That’s what I’ve been called, and probably often thought of as. It’s far from the worst though – that has to be, hands down, “pitbull terrier”.

I saw that Theresa May, the new UK prime minister, was described in these terms (the homo sapien version that is, not the canine one) by a colleague. A man, of course. It made me smile. What did he mean, I wonder. That she’s not a pushover? She stands her ground and fights her corner? She is demanding? Or she’s simply impossible to manipulate/cajole/coerce into doing something she doesn’t believe in?

I can think of many men who possess those attributes. Steve Jobs is notorious for being demanding to a fault. That’s how we get the iPhone with only one button. LKY is known not to take any prisoners. That’s why a tiny island could be transformed from third world to first in one generation. Churchill refused to yield to Hitler, nor the pacifists in his own country. That changed the course of World War II. Similar traits, no? But none of them has been called “a bloody difficult man”?

Don’t worry, I’m not going to rant about the double bind/standards between men and women. I already did so in “It’s tough being a woman!”. My mission with this post is to explain to the uninitiated and the intimidated the phenomenon that is being bloody difficult, and that sub-specie, the bloody difficult woman (“BDW”).

There are quite a few BDWs in The Firm. I count Equally Fierce and Little Swallow, and a couple of others from Legal and Ops. I’m in good company! We’ve all had the honour at one point or another of being branded a BDW either secretly (by our wiser detractors) or openly (by those clueless ones). How do you identify a BDW? Let’s see. Our focus on (and command of!) detail, refusal to suffer fools, aversion to NATO (No Action, Talk Only), animosity towards “cannot do” and its cousin “yes, but”, our insistence on discipline, thriftiness with praise, and our sense of urgency. The list goes on! These behavioral traits often confound people. So out the labels come. Nouns like task master, slave driver and dragon lady. Adjectives like cold, insensitive and inhuman. The semi-polite catch-all phrase? Bloody difficult.

As a leading expert on this sub-specie (!), I feel compelled to explain. Far from being cold and insensitive, our first problem is actually that we care too much.

We care too much about our duty. In the words of Theresa May, we have a job to do, and we get on with it. With single mindedness. Rain or shine, summer or winter, weekday or end, we get on with it. Problem is, we expect others to, too. Doesn’t sit well with a variety of people, we know.

We care too much about being fair. We hold everyone to the same (high) standards, and praise is for those who meet those, not a tool for (dare I say, soul destroying) ego management. You know how easy it is to slap “well done”, “good job” and “awesome” on every piece of work? It’s called lying. What do you say to differentiate excellence then? “Very well done”, “truly good job” and “totally awesome”?? Husband just told me that at one of his previous companies, there were four grades of “good job” – that, great job, excellent job, and the piece de resistance, outstanding job. Err, really?

We care too much about progression. We cannot help but urge improvement towards a stronger (professional) self and we see it as our duty to point the way. That’s our maternal instinct at play, really. Unfortunately, it entails navigating the tricky path called “constructive criticism” and our lack of direction sense often trips us up here. Our preferred mode of delivery is straight up, guided by our best intentions, but alas we often end up blowing The Ego up. Unintended collateral damage.

Our second problem is our conviction. Of what is right and what is worthy. An unshakable belief in, translating into a steadfast commitment to, the cause, whatever that may be. And this usually means we don’t lose sight of the long term goal, and will not sacrifice that for short term gains. And it also often means we consider the greater and common good first and foremost, not individual preferences. We know what others call this – rigidity. And we know that doesn’t make us hugely popular. But you know, we are not in it to be liked. So whilst it sometimes hurts (there, I’ve just conceded we have feelings too!), we accept that as the price we pay for the cause, and we just ahem, get on with it.

Since I alluded to Theresa May, it feels only symmetrical to mention David Cameron. I like him, his wit, charm and eloquence. If you haven’t watched his last Prime Minister’s Questions, go You-Tube it. I’ve watched it half a dozen times. But equally I can’t help but feel that he made a huge mistake. He faced tremendous pressure from the eurosceptics in his own party. He yielded. He took a gamble on his country’s future to solve an immediate problem. He lost. Maybe it’s the expediency of politics. Or maybe, just maybe, he simply wasn’t bloody difficult enough.

I hope I’ve contributed a tiny bit to your understanding of this phenomenon and sub-specie. Next time you encounter a BDW, see beyond how she looks (she usually looks good, by the way) and hear beyond what she says. Beneath that icy and tough exterior and within those blunt and unflattering words lies a heart in the right place. Look into her soul and you’ll find it.

I have two other children. A daughter, Strawberry and a son, Blondie. No, they are not a result of my teenage irreverence. They are Husband’s kids from his previous marriage, and live with their mum in Europe. It’s that time of the year when we get to spend some time with them, and Son is beside himself with excitement.

When I first met Husband, he was already separated. I believe everyone enters into a marriage with the best of intentions but intentions alone do not decide the outcome. Circumstances change, people grow but not necessarily together, they start to realise they want different things in life, etc. Life is so long yet so short. Long enough to make eternity out of every minute of loneliness in an unfulfilling marriage, yet too short to justify scarificing a lifetime at the altar of convenience or fear or obligation. Of course those best intentions when rings are exchanged and vows taken should mean that neither party gives up easily. But if everything’s been tried, in honesty and fairness, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to concede defeat and move on so both parties can have another shot at happiness, rather than grind each other’s soul down to nothingness. That’s death’s job…

A marriage may break down, but that will never severe the relationship between a parent and his/her kid(s). That love is solely between a parent and his/her child, entirely independent of the love between the parent and his/her partner. And that responsibility survives any relationship the parent subsequently has or doesn’t have with anyone else.

On both of these aspects, Husband has clarity. It doesn’t mean he didn’t struggle emotionally with the end of his marriage, or having to live apart from his kids. But he knew what was not in his capacity to excel at – his marriage – and what was – his parental duty and love. He accepted the former and focused on the latter. I’ve always admired him for this clarity.

In the years that we’ve been together, he’s never stopped loving and caring for Blondie and Strawberry. Distance is obviously a big obstacle when we moved back to Singapore but he speaks to them every week and tries to see them as frequently as possible. He makes it a point to stop over whenever he travels to Europe for work. Blondie and Strawberry are grown up now and both have turned out nicely, leading their own lives responsibly. The bulk of the credit goes to their mum of course. But I’d like to think Husband played his part too. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t always been hunky dory. There were many difficult moments too, but that’s life, no?

As for me, The Step-mother, I’ve been grateful for having them. They’ve offered me a fast track insight into motherhood, and how fast kids grow! I still remember the first time I met them. They sat at the back of Husband’s car and stared out tentatively as I approached, this strange woman whom they probably feared would be their new mum. But I never tried to play that role. My complete incompetence aside, I also believe that’s not my role to play. I try to be their friend instead. Offering advice, especially on how to manage their dad!

What has truly amazed me is the love the three of them – Strawberry, Blondie and Son, that is – share. Son absolutely adores his elder siblings. Nothing excites him more than the prospect of seeing them. Well, except perhaps for some extra iPad time.. And I can see they love him dearly too. Distance hasn’t diluted that bond. Nor the fact they have different mums. One of my happiest moments is watching them play together. A reminder that out of Husband’s difficult decision came this three bundles, big and small, of joy. In life, making a difficult decision for the long term good is not usually the worst thing. Not making it due to short term pain often is.

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