This week, I’m sharing a personal story on a difficult, relatable topic: toxic environments. We’re all familiar with difficult work conditions like poor communication or lack of support but some 62% of us have experienced “toxic” cultures of fear, favoritism, or bullying. (Udemy Workplace Distraction Report, 2018).

While I’ve had my share of challenging workplaces, I’d never experienced so many as when I worked as a senior management position for an international organization. I knew from the start that our executive team did not have the best reputation in the industry but worked hard to create a bubble for my country office. We had Friday half-days, flexible work hours, remote work options (pre-COVID), and monthly team-building activities. Our group chat overflowed with memes, encouragement, and celebration of our high metrics.

Three years in, we welcomed a new direct executive who unfortunately worsened the environment. She quickly let us know that 35% of our budget was being reallocated funds to administrative costs in the executive suite and that we needed to raise more money. When our office requested fundraising support, we were told to cut staff.

I was no stranger to pushing back on higher-ups, so I got to work making a respectful and written case for retaining our team. In response to my resistance, the executive got retaliatory.

She paid us a tense visit where she was brusque with the team and I, sat in on a few meetings, and then selected four team members for private one-on-ones. It came out that they’d been asked for stories about our team, were promised raises, and encouraged to disregard the chain of command.

It broke my heart to see how this shattered our supportive relationships and eroded the protective bubble we had against headquarters' toxicity. Distrust, status-seeking, and factionalism quickly took over our culture.

Balancing the demands of fundraising, protecting my team from layoffs, and encouraging them to see the best in each other burnt me out. As resources were continually cut from the top, I reached out to headquarters for support, only to be brushed off with, "You’re a capable leader; you're resourceful enough to find what you need."

As the environment worsened, one of the executive’s favorites gained preferential treatment and power, leading to an investigation after multiple complaints from lower-level staff about being demeaned. I was stunned when HR instructed me to drop the investigation, but I insisted on fairness. When the complaining staff were told to try better at cooperating, and two additional junior staff members confided similar concerns but were too demoralized to file formal complaints, I felt utterly defeated.

I’d pushed off cuts, arranged futile attempts at team repair, and lost all the sleep I could bear. Despite my efforts to support and include everyone, the relentless struggle for limited resources eroded our morale. Jokes dried up, absences increased, and petty conflicts flared.

We devolved from collective success to individual survival.

I tried everything I knew to shield my beloved team from the encroaching toxicity, but I no longer had the resources or support to uphold my principles. Our executive, backed by headquarters, thwarted each attempt to realign with our values. It was difficult, but after putting up a principled fight for so long with no change, I knew it was time to leave.

Before I left, I hosted a final team lunch to celebrate their work and reassure them that the harsh conditions were not their fault. In an environment where resources are scarce, competition inevitably fosters toxicity. Good leaders must be on the defensive from the start rather than assuming an environment is healthy until it turns toxic. I told them how proud I was of each time we upheld our values despite the challenging power dynamics.

After my departure, some former colleagues resigned as well. When they reached out later, I was comforted by their feedback—that my leadership and departure had raised their expectations.