In 2013, one of my friends was dating this Danish guy. He sure was a fun party companion, but quite frankly obnoxious and rude most of the time. We met again in 2016 - the year I moved to San Francisco; he then lived in New York City. He'd come to San Francisco a couple of times - under, what I learned much later, false pretenses to visit friends. We hung out a few times, but no way was I going to date him. I didn't even like him. A few months of flower deliveries, expensive gifts and surprise trips later, I called him my boyfriend. Fast forward to 2018, one of those times I moved to New York City for love. Him and I moved in together - surprise, surprise - he dropped the fake facade. Years of nasty comments disguised as humor followed - "oh, look who ate a bit too much dessert" as he squeezed my belly fat, stating a strong "you are not invited" as he surprisingly leaves the house on a Saturday night, hating on my clothing style as something "that should have stayed in California”. All spiced with a flavor of selfishness and arrogance. I fell victim to a love-bombing narcissist.
Covid didn't help. In early 2021, I was ready to get the hell out of NYC and escape to the west coast, leaving him behind. Unfortunately, he came to California within a few weeks to take me "home". But the damage was done. We broke up within three months. I won't dwell on him for longer - he is not the center of this story - though how the relationship unfolded is critical for the plot.
Let's move forward a couple of years. I was thriving at work, launching a range of impactful products. And I was having a blast, working with people many of whom I now call close friends. The area I was working on got a lot of executive attention around that time. I remember one of my friends telling me: "Caro, be careful. Now that your area is critical to the company, you will soon come across bad actors who want a slice of your pie." I didn't think much of that comment at the time; unfortunately it didn't take long for it to turn into reality. What followed were months of bullying not too dissimilar to what I experienced with the ex-boyfriend, well, in a professional context this time.
One of the senior technical leads at the company was eager to join our product leadership group - convinced that we'd benefit from their expertise. While they had deep technical expertise in many fields tangentially related to our area, they lacked subject matter expertise for the one we operated in. I was reluctant to have them join. The negotiations went back and forth - until we eventually committed to a trial period.
Phase 1 - the love bombing. The first few weeks were smooth sailing - hour-long conversations to onboard, compliments for my technical expertise, etc. It must have been about a month in when they felt safe and considered their trial period officially over.
Phase 2 - the bullying. And here we go again. The mask came off. I felt fooled all over again.
I still vividly remember my first panic attack. It was midnight, I was in a hotel room in Malaga, Spain. We just finished what must have been the most unproductive three-hour meeting. Well, it's incorrect to even call it a meeting - one may better describe it as a verbal martial arts fight - the objective for only one to survive. They wouldn't let us finish the meeting until I eventually just hung up, the hyperventilation settling in as soon as I closed my laptop. I called a friend to calm me down, tears streaming down my face.
The next morning I sat on the beach with my dad - it was an hour before my parents had to leave. My dad isn't a man of many words; we often enjoy each other’s presence in silence. As we were sitting there observing my mum swimming in the ocean, he told me how worried they were about me. I've always been ambitious and cared about work, yet they'd never seen me so distracted, seemingly without an ability to turn off the work switch. They'd been wanting to discuss future plans with me, but were too afraid to bring up anything that risked me snapping. I was in shock. Of course, I knew I was miserable, but that my parents noticed? That hit a breaking point. That day, I decided to never meet with the bully from work one-on-one anymore.
At the time, everything the co-worker did felt outrageous. Every single one of my friends told me to quit; no amount of money could be worth what I was going through on a day-to-day basis. Yet, as I search my memories, I struggle to find the right words that convey the intensity of my struggles at the time. I was told lies about what other people said about me, losing confidence in my own abilities. I was constantly under the impression that I was getting fired. I was positioned as an aggressive person with outbursts. My expertise was undermined by title and authority. I wasn't the only one suffering. There were many others. Yet, I called them on their bullshit, often very publicly. Likely fueling their ambition to get me out sooner rather than later.
Phase 3 - the failed attempt to leave. This went on for months - more panic attacks, hair loss, short nights with restless sleep. I was ready to call it quits - less because of them, more because I wasn't convinced I was the most effective self that I could be for the team. A few individuals convinced me to stay.
Phase 4 - the damage is done. Not long after, I stopped working with the bully. The team health improved, progress slowly recovered; my energy for this job never fully did though. I committed to completing projects still in progress, and decided to leave once they were done. Whenever I think of that summer, I recall the pain, but also remind myself that obstacles create the stories in our lives - stories we learn and grow from.
I was a strong-willed child. When I turned six - the official age to start school in Germany - my mum desperately begged the doctor not to qualify me for school yet. She was eager to keep me home for another year, hoping I'd outgrow my lack of conformity. I passed the test though and settled into daily school life quite well - being outcome-driven has its benefits. The strong-willed nature remained though. My math teacher let out a sigh every time I raised my hand in class, knowing that I was about to start a debate about her solution approach. My manager during my college job constantly complained about my lack of respect for the rules. Why follow them for the sake of it if they are illogical?
I was born in 1989 in what was then still referred to as East Germany. It is the same year most remembered for an East German official called Schabowski making the following statement: "Das tritt nach meiner Kenntnis… ist das sofort, unverzüglich." ("As far as I know… it becomes effective immediately."), leading to thousands of East Berliners rushing to the wall to demand its opening. While I was only six months old and cared more about my mum's breasts than the state of the country, the East German mindset would strongly influence my upbringing.
Mindsets instilled over decades don't change overnight. My grandparents got locked into their own country in 1961, when the wall was built. Well, my dad's dad properly got locked into Stasi prison for a joke he made at work the day after the wall was built. My mum was limited in her education options despite being top of her class - just because the rules limited her from choosing the higher education path. In East Germany, it was best to accept the status quo, don't ask too many questions, and lay low - and the mental walls remained even when the physical one was gone. It's fair to say - it wasn't my style. I'd easily get on people's nerves. I prioritized being rational over rule-following, chaos over conformity - long before I could put words to it.
My upbringing coupled with the aftermath of a past relationship intensified the experience I was going through at work. When faced with confrontation, I could not just let it go. Rank trumping relevance and subject matter expertise, standing by while people experienced anxiety to come to work in the morning, the use of insulting language to belittle people - work environments I reject to be a part of.
I'm grateful for many colleagues and friends whose advice and shoulders to lean on allowed me to grow from this experience. There is one piece of feedback I remember well - and it wasn't the first time it was encouraged. My reaction to it made me realize which values I prioritize. "Sometimes you just have to let them fail - just stand by and watch." Do I agree? When you're meant to be a team, a united front, their failure is your failure, their failure is the team's failure, their failure is a waste of valuable resources.
The political game would have made the plot for a new soap opera. Who chooses to do the right thing? Who chooses to protect themselves when you put a chainsaw to their own seat? This is when golden handcuffs lead to people having to make tough choices. Will more money make you accept being more miserable and afraid? Or would you choose to risk it, find a new pair of handcuffs elsewhere in the worst case?
Enough about work. Throughout this time period, I found myself in a new relationship, one that gave me a lot of comfort. Unfortunately, it did not withstand my urgent need for an uncaged life. To him, I seemed to fulfill his checklist - yet, it felt that he was obsessed with a version of myself that he envisioned in his head, not the real me. I felt caged into a box that he wanted me to conform to - whether I was ready or not.
Within a few months, I found myself single, unemployed, unhoused. Or as I like to say - free without constraints, funemployed, a citizen of the world.
My hair slowly growing back