On this day, I felt defeat.
Not because I did anything wrong. Not because I wasn’t brave enough. But because I saw – again – how deeply evil can root itself in systems … and how easily people look away.
This particular morning I confronted the office bully, Negative Nag. It had been a long time coming. I confronted her not with rage, not with gossip, but with calm, clear truth.
Earlier on this particular morning, I had noticed her mood shift the moment I told the location supervisor I needed to be swapped out of a duty because of a required meeting with my employer. After all, the location supervisor is not my boss. I am a contracted to work at this specific location most of the week. So my schedule can change at a moment’s notice beyond my control.
It was a practical, simple request, but in Negative Nag’s eyes, because it came from me, it became a personal offense … a narcissistic injury that had been inflicted upon her. Although the location supervisor was the one who informed Negative Nag about the necessary swap, Negative Nag sighed loudly. She rolled her eyes (an energy which I could feel beyond my cubicle because of the deafening silence she gave). She poisoned the air. I could feel her anger rising – again and again – over nothing, and I did what I didn’t usually do: I called it out.
The location supervisor was attempting to appease Negative Nag. Instead of being Negative Nag’s boss in that moment and telling her it was what it was, the location supervisor deflected and tried to simmer the Negative Nag’s growing rage. I broke through the chatter and complaints coming from Negative Nag. I asked plainly over my cubicle, “Is it OK?” There was silence but no response. It’s the usual attempt to ignore me as if I hadn’t spoken.
However, instead of letting it go, I spoke through the silence again. “Is it OK?” Negative gave a fake “it’s fine” answer, and I asked again, louder. “Are you sure? Because it doesn’t sound OK.” She again ignored me, pretended to converse with the location supervisor as though I were invisible and hadn’t spoken, but she heard me. They all did. The office had become incredibly still in that moment as if something was about to explode.
Later, while we were both alone for a very brief moment in the break area, Negative Nag offered me a plastic smile – the kind that sticks in your spirit because it isn’t real. And again, I chose truth. “You seemed upset earlier about the duty swap situation – that wasn’t my intention.” She deflected, spinning a story about how they all try to accommodate me and how I’m never satisfied … that they must tiptoe around me about the schedule. In my mind, she was literally insinuating that I created eggshells for others to walk on, but I knew. We both knew. Everyone knew. I’m not the problem.
I cut to the chase. I broke through her deflection with the truth and firmly said, “No no … there’s nothing to accommodate. I don’t make the schedule. I don’t make the rules. When my company calls a meeting, my only option is to respond that I’ll be there. You’re not accommodating me. You’re following the rules of your boss in the same way I follow the rules of my boss. I think you forget that I don’t make the schedule, and I don’t make the rules … and neither do you.” And as if I dropped a mic, I immediately disengaged from entertaining her further and walked out of the room leaving her with nothing to add.
Although I’m not the problem in the office per say, Negative Nag’s real problem is me – not because I’ve done anything wrong, but because my presence exposes her performance. Because I don’t bow. Because I don’t engage in the clique. Because I won’t submit as a flying monkey. Because I won’t indulge in her drama. And mainly because I see. She’s aware that I see even though I remain silent and don’t interact. And for that, I’m a threat.
I tried to be kind later. I offered to switch back to take over her duty once my meeting was over, to ease the tension. Instead of accepting that kindness, Negative Nag lashed out. She snapped about this and that, dismissed my offering, and made a scene. There was a growl within her voice I immediately recognized. She could not have hidden that response from me no matter how hard she tried and no matter how much of a microsound it actually was in that moment. I walked away, refusing to absorb more of her venom. But she wasn’t done. She was unraveled.
After settling in and noticing the silence of the office, Negative Nag called my cubicle to make a performative declaration of “appreciation for my thoughtfulness” – loud enough for others to hear. Loud enough to look like the bigger person. Loud enough to maintain her disguise. It wasn’t a thank you. It was a tactic. I knew it the moment my phone rang. I could hear that demon bustling around for a way to take back power … to deflate me … to subdue me … to keep me engaged in some way. I listened and simply reacted with “OK”.
And the location supervisor? Silent. She, too, the boss in this office, allowed the situation to fester when she could have stepped in already knowing that my schedule changes on a dime. As a supervisor she is supposed to lead. Instead she lets the bully lead the atmosphere while she walks away from the mess she created. This is when I know the location supervisor has chosen a side against me and that as much as she might claim to like me, she doesn’t really like me enough to accept me as one of them … a part of their group. If Negative Nag and everyone else excludes me, so does she.
On this day in which I confronted Negative Nag, had grown tired of her negative and dark behaviors. My own limit with her nonsense had been reached, and I was tired of having to constantly avoid walking on landmines shaped like eggshells. I was tired of the lies. Tired of the fake Christianity. I’ve seen the demons disguised as believers more times than I can count. I’m not talking about church-going people. I’m talking about spirits. Mean, manipulative, territorial spirits that wear “team player” name tags and quote scripture while harboring malice.
The bully? She’s always talking about how much of a Christian she is … yet she creates a work environment of hostility for others. She bullies. She devalues. She dominates. Her voice reverberates throughout the building so that she is always the loudest one talking. She literally lowers the frequency. Her opinions, thoughts, and feelings are always heard. She carries more dominance than the location supervisor most days.
Negative Nag, is insufferable. Most days, I cover my ears with headphones to tune her out. When necessary, I even listen to ASMR office sounds on a loop just so I don’t have to hear her and think about the negative energy she frequently emits. She sprinkles the environment with so much venom that unless others play along with her script, they’d basically say nothing at all. When she’s on the warpath, the environment feels hollow and the silence translates as fear of being targeted. I don’t fear her at all, and she knows it. And believe me when I say she tries every tactic to bring me to a reaction, but I never give her one.
Negative Nag lives to provoke me every single workday I’m present. She makes it her mission. When she doesn’t get what she wants, she tries so hard that I can feel her hostility coming at me from her cubicle into mine. What true Christian behaves this way? She doesn’t carry the spirit of Christ. She’s a counterfeit. And maybe that’s why I struggle to even call myself a Christian anymore (although I long dropped the title nearly two decades ago). Because what Negative Nag and so many others like her represent and what Christ taught are not the same.
On this particular day, I didn’t feel angry at all. I was tired. I saw the spirit behind the mask. I saw a supervisor enabling dysfunction. I saw coworkers pretending not to notice and keep their silence. I saw a system happy to scapegoat the truth-teller. And I saw myself standing – again – alone in the truth. But on this particular day, I was tired enough not to care about a reaction. I just spoke out. I let my words cut through the tension. I let my words linger in the atmosphere. I let her feel the frequency of my words, and I didn’t care about her anger and rage. I didn’t care about the consequences of her wrath. My words weren’t fighting against her flesh; they were fighting against a spirit.
I could only reflect upon how maybe they don’t need me at this location and that maybe I should request a transfer. Or maybe I should walk away entirely. Then I thought that for such a time as this that maybe I was sent here, not to stay forever, but to witness and expose. To learn. To sharpen my discernment. To exercise not being fearful to stand in truth.
All I know is this: You can’t make peace with a poisonous spirit. You can only call it what it is – and protect your soul.
My Voice Unchained 