TEACHER EXPERIENCES A DECADE OF ABUSE

“I began working as a preschool teacher fresh out of college — full of hope, compassion, and commitment to my calling. I accepted a position at a large Catholic parish’s early education center, believing I would be part of something good. What I didn’t know was I was walking into a toxic environment that would shape — and scar — my entire young adulthood.

The director had been in her position for more than 20 years and operated without any real accountability. Although she technically answered to the parish priest, leadership shifted frequently, and none of the pastors ever paid close attention to what was happening in the early childhood program. That left her unchecked — and empowered to create a climate of fear and favoritism.

Early on, I noticed her mood swings, gossip, disorganization, and disdain toward staff who had needs or boundaries. If you called in sick, had a family emergency, or asked for anything “inconvenient,” you were punished — often through cold-shouldering, public humiliation, or unpredictable emotional outbursts. I’ll never forget being screamed at in the hallway for posting about my son starting preschool on my personal Facebook — even though I never mentioned the school by name. I was then expected to walk straight back into my classroom and calmly teach a group of 5 year olds.

I’ll never forget being screamed at in the hallway for posting about my son starting preschool on my personal Facebook — even though I never mentioned the school by name. I was then expected to walk straight back into my classroom and calmly teach a group of 5 year olds.

This pattern continued over the course of a decade. At times, she was kind and supportive — so much so that I believed she cared about me personally. But inevitably, that warmth would be withdrawn and replaced with intimidation. During my time there, I experienced major life events: the death of both my parents, pregnancies and miscarriages, a child in the NICU, and marital challenges. She would offer comfort, then later use my vulnerability to manipulate me into doing things no one else would do. I became terrified of upsetting her. I lost my ability to say no.

When her niece was promoted to assistant director despite being unqualified, the culture declined even further. The niece was paid more than everyone else, bullied teachers about their appearance and weight, and regularly demeaned staff. When a group of us couldn’t take it anymore, we did what we thought was right: we came forward. We brought documentation to the parish — emails, photos, and firsthand accounts. We showed proof of unethical behavior: her running a cake pop business out of her classroom, sleeping under her desk during the day while staff covered for her, and manipulating the time clock to be paid for hours she didn’t work.

Instead of accountability, we were met with retaliation.

She searched through my personal communications and found emails I exchanged with parish leadership. After that, I was completely iced out. I wasn’t spoken to. I wasn’t acknowledged. I was emotionally starved out of my job. I finally quit — not because I wanted to — but because I was emotionally broken and feared what might happen next.

But it didn’t stop there. After I started fresh at a new school, she and her niece created a fake Gmail account and emailed my new administrator, pretending to be a former colleague. They claimed I was untrustworthy and said they would never send their children to a school where I taught. Eventually, the niece was fired for her actions, and the director was asked to retire. But I still carry the fear of retaliation. I still have to rebuild my trust in people. And I still struggle with the people-pleasing habits that kept me surviving in that environment for so long.

Workplace abuse is real. It’s insidious. It often hides behind “Christian values” and is enabled by those who choose to look the other way. I stayed quiet for ten years. I’m speaking up now — not because it’s easy but because silence allows the abuse to continue.

To anyone who has experienced something similar: you are not alone. You are not overreacting. And you deserve to feel safe.”