The Aggressive Bill

Collateral

(A Poem for When Systems Forget They’re Speaking to Souls)

They didn’t mean to hurt you.
They just didn’t look.

They coded the rules
to protect against risk —
but not against ache.

Somewhere,
a spreadsheet screamed:
“Never again.”

And so the platform
stiffened.
The language became law.
The law became armor.

And the armor
didn’t recognize
your face.

You were not the risk.
You were not the loophole.
You were just
a person
trying to do the right thing
without being dragged
through someone else’s fear.

But systems don’t know
the cost of tone.
Or what it means
to be blamed
when all you wanted
was peace.

So when the form locked you out,
and the silence got loud,
and the total kept shifting —
it wasn’t cruelty.
But it wasn’t care either.

It was
collateral.

The bruise left
by someone else’s
never again.

When Protector Systems Meet Protector Systems

What if that cold, confusing payment platform wasn’t trying to punish you, but protect itself from something it once got blamed for?

I never used to think of businesses as carrying wounds.

But then I stood in my kitchen, staring at the screen of an aggressive billing platform. Its language was cold, pushy, robotic. Something clicked.

It felt like watching the nervous system of an entire organization laid bare. Not a glitch. A protector.

It started so simply

A cyst. Minor surgery. I paid in cash, proudly, with a kind of old-school integrity. I even asked if I could pay the entire cost upfront.

"No," they said. The system wouldn't allow it.

So I paid for the removal. Every charge I was shown. I left believing I was settled. Done. Clear.

But I wasn't.

When the platform spoke

The message came a week later. Sterile white screen, gray font, urgent tone.

You owe $50. No itemized breakdown. Barebones. No explanation. No context. Just demand of payment. With no way to connect to the actual payment platform to make sure it was real.

Then another message a few days later, shouting in all caps: YOU MUST CONFIRM YOUR APPOINTMENT.

I tried. But the system locked me out, giving me options to pay the mystery balance. I finally see the option, “PAY BALANCE IN CASH IN OFFICE.” I select this. Then it screamed at me again, “ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PAY IN OFFICE? DEBIT CARD IS SO MUCH EASIER.”

I wondered, easier for who?

This time it had a number to call, hidden behind a button. I still didn’t know if I trusted it. Would the numbber lead to the medical office, or was this a well executed scam built to prey on trust?

And in that moment, something deep inside me lit up. Not clarity. Not curiosity. Heat.

Old wounds, new sparks

The sensation was familiar. That sharp, clenching swirl in my chest. The feeling of being accused of something I didn't do. The dread of being treated like a liar, a thief, someone not to be trusted.

I wasn't just angry. I was activated. By an impersonal system. My body knew this place, even if my mind didn’t. The system may have been impersonal, but the pain wasn’t.

Because I've been here before. Blamed for things that weren't mine. Silenced. Dismissed. Misunderstood.

This wasn't about a bill anymore. It was about power. About being rendered powerless.

And all I wanted to know was: Am I paid in full? Is this a scam? Or am I about to be dragged into a manipulative spiral of demands I don't deserve?

The paper trail

A few days later, the envelope arrived.

A real bill, printed and sealed. One hundred twenty-six dollars.

It landed in my mailbox the day before my appointment to remove stitches, like a reminder that I wasn't safe until I proved myself again.

Part of me wanted to race down there, cash in hand, just to shut it all down. To make it go away.

Because being chased for money I didn't understand I owed didn't feel like a clerical error. It felt like a violation. I had no idea the money was to be collected for a biopsy I didn’t feel I needed.

Then came the phone call.
“Do you have a moment?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“The test came back — it was a cyst, just as expected.”

All I could say was, “Yes, we knew that. Thank you for your call.”

I didn’t protest the extra test.
I didn’t protest the billing.

The moment everything clicked

That's when the perspective shifted.

This platform wasn't just difficult. It was armored.

Not out of cruelty, but out of pain.

Someone, somewhere in that system, had said never again. Never again would they be blamed for a missed charge that a patient hadn’t paid. Never again would they be sued over something that looked benign but wasn't. Never again would they trust what turned out to be false.

So they built their protectors. Layers of policy. Automation. Control. Mistrust.

Just like we do. Here is more about why that might be…

The System’s Story

There was a time when trust left them exposed. Patients didn’t pay, promises weren’t kept, and the clinic felt the sting of being taken advantage of. In response, the system adapted. Not out of malice, but out of self-protection.

• Systemic distrust: The memory of unpaid bills whispers, “Don’t be naive again.” So the system greets every person with suspicion, hoping to prevent future harm.

• Systemic rigidity: Policies became the armor. “The system doesn’t allow it” is another way of saying, “We can’t afford to be hurt again.” Human judgment was traded for safety.

• Systemic protectionism: A shell was built — not to wound others, but to shield the clinic’s own soft underbelly. Yet in shielding itself, it now scratches those who come in peace.

• Systemic trauma response: Once, they were too open and were burned. Now, their nervous system is high-alert, scanning every patient as a possible threat.

Compassionate Lens

This isn’t cruelty — it’s the wound speaking through the system. What once was survival has now become the default posture. In protecting itself from yesterday’s harm, the system sometimes closes itself to today’s kindness.

The Office Visit

When I came in, the receptionist handed me the bill, first thing.

I looked at her and asked gently, “Is this business carrying trauma around unpaid bills? Because to me, the billing tactics feel… aggressive.”

She didn’t flinch. She nodded. She told me there was a time when they were too nice, and people didn’t pay. Not everyone came in ready to pay cash on the spot, like I had.

I tried to explain, in some small, unfinished way, that my wound rubbed against the billing department’s wound. That being treated like someone unreliable struck at something old in me. That my attempt to pay in full, to act with integrity, felt erased. But the words weren’t all there yet. I hadn’t processed it all out.

