Moving Beyond My Workplace Shame

A couple of weeks ago, I shared how my latest novel, Coming Home , offered me a representation of restoration and reinvention I’ve never seen or experienced in organizations. An informal framework came to me after I spoke about the shame I felt as a workplace trauma survivor.

True restoration involves granting grace to a person who has been harmed as they heal from trauma; challenging unjust rules and ways of working to ensure no one else is violated; and creating a bridge that acknowledges that although harm happened, there’s genuine care for that person to thrive as a human.

It's not about shunning the person, exploiting them for their contributions to the system, dropping them like a hot potato, and doing nothing to publicly restore them to professional spaces that will advance their career.

I still recall my countless conversations with HR about the daily harassment I faced for years as a supervisor—the small groups of people meeting privately because the person they wanted to get my position didn’t, the threat from a faculty member to call the local newspaper if I didn’t give them the physical space they wanted for their lab, and countless other occurrences that sabotaged my leadership.

I was expected to maintain confidentiality about my torture. I continued asking for help, but no one answered, at least not how I needed them to. When I realized there was no end in sight, I developed a strategy to protect myself in a workplace that did not protect me, even when I was a geriatric mother-to-be awaiting the birth of my first child.

I turned to social media and realized its power to become my shield. I told my husband that if people at work threw me under the bus or pushed me to a place I couldn’t emerge from, my words would be recorded across Twitter . I didn’t care how often people in my organization reported my tweets to my supervisor. I wasn’t fazed when that supervisor reprimanded me for being too authentic. At some point, I realized if people in my workplace had to choose between protecting me or them, they would choose themselves and their next position.

People say that if an organization is corrupt, you leave it. Let people who come after you fend for themselves. I probably would have done that if the brutality against me hadn’t been so harsh. The more my haters wanted to punish me, the more I tapped into my ancestral commitment to social justice. It was no longer about that job but about people thinking they could gang up on me and professionally lynch me. As a professor, I found lessons that needed to be taught so those behind me wouldn’t be tortured too.

The death of my parents in my 40s changed me. I realized how precious life was and how the people who loved me first and molded me into who I am were gone. I share my story and push so hard because I’ve felt the depths of grief in ways I never imagined.

In Never Defeated , I wrote:

Healing from workplace trauma takes time and practice. I often tell people I grieved the death of my parents less than I grieved my job, not because I didn’t love my parents but because I had a phenomenal relationship with them. I knew what I got when I connected to them. Even when we disagreed, we loved each other. Our respect was solid. No situation ever changed that. They modeled forgiveness and consistency. When they took their last breaths, I was pleased with how our relationship ended. It was complete, and I had no regrets about our time together on earth. The grief of work has taken much longer for me to process, however. There’s something about knowing the bond you thought you had wasn’t real. It’s the angst of giving your best as the entity that says it’s got your back, really doesn’t. No matter how pretty their words, you don’t trust or believe what they say. There’s no guarantee the relationship will mend.

My entire academic career I felt myself racing for acceptance. Last year I became more comfortable stepping into my own lane. It was scary to see peers my age ascend to positions I always dreamed of, but that was no longer for me.

In the next phase of my career, I want to prevent others from going through what I went through. That’s why I’m offering VIP Day services to those who haven’t been restored in their organization or who seek grace and validation. People need to know they aren’t alone in their pursuits of institutional peace.

Workplace harm was never on my bingo card. I never learned I might be “too much.” I continue processing the dissonance of workplaces that talk good talks but are shards of cracked glass behind the scenes. I became a disrupter focusing on exposing corruption in systems.

Best wishes to those still playing leadership games and believing that compromises and being measured will produce real change.

I hope that by the end of your career you are satisfied fully. I pray the blood of those who perished under the cruel hand of systems that refuse change won’t be on your hands. I hope your focus on the bigger picture isn’t at the expense of those with less status. I hope you will be brave enough to stop workplace violence.