most likely to utilize in a closed or

enmeshed organizational setting? For purposes of this paper, I would like to suggest three

types.

Managing the “Fight or Flight” Response

First, in unhealthy situations where we cannot rationally understand what is going on or

predict what may happen in areas that are extremely critical to us, most people will find

themselves in a state of incredible distress. Researchers have warned us for many years that

the human response to situations of high stress is the tendency to either “fight or flight.” I

believe that surface acting will be called upon to manage these internal feelings caused by

the natural human need to reduce the distress we feel.

What forms might this surface acting take? Simply appearing calm or nonchalant in

difficult interpersonal settings in the workplace—when that is absolutely not what is felt


inside—may be a common form of surface acting that ensures we “survive” in situations in

which we would like to bolt or to commit murder. This manifestation may include putting

on a “game face,” trying to appear relaxed, and speaking softly, quietly, and unemotionally.

All these manifestations provide protective façade that are intended to signal to others: “I‟m

okay. Nothing‟s rattling me.”

I would hypothesize that the vast majority of individuals in these types of unhealthy

situations will choose to engage in some form of emotion work through surface acting—

rather than honestly expressing the emotions which accompany the fight-or-flight response

to immense distress. As Putnam and Mumby (1993) contend, “Emotional labor occurs

through the necessity to remain in control and to deny the presence of stress and ambiguity”

(p. 55). The “myth of rationality” which dominates Western culture has programmed us to

believe that our emotions have no place in the contemporary organization. As Bloom

(1997) reminds us, “Emotional control is seen as a requirement of adult behavior” (p. 47).

For us to appear in “emotional control,” surface acting will be necessary.

Managing Hypervigilance

A second form of surface acting may be intended to manage the hypervigilance that comes

from a growing sense of insecurity and even paranoia that tends to be the norm for those

who find themselves in closed organizational situations. This insecurity and paranoia grow

when we realize that we cannot predict what will happen around us or to us, when our trust

has been broken, or when we‟ve been betrayed or harmed and do not want to repeat the

experience.

People in organizations are involved in various “intense relationships” with

colleagues and managers in which it is important to discriminate accurately what

message is being communicated or they could otherwise be harmed—making a

mistake could place them in a bad light [with others]. . . or in respect to career

possibilities. . . [They are left with the] feeling of something going on other than

what is said to be going on or the feeling that there are other agendas in action. . . .

[This situation can result in an] elucidating explanation of why “organizational

schizophrenia” can be identified. (Hennestad, 1990, pp. 269, 271)

One of the manifestations of hypervigilance is that people manifest their “internal auditors”

(Bies & Tripp, 1996), those psychological mechanisms which “keep score” and let them

know “where they stand” when organizational situations become insecure. We remember

and pay attention to clues far more keenly when we are wary than when we have no

concerns about our personal and professional safety.

Of course, different people manage this hypervigilance in different ways. Some become

overly submissive or passively dependent on those with the apparent power to bring an end

to our sense of ambiguity (Kets de Vries, 1993). Some bend so far backwards, attempting to

be understanding or compassionate, that they enable the dysfunction in the situation. Others


aggressively pursue clues to “what is really going on,” leaving no stone unturned in their

search for their own sense of security. They listen to what‟s said “between the lines,”

“replay mental tapes” of events and then cautiously test out with others what they‟ve

“discovered” during this cognitive reviewing process (Bies & Tripp, 1996). Many succumb

to one or more of the myriad physical symptoms of hypervigilance: sleeplessness,

headaches, gastro-intestinal upsets, etc.

The specific surface acting individuals utilize when managing this hypervigilance, then, will

depend on which of these styles they choose. The “submissives” will “play along,” censor

their speech, bite their tongues. The “aggressives” may “innocently” eavesdrop on

conversations, or strategically ask “innocent” questions of many others, especially those “in

the know.” “Surface acting by paper-trail” may mean over-documentation of everything the

person does as a defense against uncertain threats. Allcorn and Diamond (1997) argue that

these rampant self-protection strategies will always bear costs for the overall good of the

organization in the long run:

When the workplace becomes psychologically and socially defensive, it promotes

ongoing narcissistic injuries to employees, who become focused on themselves and

their needs. As a result, they are less willing to make sacrifices for organizational

well-being, and are not encouraged to take risks and assume personal responsibility

for their actions or inactions, often out of fear of being singled out and scapegoated.

