A hallmark feature of abusers is trying to control the narrative. In this way, they control people’s perceptions of reality. They control who knows what and when. They gaslight you into thinking you are responsible for toxic dynamics and chaos. This is my story.
I was drawn to work at the VA. I was in ROTC in undergrad, did a stint in the Missouri National Guard and was later a military dependent living abroad. Despite my efforts to distance myself from the military it always seemed to creep back into my life. I applied for several positions at Truman VA when we moved to Columbia. Much to my dismay I would apply for many more jobs there before ultimately being hired in 2008. It was as though the universe had finally aligned. I had obtained my LCSW while working at the Family Counseling Center and miraculously a brand new housing program was being created that closely mirrored my previous experience working with HUD. As the only candidate with housing voucher experience I was hired without even being interviewed. It was finally happening! I was moving from my barely $30k/yr therapy job to nearly doubling my salary at the VA and joining an agency I could turn into a career.
When I first started it was awesome. I felt like I had arrived in the land of milk and honey. Gone were the days of hustling for community resources and desperately wishing I could connect clients with appropriate medical care and psychiatry services. All of these things were a phone call or consult away at the VA. I was working in a facility full of the top clinicians in this area with a seemingly blank check for supportive services. A Social Workers paradise.
Homeless programming was starting to be a priority for VA. Several new programs were being rolled out concurrent with HUD-VASH (Housing and Urban Development-VA Supportive Housing) and we were housed within the larger Psychosocial Recovery Team (PSR Team) that held the continuum of homeless programming. Emergency shelter, transitional housing, addiction treatment, vocational services, veterans justice and permanent housing all worked together to provide wrap around services and change lives. In the beginning we didn’t have a ton of guidance on how our programs should run. The VA is famous for announcing huge initiatives with very little information or support to implement them. Despite this, we excelled. We were a team of young, forward thinking clinicians who had not yet been beaten down by bureaucracy. We were lucky to also have a supervisor who was also as outside of the box as we were. She was creative and artistic and gave us the freedom to form and hone our programs as they needed. Rumors circulated about the relationship between our direct supervisor and the Chief of Behavioral Health (BH Chief) and the level of protectiveness they had for one another. We dismissed them as rumors, little did we know how that would play out in the future.
VASH was an amazing fit for me. In a program with an 80% attrition rate of Social Workers within the first year of hire, I quickly became a dinosaur. Due to my longevity and the overall success of our program I was tapped for numerous opportunities. I was selected by VA Central Office to participate in multiple workgroups to inform national VASH policy. I presented at numerous conferences on best practices, we had other programs come to our hospital to observe our program and how we worked. Clinicians actually wanted to be on the VASH team, not because it was an easy job, but rather because of my leadership and support. The shortest tenure on our team was two years. I worked very hard to make my team into a cohesive family. The job was thankless and brutal, but we had one another. I poured my heart into the program. I personally wrote every handbook, policy, standard operating procedure, training document and newsletter. I nurtured relationships with our housing authority and landlords. I successfully navigated three CARF accreditation reviews with few or no recommendations.
The disillusionment associated with most jobs held true to the VA as well. As our programs grew, guidance became more specific, performance measures were established and discrepancies in leadership skills were becoming easier to note. One of the first real moments of awakening was a time when our supervisor had written a document intended to be shared with the Director of the facility and attached a colleagues name to it. My colleague was so horrified by the thought of such a poorly authored document having their name on it we all pulled together and worked overtime to completely rewrite the report in the interest of saving face. This led to the first of many interventions we had with our supervisor to address our concerns and how issues like this chip away at the ability to trust and have faith in ones leaders. This also led to those of us in team lead positions largely stepping into supervisory roles on our teams. We wrote all our program policies, annual reports, and strategic planning. We handled everything on our teams short of formal performance appraisals, for which we provided feedback for our supervisor to incorporate.
