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Harper, my supervisor, believed she had all the authority when she made me babysit her kids or lose my job. The haughty ultimatum proved to be her worst professional error and a life-changing event. She want control. She granted me freedom and a front-row ticket to her breakdown.
Start from the beginning.
Career has pushed me forever. While my undergraduate buddies were on spring break and slept in until noon, I had two internships and a weekend barista job. After graduating, I was eager to ascend the ladder.
That initial step was becoming a marketing assistant at an Austin mid-size architectural business. Though not spectacular, I enjoyed the team and the potential to develop. Until Harper became my manager six months ago.
Painting Harper for you.
She was bright, confident, and entered our building like she owned it, despite having recently relocated from a more prominent New York business. Success radiated from her clothes. Her self-assurance was seductive. She arrived in her navy blue Audi with sunglasses and used buzzwords like “synergy” and “personal brand” within minutes of entering any meeting.
I first admired her.
She said, “Naomi, you’re incredibly detail-oriented,” during a brainstorming session. “Exactly the kind of person I need beside me.”
It was good to be acknowledged after being ignored by prior management.
Harper’s charm was a facade that rapidly fell apart.
Her first oversharing was little. Complains about Lucas, her ex-husband. Discusses the difficulties of co-parenting Audrey and Grace. Stories about Lucas cheating on her with his paralegal and wanting more visits.
Harper observed, “They’re better off without him,” while leaning against my workstation to study campaign stats one day. “He never understood fatherhood.”
Audrey and Grace raced into her home office mid-Zoom team check-in, screaming about who got the last cookie. Harper shouted about Lucas.
“This is why I distrust him!” She shouted as we looked in fear, wondering where to look.
From then on, things intensified.
She sent me divorce documents screenshots. I saw custody battles and lakehouse disputes.
I first felt sorry for her. She ate protein bars between meetings and massaged her temples when no one was watching, looking weary. She was probably anxious and leant in to help.
My error was there.
Harper interpreted my empathy as permission.
“Naomi, can you drop this off at the dry cleaner for me during lunch?” she requested, thrusting a $400 jacket into my arms. “You multitask well.”
I believed it was a one-time favor. She then asked me to schedule her children’ dental visits.
“You’re great at that online stuff,” she remarked easily. “I swear, I still can’t figure out Google Calendar.”
Then followed 6 a.m. texts and 11 p.m. Slack pings. ‘Can you update my deck for the Tyler proposition before tomorrow morning?’ or “Totally forgot to prep for Monday’s pitch—can you summarize tonight?”
It never finished.
When I suggested limits, she offered me condescending praises. you’re my rock star, Naomi! I can trust you.”
At first, I thought it was temporary. A lot was on her plate. I dreaded checking my email. She sent me a lengthy message with an unattainable deadline while eating supper and signed off with a love emoji.
Then I realized I wasn’t simply overwhelmed. I was manipulated.
I spoke out the following day.
I entered her office, closed the door, and remarked calmly:
Harper, I’m your marketing assistant, not your concierge. I can’t manage your life.”
She gazed at me like I told her I burned the building.
Oh, sweetie,” she said with a sugary smile. Happy boss, happy team—you know what they say.
She reclined and dropped the bomb.
“Actually, I’m glad you brought this up,” she added. Because I need you to watch the girls tonight. Got a date. Either help or don’t come Monday. That simple.”
I blinked.
“You want to fire me for babysitting your kids?” I requested.
“I’m not threatening,” she answered calmly. I’m giving you a chance to prove your teamwork. You stroke my back, I scratch yours.”
Harper didn’t know?
A new employment was accepted that morning.
After three weeks of discreet lunchtime interviews, I signed my offer that day. A better firm. Improved culture. Manager who respected limits. I only had to wait out my notice period.
But after Harper’s little demand?
I wanted a conclusion for her.
“Sure,” I answered. “I’ll be there at six.”
Harper still seemed arrogant. “Knew you could, Naomi.”
That night, I arrived at her West Austin home on time. Audrey and Grace were half-watching a Disney+ animation in pajamas. These calm, courteous, exhausted youngsters appeared nice.
Harper was too busy fixing her lipstick and shrieking into her Bluetooth earpiece to see them. She thrust a nighttime rules sheet into my hand and pointed to the fridge.
Pizza money is on the counter. Get them to bed by 8. The fridge has Wi-Fi passwords. Emergency contacts in drawer.”
After slamming the door, she left a slight whiff of costly perfume.
I waited 15 minutes to confirm she was gone. I then wrote the message I’d been waiting to send on my phone:
Harper, thanks for tonight. It aided my choice. I’ve taken another employment and will provide two weeks’ notice Monday. Please note that I phoned Lucas. Coming to pick up Audrey and Grace.”
That wasn’t a lie.
Lucas’s number was in one of her dozens of unintentional emails. I contacted him earlier in the day, explained everything, and he promised to come right away.
Lucas arrived 20 minutes later.
He looked exhausted from fighting for time with his kids, but Audrey and Grace raced to him and lightened up his face.
“I’ve been trying to see them more,” he whispered. Harper makes it impossible.”
“They deserve to know their dad,” I said.
I helped girls pack bags. I left a message on the kitchen counter for Harper before leaving.
“You hired a marketing assistant, not a nanny. You demanded but abused loyalty. Needed assistance, took charge. Have someone else pick up your pieces.”
I left, locking the door.
My phone burst with messages and voicemails from Harper when she received my message—rage, guilt, and frantic appeals.
I only heard one voicemail.
I blocked her number.
I moved into my workplace two weeks later. A bright, open place where the crew valued each other. Alana, my new supervisor, smiled and gave me my onboarding material.
No emotional manipulation. Late-night text bombs banned. Zero dry cleaning.
Simply work—and respect.
My greatest lesson?
When someone says, “Happy boss, happy team,” ask yourself: who’s happy and what are you giving up to make them happy?
Sometimes the greatest action isn’t ascending the ladder.
Walking away from the one that burns you out.