Working in an office is supposed to be fairly predictable.

You log on, answer emails, maybe have a quiet moan about the printer not working and just get on with your day. What you don’t expect is to feel like you’ve accidentally signed up for a social experiment run by someone who thinks empathy is optional. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what my experience with my ex-boss turned into.

At first, nothing seemed too unusual. She came across as confident (maybe a bit too confident), but in a workplace, that can sometimes pass as leadership. It didn’t take long, though, for that confidence to reveal itself as something else entirely. The best way I can describe it is this: imagine someone trying to run a team not as individuals, but as a set of programmable robots.

Independent thought? Not encouraged.

Questioning decisions? Definitely not encouraged.

And having your own personality? Well, that seemed to be the biggest issue of all.

One of the hardest parts for me personally was how I was treated because of my ADHD. Instead of being supported or even just accepted, I was made to feel different, in a way that wasn’t subtle. As my medical condition started to affect my work, I found myself making mistakes. Rather than being supported through it, I was undermined in a way that slowly chipped away at my confidence and made me feel worthless.

It was the kind of feeling where you’re constantly aware that you don’t quite “fit,” even when you’re trying to do your job properly. Little comments, certain looks, the general atmosphere – it all added up. It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it, but it creates this underlying sense that you’re always slightly on the outside looking in.

That feeling only intensified when I tried to defend myself, particularly around my experience with menopause. Now, that in itself shouldn’t be controversial—it’s a normal part of life—but somehow it became another reason to be treated as “other.” Instead of any understanding, there was a shift in how I was spoken to and included (or not as the case may be). It was as if advocating for myself had put a target on my back. Apparently, in this workplace, having boundaries was seen as a personality flaw.

What made things even more uncomfortable was the way my boss spoke about other people. It wasn’t just occasional frustration—everyone has those moments—but a consistent pattern of putting others down. Senior staff weren’t off-limits either. One was labelled “lazy,” another dismissed as “smarmy,” and these weren’t said in confidence so much as broadcast to the team like daily updates. It created a really odd atmosphere where you started to wonder: if she’s saying this about them, what’s being said about me when I’m not in the room?

It also had a ripple effect. When a manager openly criticises others like that, it sets a tone. You either join in, stay silent or risk becoming the next topic of conversation. It wasn’t exactly the kind of team-building exercise anyone signs up for. Instead of fostering collaboration, it created tension and uncertainty. You couldn’t fully trust the environment and that makes even simple tasks feel heavier than they should.

Despite all of this, I tried to carry on. Like a lot of people, I told myself it would get better or that I just needed to keep my head down and get through the day. But over time, the impact started to build. My confidence, which I hadn’t really thought twice about before, slowly started to disappear. I began second-guessing myself, overthinking simple decisions which resulted in making mistakes and feeling anxious about things that had never been an issue before. It’s strange how quickly that shift can happen when you’re in the wrong environment.

Eventually, I reached a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I made a complaint—not because I wanted to cause trouble, but because I genuinely believed something wasn’t right. Everyone deserves to work in a place where they feel respected, or at the very least, not undermined. Speaking up felt like the right thing to do.

What I didn’t expect, though, was how quickly the situation would be turned around. Somehow, the focus shifted away from the behaviour I had raised and onto me. It was like watching a story get rewritten in real time, except I was the one being recast as the problem. It was frustrating, disheartening, and, if I’m honest, not entirely surprising given everything that had come before.

That moment was probably the clearest indication that things weren’t going to change. When someone is able to twist a situation like that—and be believed—it says a lot about the environment as a whole. Accountability seemed to be in short supply, and that’s never a good sign in any workplace.

In the end, I made the decision to leave. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the right one. Staying would have meant continuing in an environment that was chipping away at my confidence and wellbeing, and no job is worth that. Walking away felt like taking back a bit of control, even if it came after a difficult experience.

Looking back, there are moments I can almost laugh about—usually in a “you couldn’t make it up” kind of way. The idea of being expected to act like a perfectly programmed employee, the constant background commentary about others, the sheer effort it took just to get through a normal day—it all feels slightly surreal now. But underneath that, there’s a more serious point.

No one should be made to feel like an outsider at work, especially not because of something like ADHD or a natural stage of life like menopause. And no one in a position of authority should be allowed to get away with creating that kind of environment. Leadership isn’t about control or intimidation. It’s about respect, fairness and supporting the people you work with.

While the experience knocked my confidence at the time, it also taught me something important. Sometimes the problem isn’t you, but the environment you’re in. And recognising that is the first step towards finding something better.