(p. 18)

Cavaiola and Lavender (2000) argue that the specific situations in which one feels trapped,

abused, demeaned, and powerless can account for a large share of work exhaustion, anger,

and frustration. Hypervigilance requires human energy that is then not available for people

to use for more productive endeavors, including helping their employing organization reach

to its goals.

Managing Deviance of Not Being a “Team Player”

By nature, a closed organizational system requires that its members pass “extreme demands

for loyalty” (White, 1997). Those individuals who choose not to comply with both explicit

and implicit norms in such situations almost always generate a harsh response from others in

the culture, including layers of ostracism, displays of open or covert hostility, scapegoating,

and attempts to force them out of the organization .

Just as in the crazy family, where the boundaries between people, their

relationships, their needs and competencies are not respected, so also in the

dysfunctional organization, boundaries between roles, competencies, and interests

are not respected. Thus, true cooperation is impossible, because people are not

validated as having unique contributions to make. Instead, they feel disconfirmed

and superfluous and, as a result, become resentful, even sabotaging the company’s


efforts, or simply resigning and taking their expensive experience and skills with

them. (Davidson, 1993, p. 1)

Because these tendencies characterize closed organizational settings, therefore, it seems

reasonable that surface acting will be called upon to deal with the situation by those trapped

within them. This surface acting could take (at least) two forms. In the first, for an

individual who cannot or does not wish to be seen as deviant (but who is), surface acting

will be a necessary survival skill to protect the person‟s “cover”. This individual must

essentially act as if s/he is compliant with the norms of the closed situation, whatever this

compliance requires. This response is an “under-cover” one, and is enormously stressful.

A second, very different type of surface acting will be most likely seen from those who

choose not to hide their deviance in closed organizations. This need to act will probably take

the form of a “don‟t let them see you bleed” demeanor—stoicism in response to perceived

emotional abuse when experiencing the cultural sanctions certain to accompany their

noncompliant behaviors. Of course, this person has the option not to engage in emotion

work at all—in other words, to let others see just exactly how the sanctions are impacting

him emotionally—but I‟d predict that this response would be rare in most contemporary

workplaces.

Deep Acting

Surface acting may be necessary for persistence in unhealthy organizations, but deep acting

will almost certainly accompany it, and may extract an even greater personal toll on an

individual in such a situation. As opposed to “acting” or “putting on a game face” for the

benefit of others, deep acting refers to an individual‟s attempts to actually feel or to keep

from feeling certain emotions (Hochschild, 1979, 1983, 1990). In deep acting, I try to

change myself. Deep acting includes the ways I “talk to my brain” (Fein & Isaacson, 2005)

to remind myself what is most important or what I must psychologically cling to in order to

survive in extremely distressful situations. I will describe three ways it seems reasonable

that people may engage in deep acting during these ordeals.

Is It Me or the Situation?

By its very nature, membership in a closed organizational system is perceived by most

people to be crazy-making. Often, people cannot even verbalize what “isn‟t right:” “It is

sometimes impossible for people in distress to put into words those aspects of their

experience for which they want help. They do not know much consciously about what is

troubling them; they only know they are suffering” (Moylan, 1994, p. 51). In fact, it is this

sense of existential “insanity” that is one hallmark of the “sick” organization (Hennestad,

1990; White, 1997).


To address these questions requires more than a bit of personal insight and honesty, and it is

also immensely helpful to gain the perceptions of others. A crazy-making situation is one in

which it is difficult or impossible to pick up or to trust clues—leading to the hypervigilance

and fight-or-flight response described earlier. Within the organization, deciding who to

trust—meaning, those with whom I do not have to engage in surface acting—is likely to be

a critical part of managing this hypervigilance. Sometimes, even having one other person

who is “in the same boat” can make a huge difference in my sense of sanity in a double-bind

organizational situation (Flam, 1993).

To be alone, with no “comrades”, means I‟m never “off-stage,” and that I must manage the

“act” (i.e., engage in surface acting) whenever I‟m with anyone else, in every single social

situation. The need for deep acting when a person is completely psychologically isolated,

therefore, will be likely to be much more intense. In such cases, deep acting may mean I

hold up an internal magnifying glass to my every perception, each statement or behavior,

seeking readings from a variety of self-diagnostic gauges: “How did I do in that meeting?

