The time my harasser was fired...

Hi friends,

Earlier this month, I was scrolling through LinkedIn, stopping to like and comment on all of the accomplishments of our awesome network of women in sports, obviously. That is until I got to a post that stopped me in my tracks. I immediately recognized the name of the poster, even though he and I aren't connected. After all, I had no desire to be friends with a man who openly celebrated the manager who had sexually harassed me during my first job at ESPN. 

The man in question, we'll call him John, was one of two directors who ran the department I worked in at ESPN. (I've already shared a lot about the other director in question.) John was aware of the toxic culture in our department and chose to ignore it. When I took a new job after my complaints to HR were ignored, he dismissed me, saying he knew I'd had "issues" while I was there and implying that I was a problem employee. Meanwhile, he praised my direct manager, the one who had made my life miserable for months, talking about his sex life, sending flirtatious messages, and making uncomfortable and unwanted advances. 

Despite the fact that my new role wasn't with a sports media company, John told me that because I was going to a "competitor" (again, I wasn't), I had to leave the ESPN campus immediately and would not be allowed to work the customary two weeks. My departure was announced to the department with a one-sentence email.

Almost a year later, my direct manager was finally fired, as the sexual harassment complaints piled up - though by that point many of the women who had made them had left the company altogether. How did John handle the news? He wrote a lengthy email extolling my manager's virtues and unparalleled contributions to the department. There was no mention of the reason he was dismissed. 

Later that week, John sought out my then boyfriend, now husband Paul before a meeting to say "what a shame" it was that my manager had been fired, given what a great employee he had been. Despite knowing that Paul and I were dating, John went on to complain about the women who had gone to HR about said manager and how we had collectively ruined a good man's career (spoiler alert: his career wasn't ruined. He landed on his feet, as is so often the case.) John's pointed comments were not only inappropriate, but a classic case of victim blaming. Needless to say, I'm not the guy's biggest fan.

Fast forward to last month, when my pleasant LinkedIn scrolling was interrupted by a post from John that had been liked into my feed. In a long-winded announcement, he shared that after decades with ESPN, he had been part of the latest round of layoffs. I was shocked (I immediately called Sam), though I'll admit, I wasn't sad about it. What did upset me, however, was the multitude of comments from former colleagues (including my manager) praising John's positive impact in their lives and the contributions he had made. I know that's silly to admit. I thought I was so far removed from the situation that I had put most of the trauma behind me, yet seeing colleagues that I knew and respected lauding the character of a man who had defended a harasser and blamed the women involved brought up fresh pain.

I realized in that moment that as hard as I've tried, I haven't fully let go of that situation. It's shaped my career and my outlook on life in so many ways and it likely always will. All that to say, that's ok. It's ok and even healthy to continue to process and work through complicated feelings and situations. No matter how much time passes, I'll always be impacted by that experience for better or worse. But I've come to an important realization as a result: despite it all, I still belong here, in sports. And so do you.