‘Didn’t you learn that in school?’

Have you ever worked with a nasty colleague who knew everything? A nurse that the patients loved and showered with thank you cards and notes but was despised by coworkers? Unfortunately, I knew that person all too well. That bully nurse was me. It’s been nearly ten years since I received a wake-up call from another nurse and my then health care organization, making clear that I needed to change or risk heading further down a destructive path.

A few years into my nursing career—I can now admit—I thought I knew everything; the operative word here is thought. ‘Mary,’ a good colleague and still a friend today, would tell me, “I like you. I just can’t stand working with you.”

A kind person, Mary would never elaborate on my faults. In hindsight, it’s obvious to me what Mary was referring to. I could smell the blood of weaker individuals in the clinical setting and I was deliberately inconsiderate. I never raised my voice, but could be curt and make snide remarks: “Why are you bothering me now?” “Didn’t you learn that in school?”

None of the people I bullied stood up to me, so I continued. I really don’t fully understand it today. Was I power hungry? Possibly. Whatever the case, this way of treating some of my more vulnerable colleagues slowly became a habit, one I could no longer really see from the outside.

A different face for the patients.

Patients never saw this side of me, and would often send cards and letters to the unit, addressed to me for the great care they’d received. A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in action.

Perhaps in a way I was always trying to a super nurse, the one who knows everything. But I never stopped to really consider the impact my subtle and less subtle bullying would have upon those that I targeted or upon my other coworkers. Then, ten years ago, I was forced to look at myself and my actions. By this time I was a competent nurse working the night shift in a small community hospital. One night, knowing it had been some time since I’d been the one who was placed on call instead of having to come in to work, and knowing as well that the hospital census was relatively low, I assumed I was going to be able to take a much-needed night off.

Carried away by anger.

When I didn’t receive the expected phone call to tell me I’d been placed on call, I went to work, where I learned that another employee was off (on call, that is) that night instead of me. I felt myself seething with anger.

“She always takes time off,” I told a colleague. “It was my turn! I’d like to hurt her.” My colleague reminded me to calm down, but I stayed angry until morning, muttering under my breath all night. Although I did not have a chance to progress to directly threatening ‘Beth’ for “taking my slot for call,” my angry words about her were eventually relayed back to her. And rightfully so. Beth filed a complaint with human resources, saying she didn’t feel safe working with me.

An investigation was launched. My official work record had been stellar up to that point, with no formal complaints ever documented from nurses or other clinicians. Partly because of this, I wasn’t fired, but instead given the option to continue with the investigation or resign.

A reckoning.

This was a week before Christmas. I hung my head in shame and opted to resign. Even though it wasn’t ‘Beth’s’ turn for being on call that night, I did not have the right to verbally bash a coworker, whether in person or indirectly through colleagues. This was one of the most heart-wrenching Christmas holidays I’ve ever had. Too ashamed to admit to the family that I had to leave the job I loved during the holidays because of bullying behaviors, I told them the hospital needed to make cutbacks due to the budget.

I sobbed for several days over the holidays, sorry for the loss of a job I truly enjoyed, and for hurting another individual. As nurses we are there to heal and help others. I had no desire to hurt anyone, but I did. The pit in my gut remained for several months after the initial incident, but it took me nearly a year to really admit how wrong I was, and that I needed to change. This was a hard lesson to learn and hurt me to my core.

Tables turned.

Over time, I learned from my past mistakes, and moved forward. But karma has a way of reaching out to you to solidify a lesson you’ve learned. In my first job as an educator at a university, I became the bullied one. Unequal distribution of work, a colleague’s silent treatment and her withholding of important student feedback, and verbal slights were the norm. Every morning before going to work I felt a sense of dread…not fear, but dread. Although my stomach was twisted into knots, I would turn to the local store for high-calorie junk food to soothe myself like a child gripping her favorite stuffed toy for comfort. Everything I’d possibly subjected individuals to in my past I now experienced.

I wish I could apologize to those novice nurses and technicians I subtly tormented, but I can’t go back in time. I’m thankful that ‘Beth’ had the strength to report my negative behaviors, yet I wish I could apologize to her. I am thankful I had a personal experience of the helplessness and pain of being bullied, but don’t wish anyone to have to experience those feelings.

Dawna Rutherford, MSN, RN, is currently pursuing her doctorate at the University of Cincinnati (Ohio) College of Nursing. Her current clinical work as a nurse is in women’s health and she is also a per diem lab instructor.