My Birthday Gift to You: A Letter of Hope and Healing from Workplace Trauma

For five years, I hid from my professional community. The reasons are plenty—hurt, embarrassment, disappointment. I waited for restoration from the people and the organization that caused the pain. I went to therapy to make it through each day, trying to reconnect with the person I knew I was meant to be before I entered this organization. Meanwhile, people expected me just to move on, as if putting the pain behind me was as simple as flipping a switch.

But it wasn’t. The wounds were too deep. The abuse went on too long. The humiliation played out too publicly. I sought help from within the organization for years and was met with silence.

Sometimes, people would ask, “Are you getting the support you need?” Sure, legal teams and law enforcement showed up, but it often felt like they were more invested in protecting the organization’s reputation than helping me heal. Nobody focused on restoring me, on holding accountable the very people whose poor character and harmful actions created so much drama and trauma.

My journey through this organization has been long and painful. I was fed a lot of performative talk about diversity, equity, and inclusion. When I asked if they were just playing at diversity, they said no—until I watched over 50 years of progress crumble in a single day. The answer was yes all along.

I’m still processing what I’ve witnessed and experienced. The organization presented one face on some days and another when it suited them. It was hard to know who to trust or what to believe.

I stayed in this city for my family’s stability, shouldering caregiving responsibilities while still grieving the loss of my parents. For almost a decade, I just tried to stay afloat—grateful every day that I woke up with a sound mind and a plan to keep going.

Investing in my healing was a choice I had to make. I enrolled in a personalized grief recovery program to work through the loss of my work identity. I broke down my past nine years, exploring what each experience meant to me. Initially, I didn’t want to feel the hurt. I tried to be strong, telling myself I was fine. I wanted to be resilient like the Black women before me who endured toxic workplaces. But I couldn’t just bounce back—the trauma cut too deep, and the damage was too severe.

Even when I tried to move past the hurt, I couldn’t escape the embarrassment and sadness. How could an organization that bragged about its achievements so easily dismiss my contributions? How could they try to erase me while celebrating those who caused harm?

I remember the faces of those who did nothing while I suffered. I remember how I was erased when all I wanted was acknowledgment and a commitment to preventing similar harm for others.

Eventually, I had to take charge of my healing. I spent thousands of dollars figuring out what happened and how I could move forward—not just for myself but for my family and friends, too.

Now, I’m at a crossroads. How do I keep moving forward in a space that I don’t trust to do right by me or other vulnerable people? How do I channel my talents into something good? Where can I build systems that reflect authenticity and human decency? How do I keep my leadership voice strong in a culture where it's so easy to compromise for the sake of the status quo?

I don’t have all the answers. But as a gift to my online community, I’m sharing my grief recovery letter. A lot of you have seen my struggles and wondered why I stayed in a place that hurt me so much.

I had to process that—and I’m still processing it.

Five years and a day after I wasn’t reappointed as department chair—and my supervisor never spoke to me again—I’m sharing the letter I wrote to my organization. Most people would keep a letter like this to themselves, but I think the world needs to see it. Not to put the organization on blast, but to show that it’s possible to move through work hurt when you’ve been targeted for who you are or for challenging the status quo. People need to know that healing is possible—and that you can’t just wait for broken organizations to own their mistakes and fix themselves.

This letter is raw and real because the pain was raw and real.

So here it is—my letter to the organization, written after I reflected on what I went through as a leader there. (I bring my faith into this, so if that’s not your thing, you can disregard this.)

At the end of the day, this is MY truth—what I had to do to stay sane after public humiliation and hurt from people who should have known better.

My birthday wish for you is to get back to your core and who you were created to be. Don’t let any organization’s brokenness keep you broken. You are more than that. The world needs your gifts. #InSolidarityAndTruth

My Grief Recovery Letter

2/18/25 

Dear Organization (referred to hereafter as ORG),

I have been reviewing our relationship, and I have discovered some things that I want to tell you. 

ORG, when you took my talents and discarded me, I felt lost, humiliated, backstabbed, and abandoned. I want to tell you that I will never rest in your wrongs or deny that you caused harm. I will not participate in harmful behaviors that tear others down.  

ORG, when you listened to the negative stories of others about me and demonized me, I sat in disbelief, feeling as if I didn’t have value in our organization. But I remembered who I was and spoke life to myself as you spoke death over me. I embrace my full calling and gravitate to people who want me to thrive and share my truth.  

ORG, I want you to know that when you did nothing to restore me after I went through hell in your organization, I felt afraid and as if I had abandoned the dreams God planted in me my entire life. I was lost as I clung to new beginnings and tried to push past lies that were never denied publicly. I won’t let your lack of integrity and care for people make me harsh and call myself an outsider. I love freely and authentically and walk in the fullness of my truth without apology.  

ORG, I want you to know that when you attempted to brush over and cover up your lies, I saw you. I felt cheap and gaslighted as people who lied about me were given the grace to ascend to higher positions I was as qualified for, if not more qualified, to hold. I want to tell you that I hand over my desire for vengeance to a higher power. I do not feel the need to save or correct people who are not repentant or teachable. That is not my job or priority. I leave the patching up of your broken system to those who care about upholding their reputations through lies.  

To the people tempted by the lies of ORG, I felt betrayed and discarded when you cared more about ascending to new positions than being loyal to me as a friend or colleague. I walk away from your lies and deceit, allowing the Creator and something bigger than I am to take care of righting wrongs. You are in my rearview mirror as I move to authentic spaces and places with people who want to travel life's journey with me without fear, deceit, or anything that would tear me down.  

I have to move on with my life because the calling on my life is bigger than you. You showed me that my worth is greater than I knew. I am a phenomenal leader because of this experience. I am steadfast and committed to my truth. Because of you, I will always be bold. I will protect those you and other institutions don’t protect. I will push against oppressors with no apologies.  

Dr. Maya Angelou said, “When something shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” You showed me that everything that glitters isn’t gold. I am the real prize, and I’m holding only my gems, pearls, and treasure. The world will know about you. Lives will be saved because of how you moved. You have no more power over me.  

I hope you change, but if you don’t, I have changed. The strength I’ve gained from this time will not be erased. My voice will never be silenced. I release and cut the power you have had over me.  

I deserve better than what you can ever offer me. I am a prophetic queen who rules with truth, power, and grace.

Goodbye to your opinions. I know who I am and Whose I am forever and always.  

Monica Cox