Another role I assumed in my social work career was that of clinical supervisor. In addition to acting as a field instructor for social work students, I obtained the certification to provide supervision for clinical licensure. All clinicians require 3000 hours of supervised practice at the Masters licensure level before they are able to gain licensure at the independent practice level. And I didn’t just provide clinical supervision, I started teaching the certification course for the School of Social Work. It was my way to pay things forward in my profession and to incentivize clinicians to work on our team with the promise of clinical supervision. This role is important for me to mention, because it set the stage for the first definitive glimpse I had into the true toxicity of the Truman VA.
I was supervising a clinician who was an incredibly valuable member of our team. Not only were they a Veteran, they were the only person of color on our team. They were also a housing ninja and played a critical role in our team meeting our performance measures the previous fiscal year. We called ourselves The Dream Team. Something I didn’t know was that the VA had an arbitrary time limit on obtaining independent licensure. We learned this together as they rapidly approached the deadline with only one shot at passing their clinical exam in time. According to VA policy, if a clinician fails to obtain independent licensure within three years, they are no longer able to hold a clinical position until independent licensure is obtained. Bear in mind that state statutes regarding clinical licensure allow four years to gain 3000 hours of supervised practice. This takes into account that there may be delays in accumulating clinical hours such as injury, childbirth, part-time employment, etc. This was a valued employee who was well within guidelines for clinical licensure. They were a critical member of our team and their departure would immediately impact the quality of care we are able to provide the veterans in our program. Like the majority of people sitting for their first clinical exam, they failed. Our team (less our direct supervisor) shifted into solution mode. There were non-clinical roles vacant on the PSR team, Peer Support positions, for which they were qualified, that would allow them to maintain contact with our veterans and buy a little time to retake the test. We were brainstorming how we could redistribute caseloads and the best way to have this situation have as little impact on our veterans as possible. I was desperately looking over HR policy to find a loophole that would allow for reason to prevail. In the 11th hour we determined that this scenario (as do most VA policies) fell under the umbrella of the Director having the capacity to intervene and make appropriate decisions based on veteran care. Despite bringing this loophole to light and begging anyone who would listen to me, the facility took a different approach. They were busy pointing fingers at how we arrived in this place and trying to identify a scapegoat. After several meetings discussing our situation we were informed that the facility had come up with a position they could offer that would allow continued employment in a non-clinical capacity. You can imagine my shock and horror to learn they were offering a Housekeeping Aid position. A position that would make them subservient to the very homeless veterans they helped gain employment at the facility. The Truman VA, my immediate supervisor and the Chief of Behavioral Health, offered a Masters educated and licensed clinician a housekeeping aid position. Let that sink in. I reference this trauma in all of my supervision classes. When asking participants to guess what position was offered I frequently ask them to think of the most insulting, degrading and racist position they could possibly think of for a clinician of color. They guess it every time.
I was outraged. And I was in total shock. Somehow amongst all of the other experiences leading to this point I genuinely felt that Behavioral Health leadership would have our back. I deluded myself into thinking everyone was working towards a mutually beneficial solution. This was a huge loss to our team. In a matter of weeks we went from celebrating the end of another brutal fiscal year and the cohesiveness of our team to grieving the loss of one of our family. Needless to say, they did not take the housekeeping position and instead, moved back to Chicago to get the exact same job they had in Columbia, paying at a higher rate and grade. This had nothing to do with veteran care. The morale of our team was incredibly low and it filtered into the PSR team as a whole. We had all just been exposed to the true underbelly of the beast. We didn’t matter. We were just a cog in the machine, expendable and replaceable. I attempted several private conversations with my supervisor where my concerns were ignored and silenced. At one point to address low morale and the grapevine of venting that occurs when people don’t feel safe voicing their concerns to leadership, the BH Chief joined a PSR meeting and just shy of pounding her fists on the table demanded to know why we find her intimidating and don’t talk to her.
