You're in Shock. But You're Going to Be Okay.

The afternoon that shifted everything.

The Afternoon That Shifted Everything

I was wearing my favorite black slacks that complemented my long legs. The ones that made me feel taller than I was. A royal blue blouse that clung just enough to remind me I had a shape beneath the corporate attire. And my signature stilettos — because even if I was faking it, it didn't look like it.

It was late afternoon at the end of June 2019. One of those standard hotels off an industrial park. The kind where the lobby smells like cleaning products and lost ambition. We were prepping for an event. One of many. Nothing about that day felt different.

Until it did.

He was a higher-up. Respected. Married. In the industry longer than I'd been legally allowed to drink. I was still the new girl — ambitious, eager, determined not to let anyone see how uncomfortable I was in that world.

I went to him for help. Guidance on how to handle the industry and the work environment. I thought he saw something in me. I hoped it was talent. Intelligence.

We sat together in an empty conference room full of the marketing materials that I had contributed to. I was mid-sentence — asking about logistics or budgets or whatever had been eating at my brain that week — when he went in for the kill.

I turned my head awkwardly to the side and gave him one of those side hugs with my shoulder in his face.

I backed away thinking: This can't be happening, right? There is NO way that this old man is coming in for a fucking kiss.

I smiled. I thanked him for all of his help, while I was screaming internally.

He went for it again. Again.

The second time was worse. Not because it was more aggressive, but because it confirmed what I didn't want to believe. That I had read the energy right the first time. That this wasn't an accident.

I got away with another awkward maneuver. Another mumbled "thank you." Another ghost of a smile.

And then I high-tailed it out of that hotel.

The Car

I don't remember walking to my car. But I remember sitting in it. For hours.

"You are in shock. But you're going to be okay."

That voice kept me tethered.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know who to call. I didn't know who wasn't going to say something accusatory like, "Did you lead him on?"

He's not the first guy to go in for the kill. But at that point in time, he was the cherry on top of my shit show of a life sundae.

What did I do? Had I said something out of line? Smiled too long? Asked too many questions that boosted his ego?

I tried so hard not to be flirty. I had been so careful.

Let me be clear. I did not flirt with this man. I was friendly. I was kind. I was trying to build rapport with colleagues so I could build a lifelong position for myself — with a stable income and all that comes with that. I asked him for help.

That moment unraveled everything. Not just the job. Not just the man. It shattered what I thought was going to be my future.

And the worst part? The one person I would have called — the one voice that always knew what to say — I couldn't call him. We had promised each other we would learn how to live without each other's guidance. How to survive the storms without reaching for each other's umbrellas.

So I sat in my car, drowning in it.

I told myself: You're going to be okay. You can handle this on your own. You have to do this yourself.

Looking back, I can tell you that I went into a state of dissociation — which is what eventually got me out of that parking lot and safely home.

The Road That Followed

I knew I needed time to process what had just happened so I could figure out how to proceed. A few days later, I took myself on a road trip up the eastern side of California all the way up to The Dalles, Oregon, and then came back along the coast.

That's where I discovered that heaven exists on earth. That's when I realized corporate city life was inevitably not for me. And all of the bullshit that came with playing the game — not for me.

I went back to work and told HR what happened. Because I truly was an idiot.

If you didn't know: HR is not your friend. HR is not your ally.

But now that I look back, I see how the universe worked in my favor. That place had to become my nightmare so I'd leave it. It's the only way I tend to make decisions.

I didn't know then that in the following seven months I'd be left out of big meetings, big events. I would be made into the problem. Not to mention that I came down with an undiagnosed upper respiratory infection just days after my boss returned from China. That illness had me bedridden for a couple of weeks, and I continued to feel run down for months. I wasn't allowed to work from home, so I brought my sick self into the office as much as physically possible. Always under watchful eyes. Knowing I couldn't last much longer.

It was Monday, February 26, 2020, that I showed up to my office — the one I had to share per corporate policy, even though there were eight empty offices on my floor. I showed up and looked at my chair, and that voice popped into my head again. This time it said: If you sit down, you will never leave.

By that point, I had given up trying to fight the voice.

I asked to work from home for the foreseeable future, or work from a different location. I was told no. And so… I quit. That day. I grabbed my things from the desk and left that building within minutes.

I was finally free of one torture.

But then, just two weeks later, the entire world shut down — and everyone was working from home.

Dude.

The Five Years After

I'd quit my job. I moved to Arizona. I literally ran away.

And I ended up spending the next five years clawing my way out of a fog so thick I barely remember what happened in it.

I now know this is burnout, with a mix of PTSD and CPTSD. Isolation. Rage, always at the ready. Feeling like the pile of Jenga blocks finally toppled — and you're buried underneath.

From 2020 to 2024, I was an arm reaching out of the rubble. Not a full person. Just… an echo of who I used to be.

People don't see that kind of collapse. They just see you not responding to texts. Not posting. Not smiling. They don't know that every day you choose not to disappear is a win.

Even the people I told — most of them didn't get it. Or couldn't. Or wouldn't. They wanted the me that stood on the pile. Not the one buried beneath it.

But I'm learning to stop judging her. The one in the car. The one in shock. The one who didn't handle it the "right" way.

She did the best she could with what she had.

And maybe… just maybe… I was the voice she heard that day.

If you've ever felt ashamed for how you handled something you never should've had to handle at all — this is your reminder: you're not alone.

The path will always shift to carry you toward healing. You don't have to walk it perfectly. You just have to keep walking.

— AudraHealing out loud, so you don't have to heal in silence.