Was that the best thing to have said? Should I have kept my mouth shut? What did his look

mean? What am I doing to cause my own suffering here?” Without someone else who sees

the situation as I do, a person that I trust as a credible source, and someone that answers,

“It‟s the situation that‟s crazy, not you”—without this source of validation, the person has

no external benchmark to gauge cultural reality and is left in the tortuous position of having

to navigate in the fog with no beacon.

A trusted support system outside the organization can be also life-giving for people in crazy-

making situations. Knowing that we are valued, and seen as sane, by others in our lives has

tremendous therapeutic value in another way. These people hear our stories of the

workplace and respond, “That‟s sick!” or “Why is that crap tolerated?” or in other ways that

echo our internal responses. In these ways, our own readings of self-sanity are validated.

Without that type of trusting external support system, the deep acting must again be much

more intense for us to deal with the distress of the organizational realities we face.

Likewise, it seems reasonable that people would be pressed to engage in more deep acting if

confidants outside the organization do not validate their perceptions of the organization‟s

“craziness”. In these cases, responses to our workplace tales do not confirm our basic sense

of sanity; rather, the response is disconfirming: “Are you sure that‟s what happened?” or

“You must not be reading the situation correctly—that couldn‟t have been what she meant!”

“Why did you say that? You should have shut up!” These types of responses certainly

address the question “Is it me or the situation?,” but not in a way that decreases our need for

deep acting. Instead, it may press us into even more, as the need to change the self has

seemingly been confirmed.

And yet, Merry and Brown (1987) cite one characteristic of a “neurotic” organization as

applying only to the dynamics of a set of interactions, not of the individuals involved. In the

scenario above—where my perceptions are questioned or not validated by others external to

the organization—it may be impossible that anyone outside the situation could “see” its

basic insanity. In these situations, I would estimate that the human psychological toll on a


person is exorbitant, because the need to “work on the self” through deep acting has been

reinforced on every front. This situation must push a person to an intense degree of self-

estrangement.

The Search for the “Inner Compass”

In situations of extreme ambiguity, intense distress, and questionable realities, a person

needs some sort of “inner compass” to find his way. Hochschild (1979), in describing

human responses to situations of “emotional dissonance” (when a person feels one way, but

tells himself that he should feel another) believes that we “assess the „appropriateness‟ of a

feeling by making a comparison between feeling and situation”… and then use “this

comparison [as] a „normal‟ yardstick for deciding how to manage our emotions about it (p.

560).

I propose that a second form of deep acting is this search for and focus on this inner

compass, what Hochschild calls a “yardstick,” and that this search constitutes the ways we

“talk to our brains” in order to maneuver our ways through the ordeals of unhealthy

organizational situations. For example, one relatively straightforward way for a person to

“stay centered” is to remind himself that, whatever happens, “not to take it personally.”

Parkin (1993), however, hints at the difficulty of holding onto such a stance in situations

where negative feedback is given:

This concept of "not taking things personally" is, I suggest, a false notion of human

emotionality: the idea that one can separate off part of oneself that will not be

affected when given negative feedback. This view separates person from feelings,

professional self from emotions, and is the basis for a spurious and damaging

duality which can make people feel vulnerable and inadequate when they do take

things personally. (p. 174)

For some individuals, remembering other ordeals in their pasts that tried their endurance

puts them in touch with stores of strength that are deep in inner reservoirs, and now must be

drawn upon to fuel their journey through this current ordeal. Others may focus upon

hardships that they have observed others bear, constantly modeling from the courage and

forbearance of these role models.

For many people, a reminder of the “kind of person I am or want to be” constitutes their

compasses: “Am I taking the high road here, despite how others are acting?” “Am I

„turning the other cheek‟?” The refusal to “be pulled down to their level” when cultural

norms are viewed as pathological or unethical, or the ability to “be strong” when sanctions

are leveled at noncompliance becomes a “test of personhood” that I pass or fail day after day

(sometimes hour after hour), depending on what constitutes my internal “yardstick”—be it

values, religious beliefs, or “the way I was taught.”