Tensions remained high in the coming weeks and months. No formal space was provided for our team to grieve and process what had just happened and the impact it had on our ability to trust in leadership. What did happen very clearly was a dynamic shift in my relationship with my supervisor. Up until now, despite our issues I was very much her back up. I was the whisperer sent to address concerns with her that others didn’t feel able to. When she was out, I was in charge. When folks couldn’t find her, they came to me. I appreciated the faith she placed in me and I felt respected as a clinician and leader. Now our relationship was tense. We could have real conversations in private, but in group situations she would question my decision making and assert herself in authority. She was told by the Chief to be present in all of our team meetings. I was being micromanaged every step. Eventually I was advised that I had to copy my supervisor and the BH Chief on all of my email correspondence. The BH Chief even took an opportunity to dress me down in the hallway in front of multiple staff about reaching out per instruction to a facility data guru in an email she was included on. I was no longer a trusted leader, I was an outspoken enemy.
When it came time for our Employee Survey that winter I had plenty of feedback to provide. I clearly referenced the racial discrimination we had witnessed on our team and the retaliation I was experiencing as a result of calling it out. A month or so after responses were compiled we did what we always do. Gather in the auditorium where the BH Chief has us number off like school children to form workgroups with people we don’t normally associate with to determine solutions to all of the problems we identified in the survey. This time her response to our solutions was different. A few weeks later, the BH Chief had compiled our responses in a slideshow and while reading them to our department she dismissed solutions and demanded to know the individuals who made them. The hostility was palpable. In an auditorium packed with the top clinicians in our fields you could have heard a pin drop. We weren’t safe. Those who attempted to respond to her comments were belittled and forced onto workgroups to find yet more solutions.
I had had enough. After almost ten years of employment the dynamic had shifted from the land of milk and honey to a highly abusive relationship. I reached out to the chain of command and requested a meeting with hospital leadership. I also reached out to my fellow PSR teammates. They too were getting to the end of their rope with micromanagement and a critical lack of understanding of program metrics. We made time to meet outside of work to clearly identify our concerns. When we parted ways we had compiled a list that included racial discrimination, billing fraud, ethics violations, failure to respond to sexual harassment reports and the overall creation of a hostile and toxic work environment. We had dates, timelines, specific examples, emails, and contemporaneous notes detailing our concerns.
We were scared. This was a huge step. People did not stand up to the BH Chief and eventually we would learn why. Wanting to avoid being dismissed as disgruntled employees fueled our desire to be prepared, professional and clearly explain our concerns and how they were impacting veteran care. We left our meeting with Chief of Staff of the facility feeling heard, understood and validated. After all, she had teared up describing her very real experiences with a toxic work environment. We had been clear that we weren’t sure what the best solution was, but we knew things could not remain as they were. We were raw, vulnerable and honest. As a social worker, I felt very empowered. We had advocated for ourselves in the way we had been taught to advocate for others. We held strong to our values and and what we thought were the values of the facility.
We didn’t know what to expect from our meeting, and a week or so later we were informed that there would be a fact finding investigation regarding the issues we had brought forward. All members of the PSR team were given the opportunity to meet with an independent investigator and formally report our concerns. I went to my meeting with four pages of notes. We met for over an hour and I can still see the look of shock on her face while describing examples of my concerns. Weeks went by with no information. None of us had experienced a fact finding investigation and absolutely no guidance or explanation was given for how the process would work. While we waited things just continued as usual. Our supervisor remained our supervisor, the BH Chief remained her personal bodyguard and we were informed that “restructuring” would be taking place. This restructuring included making formal supervisor positions for all of our programs which would in turn reduce the workload of our immediate supervisor. As a side note, our supervisor had long been pushing for team leads to be supervisors. All of us were willing to undertake formal leadership roles long as the facility agreed to appropriate compensation for additional responsibilities.
In a effort to “heal” the PSR team a consultant was brought in to help us with process improvement and team cohesion. Within the first few hours of meeting our team and observing the dynamics in the room she was quickly able to identify there was significant abuse of power and toxicity. Our supervisor left the training, giving us the opportunity to speak more freely. The consultant shared their deep concern for us. After meeting with the BH Chief and our supervisor at the conclusion of our consultation we were also informed that there would be “big changes” announced in our team meeting the following week.
