The Worst Thing That Has Ever Happened to Me at Work

 

I would like to tell you about the most painful thing that has ever happened to me in a workplace.

Before I do, I need to be honest about my own role in the events that led up to it. This is not a story about an innocent victim being mistreated for no reason. Looking back now, I can see many mistakes that I made, and if I could go back and do it again I would approach things very differently.

At the time, however, I did not know that I had ADHD. Like many people with ADHD, I believed I was simply a bright but undisciplined neurotypical person who could succeed if he would only try harder. I worked for a community mental health agency and, despite doing well enough to earn a promotion, I was often enthusiastic, outspoken, impulsive, and difficult to manage. Over time I made a series of poor decisions, including starting a personal blog where I publicly wrote about frustrations I was experiencing at work. Looking back, I understand why people were upset and why management viewed my actions as inappropriate. I was disciplined for it, and my reputation within the organization changed dramatically afterward.

What happened next, however, is the reason I am writing this essay.

What surprised me was not the discipline itself. Looking back, that part was understandable.

What surprised me was what happened afterward.

My reputation within the organization changed dramatically. Whether this was real, imagined, or some combination of both, I began to feel as though I had become "that person" within the agency. The difficult employee. The employee who could not be trusted. The employee whose mistakes had become part of his identity.

I withdrew socially. I stopped drawing attention to myself. I avoided people whenever possible. I even began entering the building through different entrances because I no longer wanted to interact with coworkers. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and convinced that everyone had read my blog and formed a permanent opinion of me.

For the next couple of years I simply tried to survive.

Then, in 2009, something happened that has stayed with me ever since.

The agency had two student placements from a local college. As was often the case with students, they became part of the workplace culture and got to know many of the staff members. Initially we seemed to get along well. Over time, however, I noticed they became increasingly distant toward me. Conversations stopped. Greetings in the hallway stopped. I had no idea why.

On the final day of their placement, they organized what appeared to be a farewell prank or celebration. They photocopied pictures of their faces and taped them throughout the entire agency.

Their pictures were everywhere.

They were on desks.

They were in meeting rooms.

They were in the kitchen.

They were in common areas.

They were taped to walls and doors.

There were even pictures placed in the washrooms.

When I first arrived, I smiled and walked around looking at them like everyone else. But after a few minutes I began noticing something unusual.

There wasn't a single picture on my desk.

I kept looking.

Desk after desk had pictures.

Every area seemed to have pictures.

I walked through the building from one end to the other.

Eventually it became impossible to ignore.

Mine was the only workspace without one.

I cannot prove what anyone intended. I cannot know what was in anyone else's mind. I can only describe what I observed.

Hundreds of photographs had been distributed throughout the agency.

None were placed on my desk.

At that moment, I felt a level of social rejection that I have rarely experienced before or since.

What made the experience so powerful was not merely the exclusion itself. Human beings are excluded all the time. What made it powerful was how visible it was. Usually exclusion contains uncertainty. You wonder whether people are upset with you. You wonder whether you are imagining things. You wonder whether you are being overly sensitive.

There was no uncertainty that day.

I could see the evidence with my own eyes.

I remember walking through the agency pretending to enjoy the joke while privately conducting an inventory. I checked every office, every room, every surface. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted to find another desk that had been overlooked.

I never did.

In that moment I felt completely outside the circle.

Whether that interpretation was fair or unfair, reasonable or unreasonable, it was absolutely real to me.

It is also the moment I decided I was going to leave.

A few months later, I resigned and moved into contract work. I did not wait for the security of another permanent position. Something inside me had already concluded that I no longer belonged there.

What troubles me most about this story today is not that it happened. Human beings are imperfect. We form cliques. We make mistakes. We hurt one another. None of that surprises me anymore.

What troubles me is where it happened.

This was not a construction site.

This was not a high school.

This was not a workplace filled with people who had never been taught about the effects of exclusion, bullying, or social rejection.

This was a mental health agency.

These were educated professionals. Many had backgrounds in psychology, social work, counselling, and community support. They spent their careers helping vulnerable people navigate emotional pain, social isolation, and psychological distress.

Yet somehow this happened.

Perhaps nobody intended harm. Perhaps nobody noticed. Perhaps people noticed and remained silent. Perhaps there are details that I still do not understand.

What I do know is that the event occurred, that nobody intervened, and that it had a profound impact on me.

For almost twenty years I carried this story largely in silence because I was ashamed. I was ashamed of the mistakes that led up to it. I was ashamed of how deeply it hurt me. Most of all, I was ashamed because I believed that my earlier behavior had somehow disqualified me from objecting.

I no longer believe that.

I made mistakes.

I earned criticism.

I damaged my own reputation.

But none of those facts erase what happened afterward.

I am writing this because it happened.

For years I told this story only as a story about my mistakes. It took me nearly two decades to recognize that it was also a story about the choices other people made.

Readers can draw their own conclusions.

My purpose is simply to place the events on the record exactly as I remember them and to finally stop carrying them in silence.