Writing can help us process trauma — we all know that. But it’s often easier said than done.

So, I decided to step up and set an example of how healing trauma through writing can look like. I’ll share my own story of workplace bullying — a real nightmare that, many years ago, left my life in ruins.

I hope it helps someone out there who is going through a similar experience to act immediately, rather than trying to sit it out, hoping things will get better.

Because they won’t.

Getting a Dream Job

In 2007, I was approached by investors from Estonia (for those who don’t know — the startup scene in the Baltics started in Estonia because they had Skype, while Latvia and Lithuania, well… didn’t).

They decided to invest in a startup in Latvia, acquiring 49% of the shares, investing some money into the company’s growth, and they were looking for a new CEO. They wanted me.

I had many doubts (there wasn’t a team to start with — just me and an accountant), but there were also things I really loved about it:

  • Working with the Estonian ex-Skype team (who were kind of like demigods at that time)
  • My salary terms were accepted without bargaining
  • They invested money into the company, so a clear runway and a (somewhat) clear plan was there
  • Before that, I was operating a production company and their wholesale business for a few years — it was a wild ride. But I really wanted out because we sold off parts of it, the growth of what was left stalled. And I was very tired.

So yeah, it was like a breath of fresh air.

It had been four years since I graduated from business school. I wanted to do stuff, and finally, I realized I wanted this.

Building a career in the corporate world was never my piece of cake anyway. And living in Latvia, you don’t wait for ideal circumstances to come your way, because you can die waiting.

So, I accepted the offer.

What about the other 51% of the company? That’s the question young, silly me didn’t ask hard enough.

I was signing my work agreement during the signing of the partnership agreement between the investors and the old owners, so I got to meet them that epic night.

I was told, “They are not interested in the business and will be silent partners,” while we’d be the ones doing all the work.

So, when I saw the two men — a vivid embodiment of the Wild ’90s they still radiated in 2007 through their harsh language and arrogant looks — I felt worried.

But it was too late to back off. They signed the deal after a tense six hours of term discussion in a stuffy meeting room. And I signed my employment agreement too. It was done.

One of the guys (let’s call him Mr. Owl, as my friends started calling him at one point) wanted to talk to me after the agreement was signed. I remember being super tired and irritated that I had to be present during this lengthy meeting, which was none of my business, in fact.

And still, I couldn’t go home at way past midnight because this guy needed to discuss something there and then.

I was sitting in an armchair in an expensive lawyer’s waiting room in jeans and Converse, trying to gather my thoughts and calm down. And Mr. Owl was shooting questions at me like it was my job interview.

He mostly worried about where the money would go and how I planned to spend the investment exactly.

I finally thought: It’s a good thing because it shows he cares.

Lesson 1: Never accept a job before knowing who the people you’ll be accountable to are. Even (especially?) if somebody tells you they are “silent partners.”

The Conflict

These were fun first weeks. I was traveling between Tallinn and Riga, having meetings, pitching to partners, repairing relationships we thought were lost, and signing agreements.

And doing audits. I became responsible for everything going on in the company. I needed to learn about all the commitments I was taking over, so it was a natural thing to do.

What I learned was that:

  • The company’s accountant was also Mr. Owl’s accountant. She was qualified, and I didn’t have any grounds to let her go, but I didn’t like it.
  • The company was renting a one-room office (THAT LITERALLY DIDN’T HAVE A DOOR) from... yes, you guessed it, Mr. Owl.
  • An amendment had been signed to the rental agreement two weeks before signing the agreement with new investors.
  • The rent went up fourfold.
  • The rental agreement’s termination period became three months instead of a few weeks.

The situation embodied everything I despised in business — internal conflict, fraud, pointless use of resources (not for Mr. Owl, I get it), and most of all... a freaking waste of my time.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get angry writing this because so many years have passed. But I am. Whew.

So I gathered my strength and went to see Mr. Owl (very conveniently, his office was in the same building that was entirely his property).