I want to take a moment to express how validating it was to have an independent consultant from outside of the agency witness the level of toxicity present on our team. It is impossible to exist within an abusive environment without questioning reality. There were many times I had begun to question going forward. Wished I had just kept my mouth closed and maintained the status quo. It sucked, but at least it was predictable. Now everything felt combative. There was no communication. All I wanted was for someone, anyone, in administration to admit that things weren’t being handled well. Just some level of accountability for the role toxic Behavioral Health leadership was playing.
Nothing could have prepared me for what happened the following week. Just as the consultant indicated, we were informed that the Chief of Staff was going to meet with us regarding the fact finding investigation. The entirety of the PSR team gathered for our regular meeting. I often compare what happened next to the moment in a movie when the protagonist has this instantaneous flashback to a myriad of tiny details throughout the story and they realize they’ve had it wrong the whole time. Chief of Staff, the BH Chief and our supervisor entered the room together, practically arm in arm. The Chief of Staff then proceeds to tell us an analogy, and, “don’t worry, I’m telling this to every department.” She goes on to tell that, “ there are three kinds of people in every organization. There are Blue People, they’re the ones actively rowing towards the objective. There are Green People, they’re not really hurting much, but they’re not really helping either. And there are Red People,” her eyes fixed directly on me and the others who came forward, “and Red People are angry and not only are they not helping, they’re actively creating wake for those working towards the objective. We all need to be Blue People.” Shut the fuck up and row. We were then told that there was, “no evidence of malfeasance” in the fact finding investigation, and oh, by the way, as of next week your supervisor will no longer be your supervisor, she will now be in charge of a brand new program disconnected from PSR. We were also formally advised that supervisor positions would be created for all of the teams within PSR with no change to pay grade or rate and to stay tuned regarding posting dates.
Any relief I felt about not working under my current supervisor was quickly replaced with fear and panic that I would now be reporting directly to the BH Chief. I pride myself in being able to get along with just about anyone. I am a team player and my approach to problems has always been to find a win-win solution. I knew that I had been identified as the person who had instigated the meeting with the Chief of Staff and I was very concerned about retaliation. All of us were. I grounded myself with reassuring thoughts about being able to have a real and vulnerable conversation with the BH Chief. I wanted to be honest about why I felt uncomfortable going directly to her with my concerns. I wanted to talk about my concerns and clearly explain the type of support I needed in my job. After speaking with a colleague who was able to have just this type of conversation, I was relieved. There was a path through this. My relationship with the BH Chief was very different though. When turned down for a supervisory position I applied for early in my VA career I requested to meet with her to learn what I could do to be a more viable candidate in the future. While the Clinic Manager, who was on the interview panel and felt compelled to tell me after my interview that it was one of the best performance based interviews he had heard, sat silent behind me in the corner, the BH Chief advised that I didn’t get the job because: 1. I didn’t dress professionally (I worked in the field literally moving homeless into housing, not to mention it was a phone interview and I was decked out in a business suit and my power heels), 2. I had tattoos (which I got after enlisting in the military and serve as a great ice breaker to form rapport with an iconically tattooed veteran population), and 3. I was a negative person (a remark I later learned was in response to me making a negative comment about my supervisor. I sing people’s names to them in the hall. I am often described as a “ray of sunshine” with an “infectious laugh.”). Suffice to say, I knew it would be an uphill battle to create any semblance of a healthy relationship. As I suspected, when I approached the BH Chief vulnerable and raw I was literally told my, “feelings were noise that needed to be hushed.” End of discussion. I broke down as soon as I closed the door to my office, scared and unsure of how to navigate these toxic waters.
The next several weeks were taxing to say the least. In the wake of our team loss, two more team members had moved into new positions within Behavioral Health and another was on maternity leave. We had four clinicians instead of seven providing intensive case management to almost 130 vulnerable veterans. One veteran in particular needed a lot of support. They were highly dysregulated, acutely psychotic and had been moved into three different apartments in less than a year in the program and had now decided they wanted to port back to where they had relocated to Columbia from. To ensure they had adequate support, three of us were co-case managing this veteran.