The “inner compass” also might involve asking myself clarifying questions that help to

orient me in the “fog” of crazy-making situations. For example, a focus on my “client,” or

my “purpose for being here,” or “what I‟ve been hired to do,” can be the way I “talk to my

brain” when I‟m distracted by the “noise” of organizational toxicity. This mental “channel-

turning” is used to “bring my emotions in line” with a different set of priorities than those

shouted by the culture, thus constituting a form of deep acting.

Finally, an “inner compass” may very well be focused on the question of choice; in other

words, how “trapped” or “tethered” am I to the need to persist in the unhealthy situation?

Although much of the (already sparse) literature on unhealthy organizations readily advises

individuals to “get out” of such toxic settings, I find this advice to be somewhat

disconnected from the economic realities of many people‟s lives.

Most people stay longer than they desire in less-than-desirable situations because, on the

whole, there‟s an economy of costs and benefits which is somehow tipped toward the

“benefit” side of the ledger: We want the health insurance, the company car, the pension

package. We have a mortgage to pay, our kids aren‟t through college, we want to be out of

debt, we‟re the major support of others. We don‟t have another set of skills that makes us

marketable anywhere else, or our career hinges on how well we succeed in this job.

It is helpful to consider some of Flam‟s (1993) ideas in regard to feelings of “stuckness” in

organizations. She describes some organizations as “attempt[ing] to secure complete loyalty

and voluntary compliance from their members. They also try to become the sole basis for

their members' social identity. In this sense, they set up extraordinarily demanding requests

on the individuals” (p. 62). Flam calls these greedy institutions. Most do not rely on overt

coercion to gain this loyalty and compliance, but on working toward shared values and

mission, the importance of the clients, the “great people here.” The organization presents its

needs as desperate and legitimate, and the fuel to meet these needs are those who do the

organization‟s work. However, over time, Flam notes, as individual members become more

and more miserable, many still hang on, apparently afraid to leave. Thoughts of exiting the

organization are especially painful for “high-loyalty members, even when they are already

aware that „their‟ organization has deteriorated beyond any hope” (p. 66).

[Most] delayed, sometimes never took, the decision to leave…. They feared losing

their jobs, and thereby their only source of income and/or professional identity. A

feeling—fear—informed the decision not to quit…. In these [situations], individuals

fear both unemployment and a loss of their work identity… [and therefore]… feel

compelled to accept jobs [they] abhor. (pp. 63, 67)

As Flam sees it, fear becomes the criterion that prevents many from exiting this type of

organization—and, I‟d argue—many other types as well. “Fear installs a—rationally

argued—weakness of will in most critical individuals” (p. 73). The fear makes sense when

our options are limited or nonexistent. However, she also notes, “Acting from fear causes a

profound loss of self-respect”(p. 65).


There is also evidence of another type of “entrapment,” one less easy to see and to name.

Aubert (1995) believes that contemporary Western culture delivers the message to people

that “You are nothing but your professional life.” In other words, at a taken-for-granted

level, people see their careers as the central organizing elements and the major source of

meaning in their lives, a cultural phenomenon Aubert sees to be at the heart of an

“existential perversity” leading individuals forms of self-destruction. He argues that this

invisible cultural leash, whatever the type of organization, is accompanied by the

assumption that our individual “career success” is inexhorably tethered to the organization‟s

—despite the quality of its overall health.

In these situations, where organizational exit is viewed as an invisible, unwise, or

impossible choice, Merry and Brown (1987) predict that people will engage in other types

of “survival” strategies: they will create a niche for themselves, form alliances with others,

become active or passive saboteurs, or create a “neurotic mechanism” to keep themselves

sane. I would also predict that the need for deep acting will be strong in these situations, as

individuals “talk to their brains” about all the reasons why they simply have no other choice

than to endure.

Dealing with Choices about Getting Even

Few people continue to simply “suck up” the effects of their continued presence in toxic

situations without responding in some way. Clearly, constant distress brings physical

responses to individual health and well-being, but also to the person‟s psychological

constitution, and to other social systems the person belongs to (marriage, family,

friendships). Some people do not respond outwardly to harmful situations, to their own

detriment—such as the research on individuals with “learned helplessness” (Seligman,

1967) and those with “low self-efficacy” (Bandura, 1977) demonstrates.