“It must have been a misunderstanding,” I said. “We all want the same thing, and it just doesn’t make sense,” I said, hoping to resolve it quietly.

And he just bullied me, saying that I should shut up and that it was “none of my business.”

But it literally WAS my business. I was the CEO of the company.

So I wrote a long email, copying the investors, outlining the problem, and asking him to either change the agreement to the previous terms or let the company terminate the agreement based on previous terms, and let us rent elsewhere.

I wasn’t rude or anything. But I made him look bad.

I made him look like the person he actually was — a crook.

Lesson 2: Never ignore red flags, even if the truth is very uncomfortable. When something looks and smells like shit, that’s 100% what it is.

The Entrance of a Magnificent Bird

It only spiraled from there. He got mad; investors got mad — it was hard to do any real work in such conditions (but I still did it).

If you’re wondering — Mr. Owl refused to immediately terminate the rental agreement, even though his new partners specifically asked him to. The company paid him the inflated rent for the office without a door for the next few months.

And I had to send him the rental agreement termination notice by registered mail.

I was still going to the same office (working from home in the mid-2000s felt strange, even if you were the only employee in the company) and meeting Mr. Owl — who wasn’t talking to me — every day.

One day, he asked me to be in his office at 12:00 with a report on how things were going in the company.

It was something new. He’d never really cared about how things were going before. I was worried, but hell, I went — what else was I supposed to do? At the end of the day, he was the co-owner of the company.

He asked me to sit on the sofa and wait in his office and went out. Heavily built, with short hair and a wry grin, he almost looked like he was in a good mood.

He shut the door tight, and I could breathe out. Sitting alone in his office, I took a good look around. I’d never been there.

It was a spacious room designed in the taste of the late ’90s — green wallpaper, gilded wall lamps, light walnut furniture, and a massive table with a dark-green leather top.

There were huge trees behind the windows, giving ample shade that summer day. That shade filling the room was almost soothing.

I noticed another door that was slightly ajar. From the strip of orange electric light, I guessed it was a bathroom.

But hey, something was moving there. I thought it was a cat, as I heard something like the scratching of claws.

At that moment, I looked at my phone, realizing that the waiting time had dragged on, and it irritated me. That’s when the bathroom door opened slightly, and I saw a brown owl emerging and flying in my direction.

I kind of knew owls fly silently, but seeing that magnificent bird flying over my head with talons out and hearing absolutely nothing, I was completely frozen.

From shock, from fear, from helplessness.

I spent 20 minutes in that room. While an actual owl now and then came out of the bathroom, did a circle, and went back in. I didn’t shout. I didn’t stand up. I didn’t try to hide.

I didn’t know how the bird would react to me moving, so I just sat there barely breathing.

When Mr. Owl came back and put his bird away, acting like nothing had happened, our meeting lasted barely five minutes before he let me go, saying he was busy.

Lesson 3: I don’t know what the lesson here is, really. I wish I could say, “Always have the strength to push back.” But I know we don’t always have that strength. I was a 27-year-old girl.

So, if you’ve ever been bullied, make sure you process that trauma afterward. Even if it takes years, therapy, or whatever you need — don’t carry it with you. Make a story out of it, not a burden.

The Threats

A friend of mine, who was actually the one who put the whole investment deal together for the Estonians, went to see Mr. Owl to talk to him.

He went to ask different questions, but mainly he wanted to protect me and tell him to back off.

I don’t know if you know the type of person Mr. Owl was — arrogant, opinionated, easily irritated, and angry. Talking to such a person about a difficult topic would feel risky to anyone.

But he did it. Taping a massive VOICE RECORDING DEVICE to his arm. (I know. This story just keeps giving :))

I pictured how their conversation could go — sitting at the table, my friend keeping his arm on top so the recorder would be near. I remember fearing that the recorder might make a click sound, and Mr. Owl would hear it.