I have reflected on the following events more than I can to think about. I arrived at work one morning only to have my pager going off before I got to my office indicating our high-need veteran was at the clinic wanting to meet with me. When I went to retrieve them from the waiting area I was completely shocked by their appearance. Their hair was styled like a unicorn horn on top of their head and the rest of their hair was covered in children’s barrettes. Physical appearance was a huge indicator of well-being for this particular veteran and the more outlandish and inappropriately they appeared the more we knew they were struggling. This was clearly a bad day for them. After nearly two hours of validation, deescalation, phone calls, connecting them with resources, food, and clothing including shoes as they had given everything else away in anticipation of moving… again, I was exhausted already and it wasn't even 10:00. In a significant but innocent lapse of judgement I saw my encrypted VA phone on my desk and without thinking I snapped a covert photo of my very ill veteran, a picture says a thousand words. Upon their departure from my office I quickly sent the picture to the three remaining members of our team with the caption, “I’m evil for taking this on the DL, but you can imagine my shock re this hairstyle. The good news, Florida will likely be able to help.” Two of the recipients were co-case managing and I wanted them to be immediately aware of the severity of the day and I wanted the third member of the team to also be aware as I knew we would be talking extensively about this in our next team meeting and I didn’t want them to feel excluded.
Weeks went by. We had a necessary team discussion about differential diagnosis between schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorders. We discussed cultural implications of appearance and most importantly, we assisted our veteran with getting home to their family and supports. We were all happy with our teamwork and glad to put that chapter behind us. We had hired new staff and after what felt like an eternity, they finally had a start date. I was hobbling along in my relationship with the BH Chief determined to prove to her the type of leader I am and continue to grow and improve VASH. It was a Monday when I opened an email from her indicating I had to meet with her by noon on Wednesday and could have Union representation present if requested. I was scared and confused. What was this about? Why would I need Union representation? When I asked for clarification I was told, I’ll find out when I meet with her. I was panicked. I reached out to the Union but as it turned out, they were at a conference and would not be back until Friday. Union Stewards were pulled into negotiation and ultimately a Friday afternoon meeting was agreed upon. That Wednesday I was meeting with my new team member who was in orientation for a few hours that morning. I had spoken with the BH Chief, explained to her my agenda and invited her to join us, which she declined. After meeting with new staff I met with Veterans in the community, ran folks to the food pantry and filled in for missing staff. As I was returning to the hospital around noon I received a panicked call from a Union Steward who worked in Behavioral Health asking where I was and advising me that “the meeting with the BH Chief is starting right now.” I asked how the meeting could be starting when I was in the parking lot and had a patient waiting on me in the clinic. She advised that despite it being a conflict of interest for her to represent someone in her own department, the Union President had given her permission to sit in with me today. I asked if she knew what this was in reference to and she mentioned a picture. The third and unrelated recipient of the photo had reported my actions to the BH Chief. I was terrified. I knew this would be an opportunity for her to throw the book at me, but yet again, my inner Pollyanna felt this could all be resolved with effective communication. I just needed to make sure she understood the motive behind the photo was to convey concern, not poke fun. I wanted her to know the clinical conversations that stemmed from the photo and also to take accountability for invading a patents privacy in the interest of saving time.
None of that happened. There was no conversation. Instead I was handed two memos, the first of which stated that effective immediately I was being administratively reassigned outside of Behavioral Health. I was to report to the Chief of Social Work and could have absolutely no communication with my team or the veterans in my program. I was given a short list of administrators I could communicate with if needed. The second memo was a recommendation for sanctions to my license. Without any conversation my behavior was identified as egregious and worthy of sanctions up to and including termination.
I barely made it to my office before I broke down in hysterics. I pulled myself together enough to go to the clinic and advise my patient that someone would be in touch to reschedule. I was a terrified mess. I was crying uncontrollably, scared for my job and my career, scared about my program falling apart, scared my veterans won’t get the care they need. When I didn’t report to the fifth floor immediately, the BH Chief put out an APB for me. The Union Steward tracked me down in the cold, sterile fifth floor office I was to report to and advised that the BH Chief was demanding to know where I was and what I was doing. I had no idea what I was doing. The Chief of Social Work wasn’t in her office. I was so lost and confused. What was happening? Like a blur all I remember now is the Chief of Social Work joining me in the office of a social worker I had wandered into to see if they knew what I was supposed to be doing. Without missing a beat and completely ignoring my tear stained, puffy, traumatized face she smiled brightly and said, “Do you need a headset?” That was the response from a trained, licensed mental health clinician to a fellow colleague clearly in distress. Never once did we discuss what was happening in the months I reported to her.