But most “healthy” people also “respond back” to others who hurt them, even if the “other”

is an organization, and even if they are severely constrained in their ability to do so by a

pathologically controlling culture. A final source for the need for deep acting can be found

in this normal need for protecting and/or asserting oneself in the face of harm. I argue that

this deep acting presents itself to the person in an unhealthy organizational situation in the

form of constant choices about how to “get even” or to “re-establish justice.”

Bies and Tripp (1996) suggest that most people respond in one or more of the following

behavior responses: they have fantasies of revenge; they privately confront the

perpetrator(s); they engage in identity-restoring behaviors (such as documenting their

experiences or confiding in respected colleagues and/or superiors about their perspective);

they socially withdraw; they escalate (make unauthorized use of company resources as “fair

compensation” for the harm done to them; bad-mouth the perpetrator(s); try to publicly

embarrass or humiliate others; engage in whistle-blowing to the media or regulatory

agencies; sue; engage in aggression or violence. And, whatever the choices, deep acting is

sure to accompany them.


Implications

The regulation of emotion is likely to be shaped by the place, people, and

organization in which it takes place. Emotional labor does not exist in isolation from

the conditions in which it is carried out; rather, the circumstances under which it

takes place influence the content and form of emotional labor. (James, 1993, p. 25)

My purpose in this reflection paper has been to argue that membership in one type of

unhealthy organization—referred to here variously as closed, enmeshed, and double-bind—

will require certain predictable forms of emotion work. Granted, my ideas come from

personal experience in such settings, but are also consistent with others‟ stories I have

collected over the years of sense-making in regard to my organizational studies. I have also

argued that a similarity of emotion work exists between membership in this type of

organization and a relationship with a certain type of psychologically-profiled individual—

who can also be considered closed in the sense that he cannot see a perspective other than

his own.

A major premise guiding these reflections come from three generalizations. First, presence

in an unhealthy system (like the relationship with an unhealthy person) will evoke definite

emotions from most people. Second, organizations (as well as some interpersonal

relationships) are generally not viewed culturally to be “appropriate” sites for the honest

expression of most emotions; they are, rather, dominated by “norms of rationality.” Finally,

because of these two prevailing situations, individuals “caught” in such emotion-producing

situations will need to engage in intense efforts to manage their normal emotional reactions.

I‟ve used the conceptual frame of emotion work and emotional labor to speculate about the

forms of surface and deep acting this emotion work may take.

One of the common themes of the emotional labor researchers has been the notion that

continued use of surface and deep acting exacts substantial costs on individuals. A most

obvious form of this emotional toll is the state of exhaustion that emotion work takes on

people. Grandey (2003) argues that emotional exhaustion—a state of depletion and

fatigue—is related to the amount of emotional labor required of an individual. In her work

on greedy institutions, Flam (1993) describes “the spiritually demanding and devastating

play-acting” necessary to survival (p. 68).

In addition to fatigue and exhaustion, whatever intrinsic rewards that come from our work

or that we gain from the social aspects of the workplace may be diluted by the constant need

to actively manage our emotions. Hochschild (1983) found that the need for emotional

labor for employees made “the job of „enjoying the job‟. . . harder and harder” (p. 125). To

the extent that we‟ve been socialized to expect that we should be fulfilled by our work, the

emotional labor required to cope with a toxic workplace is likely to fuel feelings of deep

resentment and/or loss.


By far the most significant toll that the emotional labor theorists describe is that continued

emotion work can cause damage to one‟s sense of self. Hopfl and Linstead (1993) maintain

that participants in their study described their work experiences as needing to be “„carried‟,

„borne‟, „worn‟; experiences which [were] likened to some burden, pressure, weight or

stress; experiences that weigh[ed] heavily on the individual's sense of self” (p. 76).

Membership in a closed organization will most probably mean that huge amounts of

“weight” will need to be “carried” emotionally, and the effects of “bearing” this weight can

distort the person carrying it. As presented here, a brief list of this “tonnage” will probably

include:

1. We must protect ourselves from people or situations that can harm us. Minimally

this means constantly “watching our backs” in overly politicized climates.

2. There will be some degree of mismatch between our deeply held values and that

of the organization as a whole or of others around us. Thus, we must constantly

weigh and then choose which values will guide our behavior. Any choice made will

have a cost.

