I never thought I’d be the person writing one of these posts, but here we are. This year completely turned my world upside down, and I’m finally ready to talk about it.

What you may or may not know is that I have been balancing my time working on social media to having a full-time job. And while I will not disclose my job, I will say that it was once a fulfilling one, as I was able to work closely with people and live out my dreams in music.

It started so innocently—my boss asking random questions about my work, my background, stuff that seemed normal at first. But then those questions became harsh interrogations. Suddenly, I loathed coming to work, staying late to compile portfolios of my work, and printing out emails to show evidence of my credibility. I felt like I was on trial for a crime I didn’t commit.

The gaslighting was real, you guys. Every time I tried to defend myself or show evidence of my qualifications, it was like she couldn’t hear me. I’d present clear proof of my experience, and she’d just… dismiss it. Like I was making it all up. That’s when I started questioning my own reality.

What really broke me was realizing I was invisible there. All those late nights I stayed to defend myself, all the passion I brought to projects I genuinely cared about at my workplace—none of it mattered. I felt like a ghost walking through that place, like my actual contributions didn’t exist. That hits different when you’re someone who takes pride in their work and is driven to highly excel in everything you do.

The betrayal part still makes my stomach turn. While she was telling my coworkers she was “trying to help me” and “didn’t want to hurt me,” she was being completely blunt and cold to me in private. Come to find out, she was never honest with me to begin with. She already had someone else picked out for my role—someone with way less experience than me, even though she claimed I wasn’t “qualified enough” for my role. And my team? Total silence from those I once trusted to have my back. It felt cruel. It was clear that some within the company wanted me out without any due process or transparency—an approach that felt deeply discriminatory.

When I got fired, the anxiety came for me HARD. I’m talking full-body panic attacks, not sleeping, that fun combo of racing thoughts and complete emotional numbness. The depression hit differently, too—some days I couldn’t even shower, let alone job hunt. I’ve always been the “strong friend” in my group, so admitting I needed help felt like admitting defeat. While therapy would have been a good option for me at this point in my life, I couldn’t even afford it.

Filing for unemployment was a humbling experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Here I am, college-educated, experienced, having to prove to the government that I needed benefits just to pay rent. Meanwhile, I’ve got wedding vendors calling about final payments, rent that doesn’t care about my employment status, and a bachelorette I booked back when I thought I had job security.

But plot twist—getting fired was actually the universe doing me a favor. Once I stopped wallowing (took a few weeks, not gonna lie), I started freelancing and taking on projects that actually excited me. For the first time in years, I remembered why I loved my field. I started making my own rules, setting my own hours, and working with people who actually valued what I brought to the table.

That toxic environment messed with my head in ways I’m still unpacking. It changed how I saw myself professionally, made me second-guess every decision, and honestly made me scared to trust my own judgment. Working became this suffocating place where nobody talked about what was really happening. We all just pretended everything was fine while watching people get picked off one by one.

Leaving wasn’t rejection—it was choosing myself. And choosing myself led to building something that’s actually mine. I’m not saying it was easy (hello, imposter syndrome), but it was necessary.

This whole nightmare taught me things I wish I’d learned earlier. Boundaries aren’t suggestions—they’re requirements. Your work environment affects your mental health more than you realize. And when someone shows you who they are through their actions, believe them the first time.

Now I’m focused on creating the kind of work culture I wish I’d had. Supporting other women who feel unseen, building spaces where people’s contributions actually matter, and calling out toxic leadership when I see it. Because nobody should have to go through what I went through just to earn a paycheck.

Tips for Navigating Toxic Work Experiences in NYC

If you’re going through something similar, here are a few things that helped me—and that I hope can help you:

• Know Your Rights: NYC has strong worker protections. Visit NYC’s Department of Consumer and Worker Protection for resources on workplace harassment, discrimination, and unemployment benefits.

• Find Supportive Communities: NYC has many support groups and professional networks. Organizations like The NYC Workers’ Alliance or local Meetup groups can offer connection and guidance.

• Take Advantage of Free or Low-Cost Counseling: Stress and trauma take a toll. Programs like NYC Well offer free mental health support 24/7.

• Protect Your Finances: File for unemployment promptly, and explore city resources like Human Resources Administration (HRA) if you need financial assistance.

• Create Boundaries: It’s okay to say no, limit overtime, and prioritize self-care—even in a city that moves fast.

• Lean into Your Passions: Whether it’s side projects, creative work, or networking, NYC’s vibrant scene offers endless opportunities to reinvent your career.

To anyone navigating trauma in their own workplace: you are not alone. Toxicity often stems from other’s pain, but it doesn’t have to define your story. There is hope, and there is a path forward.

I’m grateful to be on mine—one built on respect, care, and intentional joy.