I spoke with Union representatives that afternoon and they strongly encouraged me to take FMLA leave. I was a mess. I couldn’t speak without crying and I was terrified about losing my job. They did their best to reassure me and reminded me of the VA’s “just culture.” In my decade of federal employment I had never had any disciplinary actions taken against me. Quite the contrary, I had nothing but outstanding performance reviews, star awards from my Veterans and leadership awards from my colleagues. The Union advised me that the BH Chief was conducting a fact finding investigation regarding my actions. I met with her for terse questioning which allowed me to a least clarify that I never shared the photo with anyone outside of our team and certainly didn’t share it on social media as she had assumed I had intended to do. She was painting me as an unethical clinician who couldn’t be trusted.
Rummaging through my phone recently I found an email I had sent to the Bh Chief and it reminded me of how I approached every meeting I had with her, with openness, and a willingness to communicate and find a common solution:
[BH Chief],
I have been doing a considerable amount of self-evaluation during my leave. This includes reflection on various leadership trainings and the desire to arrive on a mutually beneficial outcome. It is with this in mind that I would like for you to consider the following proposal. I spoke with [the head of the Addiction Treatment Program] several weeks ago regarding my interest in the ATP Social Work position and yesterday gained his approval to speak with you regarding my potential transfer into this position. I have many years of experience working with those struggling with addiction and enjoy the challenges this population poses. Allowing me to assume this role would gain [ATP] a seasoned clinician for a long-vacant position, alleviate concerns you have about me in a leadership role, and allow me to continue serving the Veterans I care deeply about. Please let me know your thoughts. I really do feel this would be a good outcome for all involved.
Respectfully,
Blake
Supervisory positions were posted. Interviews were held with the three candidates, myself included. I wasn’t selected for the second round of interviews, conducted one-on-one with the BH Chief, but I have it on good authority that the questions consisted of, “How would you lead differently than Blake?” I get it.
More than six weeks passed. I heard absolutely nothing about the investigation. I continued to be isolated from everyone I knew in the facility. At breaking point, I went to Human Resources, desperate to learn something about fact finding investigation process to get some sort of understanding of how much longer I was going to be held in exile. When they told me they wouldn’t meet with me because I was working with the Union I broke. I was sobbing. I felt helpless, alone and terrified. As much to get me out of their office as to assist me, an HR staff scribbled down a policy number on a post-it and told me to look it up in my office. I did, only to find a table of penalties that clearly indicated termination as a possibility. Not moments after pulling up the policy I was informed that the BH Chief wanted to meet with me that afternoon.
I knew the BH Chief disliked me. Again, I held onto faith that my history of employment and who I was as a person and leader would somehow outweigh my momentary lapse in judgement. I was wrong. With no conversation, she handed me a memo recommending termination of my employment. I wanted to vomit. I quickly left her office and fell into hysterics once again. How could this possibly be happening? I questioned everything I knew about my qualifications as a clinician.
I took advantage of all written and verbal appeals. My colleagues offered letters of support to the facility Director. I met with him face-to-face for a stenographer transcribed formal appeal. Per Union recommendation I left that meeting and met with an attorney. There was little the Union felt they could do for me at this point. That afternoon I filed formal EEOC complaints of whistleblower retaliation, toxic and hostile work environment, and a few weeks later, non-selection for a supervisory position.