3. We must constantly deal with interpersonal or intergroup dynamics which make

us extremely uncomfortable and insecure, dynamics which often push us into

reacting in ways that bring a sense of personal/professional guilt or shame.

4. If exit is not a viable option, we must find ways to survive in situations that are

toxic to us.

5. The nature of the closed organizational culture will sanction, scapegoat, or

ostracize individuals who do not conform.

6. We must constantly weigh what responses “back” are appropriate, responsible,

and/or ethical.

But there is good news. Hochschild (1983) argues that, if we are “healthy” people, we will

not give up our entire selves so easily. Therefore, we do not automatically give in and numb

out. Rather, we keenly feel the ambiguity, the entrapment, the anxiety. We learn to tolerate

sanctions and some levels of abuse. We manage our emotions—engage in surface and deep

acting—as we sort out our choices. And to some extent, we fight back before our

circumstances required we give up every bit of who we are.

To conclude, I think this is where Parker Palmer (date unknown) has something extremely

important to offer. In his thoughts about the limits of organizational change—trying to

fundamentally transform organizations from the inside—he provides an alternative: the

historical example of a social movement. A movement begins, Palmer argues, when

“isolated individuals make an inner choice to stop living divided lives” (p. 7), just as Rosa

Parks did in an Alabama bus 50 years ago:


Most of know from experience what a divided life is. Inwardly we feel one sort of

imperative for our lives, but outwardly we respond to quite another…. But there are

extremes of dividedness that become intolerable, and when the tension snaps inside

of this person, then that person, and then another, a movement may be under way….

But at the outset, it is a deeply personal decision, taken for the sake of personal

integrity and wholeness…. (p. 8)

I argue that continued membership within the type of closed, toxic organization I‟ve

addressed in this paper necessitates that healthy people will lead a divided life; I believe

that they will also engage in intense emotion work to maintain their sanity and self-

protection in such circumstances. In this type of organizational situation, the personal

decision to “no longer lead a divided life” is likely to bring immense personal costs,

regardless of the choices of how to respond. The same choice is faced by the person in a

relationship with a sociopathic individual: to refuse to be used, to stop playing the game, to

respond from a sense of integrity and self-respect—these personal decisions all involve

enormous degrees of insight and courage.

The theoretical perspective of emotion work/emotional labor allows a peek at what some of

the costs of not acting may be. Emotional numbing is not a free lunch. When I question the

craziness of a divided life, when I am hounded by the ambiguity of needing to manage my

heart, the very act of questioning brings me health as a human being.

It is a first step in refusing to collaborate in a diminishment of [my] own life….

[C]ourage is stimulated by the simple insight that my oppression is not simply the

result of mindless external forces; it comes also from the fact that I collaborate with

these forces, giving assent to the very thing that is crushing my spirit. With this

realization comes anger, and in anger is the energy that drives some people to say:

“Enough. My feet are tired. Here I sit.” (Palmer, n.d., p. 9)


References

Allcorn, S. & Diamond, M. (1997). Managing people during stressful times: The

psychologically defensive workplace. Westport, CT: Quorum Books.

American Psychiatric Association (1994). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental

Disorders, Fourth Edition. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association.

Aubert, N. (1995). Organizations as existential creations: Restoring personal meaning

while staying competitive. In T. Pauchant & Associates (Eds.), In search of

meaning: Managing for the health of our organizations, our communities, and the

natural world. (pp. 151-172). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Bandura, A. (1977). Self-efficacy: Toward a unifying theory of behavioral change.

Psychological Review, 84 (3), 191-215.

Bies, R.J. & Tripp, T. (1996). Beyond trust: “Getting even” and the need for revenge. In

R.M. Kramer & T.R. Tyler (Eds.), Trust in organizations: Frontiers of theory and

research (pp. 246-260). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

Bloom, S. (1997). Creating sanctuary: Toward the evolution of sane societies. New York:

Routledge.

Cavaiola, A.A. & Lavender, N.J. (2000). Toxic coworkers: : How to deal with

dysfunctional people on the job. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger Publications, Inc.

Collins, J. (2001). Good to great: Why some companies make the leap and others don’t.

New York: HarperCollins.

Davidson, P. (1993). Organizational dysfunction: A family metaphor. Leadership and

Organizational Development Journal, 14 (6), 1-3.

