(A disclaimer: I rarely speak negatively about my past work experiences. It’s not a good look. But more than a decade has passed, this company no longer exists, and I’ve always felt that I’ve had the right to tell this story.)
In 2015, I found myself in the worst, most toxic work environment I’ve ever experienced.
I was in my late twenties, and was brought in to be Executive Editor of a celebrity-backed content website that meant to promote female empowerment. This site had recently been acquired by a large media entity and had a glossy, promising future.
It ended up being one of the darkest periods of my life, so traumatizing that once a year, I go back and read my notes, just to remind myself that I wasn’t crazy or in the wrong.
What I needed to get through this time, I would discover, were objects of intention and a transformation of my home.
This site was co-founded by a woman (we’ll call her CEO) and a popular female actress at the time (let’s call her Meg) and the two were supposedly “BFFs,” although Meg had zero involvement and I never even met or corresponded with her.
At first, it was a dream job. I had a team of highly intelligent and funny women. Our office felt like a clubhouse, its bookshelves lined with Baby-Sitter’s Club volumes and ‘90s games like Girl Talk. The lounge was filled with plants, illustrated artwork, and fluffy bean bags, a gigantic rose quartz crystal in the corner. (A gift from a pop star.)
Like many other “viral internet” publications of the time, we were writing all types of regurgitated news — celeb stuff, sex stuff, DIY hacks, etc. It was a constant battle between keeping traffic up (those Kim K and Justin Bieber stories worked magic) and establishing a real brand with original, meaningful content.
I was let in on our traffic secret: We had access to Meg’s Facebook page and it had over 1 million followers. At first, I was led to believe that Meg had given us access and was on board with the strategy. It later became clear that she had no idea what was going on.
I was told to post our highest performing content to Meg’s page, thereby giving all of it an extra boost. I was then instructed by the General Manager (let’s call her Sue) to “hide” any content from Meg’s feed/page that could be deemed risqué — mostly anything about celebs or sex. Sue didn’t want CEO to understand the extent to which we were basically spamming the page. And CEO didn’t know about the “hide” feature, so she’d go to Meg’s FB page and see all these innocuous stories about books and avocados and be utterly confused: “I swear I saw a post on here about anal sex and now I’m not seeing it.” I would stay silent, not sure where my loyalty was supposed to lay. CEO was my boss. But Sue seemed to call the shots.
In 2016, Facebook (our main traffic driver) changed its algorithm and I was blamed for all traffic drops. I was leading a team of 12 people, divided between NYC, L.A., and London, and overnight, Sue upped our quotas: the team would need to produce 75 posts per day (!!!! c’mon!). After a while, it understandably led to employee frustration.
Then things truly went off the rails. Any time I brought up burnout, Sue accused me of “protecting my team” too much. My team and I were “lazy.” Sue would nitpick anything about my employees, accusing them of taking too much vacation (they didn’t, and when they did, they worked overtime to backfill content) on our “unlimited” vacation policy.
Sue also made it clear: Don’t talk to our parent company’s HR, ever. And so we all felt that if we did speak with HR, Sue would come for us. She was a bully — and I don’t use the term “bully” lightly; it was echoed by other staffers and I heard it again and again even after I left.
I used to get a fun, exuberant whoosh every morning when I sat at my desk. Now, all the “good vibes only” decor seemed like a creepy fun house—over-the-top positivity masquerading darkness. My tiny office began to feel like a fishbowl, the glass wall exposing me anytime I let my mask drop.
Every day, I’d alternate between blood-boiling rage and intense fear. My nervous system was wrecked. And so, in an act of desperation, and in a move that can only be described as “very Los Angeles,” I called in a witch.
I started seeing Amanda on a regular basis. At the time, Amanda lived in a huge, rickety craftsman house in West Adams. Her workspace was a wonderland of treasures: clothes from her ancestors, crystals, feathers…books about witchcraft, philosophy, religion. Amanda isn’t just a witch; she’s a scholar and is incredibly informed on ancient cultures, mythology, herbalism…and so much more. She seriously deserves an honorary Ph.D.
Every visit felt like a magical bubble where a remote control would hit pause the second I passed through her doorway, suspending all of the world around us. I’d sit in her sun-filled living room, sensing a type of love and alchemy she’d created in this environment.
It was the first time I realized that my own home could contain so much more meaning. At the time, I was living in a tiny garage apartment in the hills of Silver Lake. It was my first “real” apartment and I had decorated it with intention, but I didn’t understand how much my space could work for me.
(And before I go further, I’d like to say something to the witch community: I hope not to offend. I respect witchcraft but I don’t claim to understand it. But believe me when I say that I was in severe crisis and it saved me during this time.)
I learned how to pull Tarot cards and use them in a way more akin to psychology. Every day, I’d draw two cards and look up their meanings — not to predict the future, but to use them as frameworks through which to examine my trauma. I’d leave them on my altar and revisit them after work.
Soon, my shelves filled with crystals: quartz, citrine, rose quartz. I bought multiple pieces of tourmaline (thought to absorb negative energy) and I’d keep small bits in my pockets at work.
Look, I can’t say I knew what I was doing, but every week or so, a trip to House of Intuition seemed to bolster my confidence. After work, I would light intention candles and attempt to meditate.
I loved this corner of my home. It was a special little spot, and anytime I’d visit it, I’d feel calm.
All of it worked. Well, it didn’t change my bosses or shift office dynamics. But it gave me the clarity and confidence I needed to get through the mess.
Sue and CEO decided to lay off half of my team. I was devastated and I didn’t get any say in it. (Except they did seem to take into consideration some things I called out as pretty racist.)
On the day the layoffs were announced, CEO cried as she broke the news to the company. She said she’d be available in the conference room for anyone who wanted to talk. But for the short time she was there, she sat behind the glass walls with an employee she was especially close to. No one went in. From where we sat, it felt like she was less there to talk to us than to talk about us. Then CEO left to go on a digital retreat — no phone, no email, no internet.
I felt awful about the people who lost their jobs. They were wonderful writers, wonderful humans. I knew they blamed me. And even after I left and contacted them to express my regret, some didn’t forgive me.
But I at least got through it without a nervous breakdown. And I felt reassured in knowing the value of my next move.
I quit shortly after — something I wouldn’t have had the strength to do without all the work I did. I couldn’t even inform CEO first hand because she was on that retreat. We never talked again.
These days, I’m not relying on witchcraft so much to get me through tough times. But it taught me to believe in the power and magic of meaningful objects, and so my home still has little “altars”: a mantel filled with pieces that feel more powerful when bunched together. Special dishes for my grandmother’s jewelry. Polaroids next to childhood relics.
I finally feel protected.
what was it about those facebook traffic driven companies that made everything so toxic? i had a similar experience at a well known animal video company, which was probably 80% women. i feel like i missed my nervous breakdown only because i got laid off during early covid. that was a bad era!!!!