But everything went fine. I got the recording of the whole conversation the next day. It lasted over two hours.

I listened to it in parts because I couldn’t digest everything at once. I had to take breaks.

What I learned was that:

  1. I had to shut up and “know my place.”
  2. I was a worthless person (trying to translate into polite language here), and he would show me “who he is.”
  3. To “dispose of me” (yes, he meant killing me here — I think concrete was specifically mentioned) would be too expensive. Although he knew the right people, I wasn’t worth it.
  4. BUT “screwing up my face would cost just 25 lats (about 50 USD today) paying any bum,” and it would teach me a lesson.
  5. He would bully me and make my life intolerable.

Since then, I felt fear all the time. I started smoking at home (I’m not a smoker per se). I was afraid to go out of my apartment. I couldn’t sleep well.

And what about the investors? Their emails boiled down to, “We didn’t expect this, and it’s such a nuisance. Just ignore him.”

Lesson 4: Very often, nobody will understand the depth of what you feel because any situation looks “workable” when you’re not in it. Very often, it’s on you to make a grave decision at the point when you’re most vulnerable.

Very often, this decision will essentially mean leaving everything in ruins. Don’t carry that guilt with you forever. It wasn't your fault in the first place.

In the Grip of Fear

I rented a small, cheap office space (with a door and a lock, if you were wondering). The next weekend, I took my car, my (soon-to-be ex-) husband, and we drove to the old office to pick up all the documents, computers, POS terminals, and everything else to transport safely to the new premises.

My fear doing that was physical — I was trembling and sweating at the idea that Mr. Owl might drop by the building at the same time and see me loading my car with the documents.

But it went fine. And since that week, I worked behind a LOCKED DOOR in the new office.

A few times, Mr. Owl dropped by, trying to open the door. Pulling the handle and banging on it like crazy.

When he was calling me, I was picking up and hitting the Record button to ensure all our conversations were documented. He could hear it (hello Nokia!), and it drove him even more insane.

I was resisting his attacks with the last resources I had, and I was clearly triggering him. He made it his goal to fire me.

Honestly, I don’t know today why I resisted being fired so much. A big part of it was my Estonian investors, who really wanted me to stay. I’ll repeat it again — I loved working with them. They were in contact with me every day, trying to ensure I was on top of the tasks at hand (and of course, I was).

But I didn’t feel they were fighting for me either. Because that would mean taking me out of that stalemate situation, putting my energy to other projects we still could do together.

At one point, a board meeting was called. The Estonians were unhappy but couldn’t do anything. The only thing that downed on everyone that night was that if I was going away, there was nobody to do the actual work.

So, Mr. Owl took away my signature rights, stripping me of the ability to make any actionable decision without it first being approved by his administrator (a slow and silent lady in her 50s who took 24 hours to answer any email).

After a month or so, I wrote an email to the investors, saying I quit. My work had turned into everything I hate in business — inability to act, toxic relationships, regret.

I remember clearly that I said, “This company turned into a kindergarten. I wish I could help get it out of this state, but I can’t — I’m not there mentally.”

I gave them 2.5 months’ prior notice, which even today feels generous, considering all the circumstances.

Lesson 5: If you invest money in a company, make sure that a) These are people you share the same value base with. b) The terms in your partnership agreement will allow you to operate the company in any circumstances. c) You own enough shares to not feel like a poor cousin at a board meeting.

Any two will probably do.

Going Away and Leaving it All Behind

My friend was leaving for India, and I decided to “leave it all behind” and join her too. I was depressed and couldn’t stand myself or my life in general.

As I said, I gave more than two months’ prior notice, and two funny (well, questionably funny, but maybe rather curious) things happened during this time.

First, a dear friend of Mr. Owl — let’s call him Mr. Alex — who was another “old” co-owner of the company (rumor had it, he was also an ex-KGB), invited me for a conversation.