A week after meeting with the Director, I received a memo indicating the BH Chief’s recommendation for termination was being reduced to a written reprimand in my personnel record, which I had the opportunity to expunge after a few years without additional incident. After nearly three months, I would be allowed to return to my position in Behavioral Health. But what was I returning to? What would I say to my veterans? Why had I disappeared off the face of the earth for everyone I had dedicated the previous decade to serving? Furthermore, why was I no longer in charge of the program I had built and successfully managed for the past decade? What had they told people in my absence? None of it made sense. The individual who reported me was now my immediate supervisor and the only person between them and facility executive leadership was the person who tried to fire me. As insult to injury, days prior to my scheduled return, my new supervisor accidentally sent an eight-minute recording of a supervisory session with the BH Chief to our team. In the recording they discuss the audacity of my entitlement and the need to closely monitor me. My community partners had also expressed their relief of my return and confirmed that I had in fact been slandered to them. This was not going to be pleasant.
Returning to my team was gut wrenching. In my initial days back, none of my leadership spoke with me. I reached out to my supervisor and requested a meeting to help me better understand my role on the team. The meeting lasted all of a few minutes where I was quickly advised that I was just another Social Worker on the team. Since they couldn’t demote me, the goal of making my life so miserable I would leave took center stage. The language from the recording echoed in my head every day, “…the entitlement, who does she think she is?” I am a ten year veteran of a program that people don't typically last a year in. I poured my heart and soul into this program and grew it from 35 vouchers to more than 150 including the creation of a multi-million dollar project-based housing complex. And now my experience, my wisdom, my compassion, my empathy, my heart meant nothing. VASH team meetings were excruciating. I sat in the room listing to my legacy being drug through the mud every week. Derogatory statements regarding my leadership were a staple.
I tried to work with my new supervisor. I had selected and hired her only a few years prior so I knew she had great qualities. I tried to connect and find out why she didn’t feel safe coming to me about the photo. I wanted to remind her what kind of person I was and that I would never intentionally degrade or disrespect one of our veterans. I wanted to find a way to make it work. A way that I could respect her role without completely ignoring my contributions to the program. I was willing to support to her in exchange for a shed of mutual respect. No dice. I was the enemy.
After an initial EEOC investigation I was advised that I passed the test for severe and pervasive abuse. I requested formal mediation, which was an utter waste of time. To clarify, “I’m sorry you felt that way,” is never an acceptable apology or evidence of taking accountability in any capacity. There would be no accommodation. No willingness to let me relinquish my program entirely to resolve tension and transition into a new role on a new team altogether. Despite my former supervisor being slid into a job they pulled the public job listing to award them, even when there were more qualified clinicians at the facility who had been patiently waiting for the position to post, “you can apply for that job like anyone else,” was the response I received. It may be of note that the addiction treatment position I wanted wasn’t posted again until after I resigned. All I wanted at this point was to somehow salvage my career. I had planned to retire from the VA. I had numerous career paths in mind, and they all involved the VA. I had worked hard to get where I was.
The next several months were filled with sweating through my clothes on a daily basis and running myself ragged out of fear and paranoia that any possible dip in productivity would be used to fire me. It was painfully clear the goal was to drive me out. I was a pariah. I was consumed with guilt if my colleagues offered support as I knew any association with me would make them a target for retaliation as well. A sympathetic colleague was denied ten different positions they applied for outside of our department in the wake of this fallout. There was no safety and the message was clear; cross the BH Chief or anyone she aligns with and your life will be hell.
When mediation was unsuccessful I requested a formal hearing. During discovery I gained access to to the fact finding investigation of my former supervisor, the interview notes for the VASH supervisor position and the fact finding investigation on me. Just thinking about those documents fills me with hurt and anger. Very few of the very real concerns our team had shared were even included in the shockingly small form report. Instead, the recommendations included a 360 review of the HUD-VASH Team Lead, me. What?? The monosyllabic responses on my investigation form report spoke clearly to the thin justification for my termination. I was relieved to know I had the top score from the initial round of VASH Supervisor interviews, but seeing the justification for hiring someone because they reported me in my abusers own handwriting was chilling.