She said she was sorry. She said she understood. She admitted she didn’t like the billing system either. And then, as people often do, she redirected the conversation so we could move on. I gave her grace.

After my stitches were removed, I stopped by thhe front desk and thanked her for listening to my concerns. I could tell there was no animosity between us, no hard edge left in her voice, no resentment in mine.

But still, I didn’t feel fully heard.

So I came home, and I wrote this down.

The wound behind the wound

Later, I learned the truth behind the unnecessary biopsy.

There had been a case. A dermatologist dismissed a cyst without testing it. It turned out to be a rare cancer, a liposarcoma. The patient sued. The judgment? Over five million dollars.

That case left a scar. So now, even when something looks harmless, the system plays it safe. Biopsy everything. No exceptions. No risk.

Their trauma protocol collided with my trauma response. And the result wasn't just frustration, it was pain. Both of us trying to stay safe. Mine, by trying to stay frugal and save money, their’s by ensuring they played it safe. Both of us protecting what had once been betrayed.

Two wounded systems

Suddenly, I could see it all clearly.

Their protectors said: Anticipate every risk. Assume no one will take responsibility. Keep the doors locked unless payment is verified.

My protectors said: You've been wrongly accused before. Don't let it happen again. Make sure your truth is seen, your name is cleared, your dignity intact.

And there we were. Two defensive systems, both just trying to survive.

The bigger picture

Now I can't unsee it.

The sharp-eyed store clerk. The cold customer service voice. The rules that feel punitive, inflexible, absurd.

They might not be personal. They might just be protectors. Trying, in their flawed, mechanical way, to hold the organization together, even if it means alienating the humans who show up with real, beating hearts.

A gentle landing

So maybe the next time you feel pinned, misunderstood, or pushed by a system, you give a moment of pause.
And remember a moment like this. Maybe not a bill, but something else:
A job application that disappeared into silence.
A denied insurance claim.
A form that didn’t have a box for you.
And something inside flared up:
“This isn’t fair.”
“This isn’t who I am.”

You might be able to breathe.

And ask: Is this really about me? Or is this the residue of some other wound, one I can't see, but one that shaped the rules I'm now facing?

And maybe you let your own Self step forward. Not the parts that want to fight or flee. But the part that remembers:

You are not the accusation. You are not the system. You are not broken. You are whole.

Because here's the truth I'm learning: A bill is never just a bill. A system is never just a system. And behind every wall of policy, there is a wound.

PS. A Note On the Power Dynamics at Play

When the Design Itself Holds the Power

We often think of power as something overt. Loud voices, harsh penalties, visible force.
But sometimes, the most painful kind of power is quiet. Built into the blueprint.
You don’t need a cruel voice when the architecture does the silencing for you.

That’s what happened here.

The system didn’t need to be aggressive.
It just needed to be designed around mistrust and you would feel it.

• No one to talk to.

• No clear explanation.

• No appeals process.

• Just automated messages and built-in assumptions of guilt.

And that’s what hurt:
Not just the extra charge.
But the sense that you were already seen as a problem the moment you entered the system.

Design-as-Protection (But Protection From What?)

What we often call policy is, at its core, someone’s pain calcified into protocol.
A wound that once burned so badly, it got turned into a rule: never again.

But that kind of protection isn’t neutral.
It’s preemptive.
And when there’s no room for human nuance, it begins to punish everyone who walks through its doors.

The truth is:
You were seen through the lens of someone else’s old fear.
That’s what systemic trauma does.
It fossilizes an organization’s wounds into policies, and those policies
then wound others who had nothing to do with the original harm.

Examples of How This Plays Out Across Systems:

Healthcare Systems

• Claims denied by default, forcing you to prove your need.

• Prior authorizations delaying urgent treatment.

• Doctor networks that shift without notice, suddenly making care unaffordable.

Educational Institutions

• Zero tolerance policies that ignore context.

• Standardized tests that don’t see lived experience.

• Financial aid systems that assume everyone has a parent who can navigate it.

Employment Systems

• Background checks that flatten all mistakes into one box.

• Automated résumé filters that punish gap years or caregiving.

• Drug screenings that treat everyone like a ticking liability.

These aren’t just inconveniences.
They’re dignitary harms. Wounds to a person’s sense of worth and truth.
They erase your humanity and replace it with a category.

And that’s why it hurts more than a simple billing error ever could.
It’s not just about a charge.
It’s about being fundamentally misunderstood
by a system that has all the power to define the interaction and none of the responsibility to see you clearly.

The Deeper IFS Insight

This goes beyond just “protector meets protector.”

Yes… It’s two wounded systems colliding.
But one of those systems has far more power.

And when a powerful system meets a vulnerable human,
it’s not a conversation.
It’s a wall.

That’s what makes the pain so disorienting.
Not just the mismatch of needs,
but the mismatch of power.

A Gentle Question

What happens inside you
when someone treats you
like a risk
before they’ve even heard your voice?

Journal Prompts: Reclaiming Power in Mistrusting Systems

• Where in your life have you felt powerless not because you lacked truth, but because someone else refused to see it?

• What survival response gets activated when you're misjudged or misunderstood by a system (freeze, fawn, fight, flee)?

• What part of you wants to rise up and say: “That’s not who I am”?

• What would it feel like to hold your dignity steady, even when the system does not reflect it back?

Closing Reminder

You are not the accusation.
You are not the cold tone of a system trained by past mistakes.
You are not the debt they didn’t explain.
You are not the delay.

You are someone who showed up in good faith
—
and was met by a wound
disguised as a rule.

But you still get to name your truth.
That’s where your power lives now.