He also happened to be operating one of Latvia’s banks (we had about 40 of those at that time), so I thought visiting him in a financial organization should be harmless. So, I went.

I learned that everyone felt kind of sad after I declared I was leaving because “things were going so well,” and I was kind of ruining the party. He begged me to stay, saying:

  1. Mr. Owl had “problems with women in power.”
  2. He misunderstood me.
  3. He wouldn’t bother me ever again.
  4. Mr. Alex “sees now that there’s something different in me” and that I have a bright future.

I don’t know — maybe it was a KGB technique or something, but I felt so dull at that point that nothing worked on me. I didn’t even get why he wanted to meet then.

Second, our Estonian partners didn’t even move to find someone to replace me. I guess the plan was to push me to stay. There were conversations, lunches, “understanding me,” giving me time to think, etc.

When I (again) confirmed I was firm in my decision, they threatened me, saying if I didn’t rethink:

  • I would never be able to work in any meaningful startup in the Baltics ever again.
  • I would never be able to raise any capital.
  • They would never say anything good about me as a reference.

I don’t think I was even angry at them — it seemed kind of childish and desperate coming from two men who got themselves into this mess by making very bad investment decisions. And now they were taking it out on me.

But should I have been angry? Well, maybe a little bit. It’s not my style, though.

I guess this is the end. I left for India that year. But that is a whole other story.

What Could I Have Done Differently?

That’s the question I kept asking for a very long time.

Today I won’t say something like “harsh experiences shape us.” Maybe I looked at it from that perspective for a long time.

And maybe I was saying something like, “Oh, it’s post-Soviet inheritance,” and “These were the times when things like that happened.”

And yes, this experience, along with many others, did shape who I am today.

But now, especially since I have kids, I say: it's just a bloody no. Nobody has to go through being threatened and humiliated. No matter what part of the planet they live in.

You don’t have to go through picking yourself up, piece by piece, to be a better CEO. I’ve had tons of resilience without an owl flying over my head. I just didn’t get to spend it then on what I loved doing.

Being miserable is a waste of time. Especially if all you want is to build a great company. And that does take time.

So, if you’re being bullied or harassed, please seek help immediately. Don’t hesitate to:

  • Go to the police (if you can — I was way too scared to).
  • Create physical distance from the threat immediately.
  • Stop pretending you can sit it out.
  • Stop doing anything until you figure out how you can be and feel safe.
  • Tell your parents (or other significant people in your life who can provide profound support), if you have that kind of relationship.
  • Start a journal — write about your feelings. It will help you process them later on.

But most of all, remember — none of this is your fault.

When the Story Comes Full Circle

About four years after that story, I was back from India, facing everything I ran away from — divorce, stale friendships, and the ghost of Mr. Owl on the streets of Riga.

It had been a long time since I didn’t have nightmares, but nothing was moving in my life (though after spending 3,5 years in India the number of stories had multiplied).

I was working for a commercial real estate brokerage — a job that kind of found me two weeks after I got back to Latvia.

We were selling commercial premises on one of the top retail streets in Riga, and I had to take some documents from the old owner.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw Mr. Owl’s accountant in the room when I met that property owner, an older, flamboyant lady swearing and behaving like a real devil (who also turned out to be Mr. Owl’s mom).

The accountant saw that I recognized her, but we didn’t exchange hellos. I completed my business there (she made me wait, a family trait, I gather) and walked out, when I heard somebody shouting my name.

The accountant came running to me, insisting we should have a coffee. We sat down, and she said that all these years, she had wanted to tell me how sorry she was that these things happened to me.

She saw what Mr. Owl was doing (and he was telling her in detail), but she couldn’t do anything. She said she really admired how I didn’t crumble under the pressure and kept working. And that I did the right thing when I finally went away.

Did it make me feel good? Maybe. A little bit. But besides that, that day, the whole drama could finally turn into a story.

And stories are a great thing. You can build on them.

Thank you for hearing me out.