The Sealed Vat

It’s 9:00 at night, and I’m tucking in my middle schooler on his top bunk. Smoothing his bangs, planting kisses on his forehead before the goodnight-sweetheart-I-love-you final words of a long day. And he says,

“So… my grade in ELA went up from a D to an A- today because she graded all my work from when I was sick.”

Of course, we talked about it. I hugged him, told him all the things. But it’s nine. At. Night. He had been holding that special information, waiting for just a minute of me being actually present with him instead of trying to figure out how to deal with this looming, malignant presence in my life—Toxic Boss.

Why do I keep letting her rob me? And by proxy, my kids and husband? Of peace, of joy, of the things that restore me?

And it’s not just the time I lose in the evenings—it’s the stolen nights, too. The 2 AM anxiety spikes. The nights spent unraveling the latest accusation. The deep, body-shaking sobs that shouldn’t belong to my job, but somehow do. The exhaustion that lingers into the next morning, like a second shift I never signed up for.

And I hate that. I hate that I have given this person so much power over me that they’ve stolen the best parts of me from the people who actually matter. I hate that I’ve spent all day surviving someone else’s dysfunction only to come home and give my family the scraps of what’s left. I hate that the purest, most meaningful moments—the kind that should fill me with joy—are met with an emotional numbness because my mental energy is spent.

I have let my work trauma leak into my life.

When you work under a leader who thrives on control, chaos, and cruelty, their games don’t stop at the workplace door. They move into your head. They hijack your energy, your confidence, your presence.

And they don’t even care what they’ve taken from you.

So the question is: How do we keep the poison contained? How do we seal the vat to protect the parts of our life that actually matter?

I used to think boundaries meant not answering emails after hours or refusing extra work. And sure, that’s part of it. But real boundaries? They happen in your mind. And it’s taken me way too many spins in the rumination tornado to set them straight.

Because here’s the thing: You can’t just tell yourself, “Don’t think about this.” That demon will sink its claws in deeper. The more you wrestle with it, the more it owns you.

So instead of holding it back, I’ve learned to turn my back. Instead of gripping tightly to what I don’t want in my mind, I run toward what I do.

For me, that means saying:

• I release you. You’re already in my past.

• You aren’t invited to my house, and you don’t get to meet my family.

• Slow it down. Breathe through it.

• I own my story. Not you.

Because boundaries aren’t just about keeping something out. They’re about choosing where you want to go instead.

Because sealing the vat isn’t just about keeping toxicity out. It’s about bringing the cure in.

I can’t keep spending my time trying to fight off the darkness. The real work—the real escape—is in turning toward the light.

• Playing football with my boys.

• Making “special dinner” for my dog.

• Diving into an amazing novel.

• Watching The Life of Pi with my head in my husband’s lap.

• Bringing McDonald’s to my parents.

• Driving with my son.

I won’t pretend I do this well. Lots of nights, I wake up gripped by anxiety. Lots of days, I still catch myself spiraling in the same old loops. But I know what the way out looks like. And every time I choose to turn toward the light, I get a little closer to being free.