Fein, A. & Isaacson, N. (2005). Put on a happy face: The emotion work of leaders in crisis

situations. Paper presented at the annual conference of the International Leadership

Association, Amsterdam, November.

Fineman, S. (1993). Organizations as emotional arenas. In S. Fineman (Ed.), Emotion in

Organizations, (pp. 9-31). London: Sage.

Flam, H. (1993). Fear, loyalty and greedy organizations. In S. Fineman (Ed.), Emotions in

organizations (pp. 58-73). London: Sage.

Gabriel, Y. (1991, September). Organizations and their discontents: A psychoanalytic

contribution to the study of organizational culture. Journal of Applied Behavioral

Science, 27 (3), 318-336.


Grandey, A. A. (2003). When “the show must go on:” Surface acting and deep acting as

determinants of emotional exhaustion and peer-rated service delivery. Academy of

Management Journal, 48 (1), 86-96.

Hare, R.D. (1993). Without conscience: The disturbing world of the psychopaths among

us. New York & London: The Guilford Press.

Hennestad, B.W. (1990). The symbolic impact of double bind leadership: Double bind and

the dynamics of organizational culture. Journal of Management Studies, 27(3), 265-

280.

Hochschild, A.R. (1979, November). Emotion work, feeling rules, and social structure.

American Journal of Sociology, 85 (3), 551-575.

Hochschild, A.R. (1983). The managed heart: The commercialization of human feeling.

Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Hochschild, A.R. (1990). Ideology and emotion management: a perspective and path for

future research. In T.D. Kemper (Ed.), Research agendas in the sociology of

emotions, (pp. 117-142). New York: SUNY Press.

Hopfl, H. & Linstead, S. (1993). Passion and performance: Suffering and the carrying of

organizational roles. In S. Fineman (Ed.), Emotion in organizations. London: Sage.

James, N. (1993). Divisions of emotional labor: Disclosure and cancer. In S. Fineman

(Ed.), Emotion in organizations. London: Sage.

Kets de Vries, M.F.R. (1993). The incomplete self: Narcissism and the exercise of power.

In Leaders, fools, and impostors. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Kruml, S.M. & Geddes, D. (2000a). Catching fire without burning out: Is there an ideal

way to perform emotional labor? In N.M. Ashkanasy, C. Hartel, & W.J. Zerbe

(Eds.), Emotions in the workplace, (pp. 177-188). Westport, CT: Quorum Books.

Kruml, S.M. & Geddes, D. (2000b). Exploring the dimensions of emotional labor: The

heart of Hochschild‟s work. Management Communication Quarterly, 14, 1, 8-49.

Merry, U. & Brown, G. (1987). The neurotic behavior of organizations. . Lake Worth, FL:

Gardner Press.

Moylan, D. (1994). The dangers of contagion: Projective identification processes in

institutions. In A. Obholzer & V.G. Roberts, The unconscious at work: Individual

and organizational stress in the human services (pp. 51-59). New York: Routledge.


Palmer, P. (n.d.). Divided no more: A movement approach to educational reform.

Unpublished manuscript. Distributed by the author, Gonzaga University, 1996.

Parkin, W. (1993). The public and the private: Gender, sexuality, and emotion. In S.

Fineman (Ed.), Emotions in organizations (pp. 165-187). London: Sage.

Putnam, L.L. & Mumby, D.K. (1993). Organizations, emotion, and the myth of

rationality.In S. Fineman (Ed.), Emotion in organizations (pp. 37-55). London:

Sage.

Seligman, M.E.P. & Maier, S.F. (1967). Failure to escape traumatic shock. Journal of

Experimental Psychology, 74, 1-9.

Solomon, R.C. (1973, September). Emotions and choice. The Review of Metaphysics: A

Philosophical Quarterly, XXVII, 1, 105, 20-41.

Stout, M. (2005). The sociopath next door. New York: Broadway Books.

White, W.L. (1997). The incestuous workplace: Stress and distress in the organizational

family. Center City, MN: Hazelden.

Suggested citation:

Isaacson, N.S. (2006). Emotion work in unhealthy organizations. Working Paper #4,

Center for Organizational Reform, Spokane, WA. Retrieved from: www.corhome.org

http://www.corhome.org/

Documents

Emotion Work in Unhealthy Organizations