I was employed at a technical school under the Tennessee Board of Regents. The workplace bullying began with subtle jabs and snide remarks from my supervisor—the school president. Things worsened after a new vice president was brought in. What followed was relentless, targeted abuse.
The VP and president engaged in public mockery during meetings, withheld information critical to my role, and actively sought to undermine my reputation. My work was constantly criticized, and it became clear that efforts were being made to recruit others to speak against me. It felt like I was under siege—picked apart and isolated in plain sight.
Financial constraints left me feeling stuck. But the emotional toll was just as severe. I was anxious, angry, and always on edge. The bullying began affecting my health: I started losing hair, gaining weight, and experiencing other physical symptoms of stress.
After 2.5 years of reporting to the president—without a single performance review—she handed me my first one shortly before her resignation. It was scathing and failed to recognize any of the contributions I had made to the institution.
Under the new president, things didn’t improve. He mischaracterized the toxic dynamic as a simple conflict between colleagues, telling me I “had better get along” with the VP or risk losing my job. If I responded to her communications, I was scolded for my tone. If I didn’t, I was labeled as uncooperative. She was empowered to overstep, micromanage, and interfere without consequence. I believe the president was too insecure in his new role to challenge those he perceived as more powerful.
Eventually, I was terminated.
When the news broke, I was told the atmosphere around the school felt like a funeral. My coworkers knew exactly who the bully was—many of them had suffered under her, too. After my departure, the truth slowly emerged. The president began to realize I had played little—if any—part in the dysfunction. Not long after, the VP responsible for much of the abuse also left the school.
I choose not to share my name. But anyone involved knows exactly who they are and what happened. And I’m okay with that.