I tried. I tried to make it work. I tried to keep my head down and stay focused on the mission. I’d hang on just a few more weeks in the hopes that we would move forward in litigation and I would be able to move into another position and get on with my life. But weeks turned to months and months led to a year and nothing was happening. I was broken. I was maxed out on my antidepressant and anxiolytic. Weekly therapy gave way to monthly because I knew what I had to do. I had to leave. I was losing my hair, I cut myself off from friends and family. I wasn’t present for my children because I was lost in the questions and self-doubt swirling around in my head. Moreso, my mental health made me not present for my veterans. I was a burnt out shell of myself. I felt useless to everyone. I looked for other jobs but I was too full of self-doubt and trauma to put myself out there. The thought of putting my heart into another job only to be systematically destroyed again was too much. I needed time and space away from daily abuse to recenter and find myself again. Almost a year to the day after returning to the VASH program, after enduring the most traumatic months of my life, I left. Almost eleven years, over three hundred homeless veterans and families housed, was reduced to a few boxes. Shut the fuck up and row.
In fall of 2019, a few months after leaving, my case was finally assigned to an Administrative Judge. We had a phone meeting where all parties agreed to the charges, acknowledged they had sufficient evidence via discovery and depositions were the next thing on the docket. And then the pandemic set everything off course. 2020 passed in a foggy haze. I didn’t mind waiting so long as I had my day to sit in front of a judge and let them hear me speak. To hear what kind of person I am and how mischaracterized I was by facility leadership. My actions were inappropriate, there is no questioning that. I knew at the time it was wrong to take their picture without permission, but I was not malicious. To the day I resigned that veteran continued to contact me from Florida to thank me for my help and called me their angel. I wasn’t trying to hurt them. I was concerned and exhausted. I conveyed information the fastest way I could and moved on to assist the other veterans in our program. I have never done this before and I assure you, I never will again. An entire career down the drain for a split second decision.
January 6, 2021, the day of the Capitol insurrection, I received a formal email from EEOC. Instead of going through with the hearing, they are so backlogged due to the pandemic they are making summary judgements whenever possible. They decided I failed to provide sufficient evidence to demonstrate any of the charges I made. The facility clearly conveyed the egregious nature of my behavior and adequately justified their actions. The Director reducing my termination to a written reprimand was all they concerned themselves with. The fact I was placed in an impossibly toxic position wasn’t even considered. Waves of nausea and tears washed over me. I ugly cried until I couldn’t anymore. How could I have passed the “severe and pervasive” abuse test before and suddenly not have enough evidence now? This is not how it ends. The summary also indicated they never got the recording and since I could not provide an example of someone else doing the EXACT same thing getting treated differently the case was effectively closed.
I reached out to my attorney, who avoided me for days. When we finally spoke she conveyed her unwillingness to file and appeal. Based on how the judgement is written we don’t have much recourse. What??? This can’t be how it ends. She questioned if I had the emotional energy to keep fighting this. Unequivocally, yes. I now have a much better understanding of how flawed the system actually is. But I can’t let it go here. I still want my day in court. I still want a judge to hear my heart and understand the true impact of an abusive work environment.
All of the clinicians who came forward to report concerns no longer work at Truman VA. All of us were passed over for supervisory positions and all of our lives were made a complete hell through toxic and abusive leadership. The VASH program has undergone a 100% turnover in staff. No one who was on the team under my leadership remains and they have struggled to fill vacant positions. There are two posted right now, including the Senior VASH Social Work position that I vacated. The relationships I worked so hard to build with the Columbia Housing Authority have been destroyed.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about this trauma. I’m still searching for legal representation for my appeal. Many people, including myself, have asked what I need for closure and the truth is, accountability. Whether that is in a court of law or court of public opinion feels less important with each day that passes. I want people to read this and be outraged. I want the community to read this and be outraged. I want the BH Chief to acknowledge that this entire situation could have been handled with open and honest communication. I want Executive Leadership to acknowledge that they dropped the ball. That they promised to intervene and never did. That they let a toxic dictator run rampant and drive amazing clinician after clinician out of our facility. I want them all to acknowledge that their desire to remain in power was at the cost of veteran care. I want them to acknowledge that the concept of a “just culture” is nothing but lip service.
Everything works out in the end. If it's not worked out, it isn’t the end. The good guys are supposed to win, right?