The Great Unraveling

Like many, I have worked in toxic environments. But there was one that was particularly devastating — it almost broke me.

The constant political games, the firings, the backstabbing, the incompetency of leadership. Every day carried the question: Is today the day they’ll decide to get rid of me? Often for no real reason. Was it illegal? Of course. But it didn’t matter.

The toxicity ran so deep that colleagues were paid to report on one another. Many of us lived in the same company-provided compound, so even home was no longer a refuge. It was Draconian, Orwellian, and Atwoodian — all at once, all the time. Out of sheer survival, I developed a state of constant vigilance to protect myself and my family.

By the end of my time there, I had been diagnosed with burnout. I left rather than endure another year. I knew the environment was toxic and had spent hours in coaching to understand how my fears and insecurities had driven me to please the very people who were destroying me. But it wasn’t until I moved, switched jobs, and created real distance that I could begin the deeper work of healing.

And when the safety finally came, so did the anger.I raged at my partner. I felt betrayed by colleagues who stayed. I resented those who downplayed what we endured with dismissive remarks like, “It’s not that bad here, is it?” (Yes, it was.) I wrote and deleted review after review, trying to find some way to express the helplessness I had felt. For so long, I had been powerless — and now, in safety, the emotions surfaced with a vengeance.

But healing was not immediate. Even in a supportive new workplace, it took more than a year before I could believe I was safe. I held my colleagues at arm’s length, still worried about what might be reported. I worked relentlessly, far beyond expectations, panicking at the thought of a mistake, fearing punishment that never came.

This is the magic — and the trap — of the nervous system. It had learned to keep me in survival mode, scanning constantly for threats. That vigilance had once been necessary, but it lingered long after, exhausting me and keeping me locked in old patterns.

Eventually, I learned that survival mode doesn’t just numb emotions — it postpones them. And when the system finally recognizes safety, those buried feelings rush back with force. This is the unraveling.

It is painful. It is dark. It is necessary.To reset the nervous system, to breathe again, to live again — you must walk through the field of emotions you once avoided. Only then can the weight begin to lift.

Reflection & Journaling Questions

Nature became my refuge while trying to heal my nervous system.

• When have you noticed your nervous system keeping you in “survival mode,” even after the danger was gone?

• What emotions have you postponed or numbed that may still be waiting for acknowledgment?

• What does safety look like for you now? How do you know you are safe?

• In what ways are you still working to please or protect yourself from “imagined punishments” that no longer exist?

• What small practices could help you release vigilance and rebuild trust in yourself and others?