Toxic bosses, lingering trauma, and the six words from a fantasy film that changed everything
“You have no power over me.”
It’s from Labyrinth. You know… that 1986 movie with David Bowie prancing around in tight pants and a teenage girl navigating an impossible maze. Sarah says those six words to the Goblin King, and just like that, poof. His power over her vanishes and the whole elaborate fantasy he’d constructed — gone.
I was thinking about that line the other day, and it occurred to me: when did my old boss become my Goblin King?
Toxic bosses can be like bad relationships
You break up and move on, and you think you’re fine. And then one day you’re in a totally healthy situation and you realize you’re still flinching.
My old boss had this talent for dangling carrots and then yanking them back the second you got close. “Take on this project and you’re up for promotion.” You’d nail it. The goalposts would move. “Well, actually, we need to see you do X first.” You’d do X. “Hmm, but what about Y?”
And asking for time off was terrifying. You’d think you were asking for a kidney. The guilt, the implications that you weren’t committed enough, the way they’d make you feel like taking time off to have surgery was somehow betraying the team.
They were like Aunt Lydia from The Handmaid’s Tale. You know, the one who’d fight for you fiercely against outside threats and make you feel like they were on your side. And then, when no one else was looking, they’d be the one wielding the cattle prod. They didn’t want anyone else to hurt you. That was their job.
Eventually, I left. Got a new job with nice people and reasonable expectations. One thing we don’t talk about enough in conversations about leaving a toxic workplace is that sometimes your nervous system is the last to catch up.
For the first two years, I still jumped every time I got an email notification. I’d spend an hour crafting a PTO request email, as if I were defending a dissertation. Every Sunday afternoon, I’d feel that low-grade dread some refer to as the “Sunday Scaries.”
I was living like my ex was still checking my phone. Except the ex had moved to another city and no longer had my number.
And then something clicked
I was at my desk sipping on a fresh cup of coffee when I got an email from my current manager. Something totally benign, like “Can we chat about the Q3 report?” And I felt that familiar panic rising. Started mentally cataloging everything I might have done wrong. Began drafting an apologetic response in my head.
And then I stopped. Thought: Wait. What am I doing?
My old boss wasn’t reading this email. They weren’t cc’d. They didn’t work here. They probably hadn’t thought about me since I walked out of that office two years ago. They were off somewhere, probably making someone else miserable, while I was still performing for an audience of one that didn’t even exist.
“You have no power over me.”
Sarah says it to the Goblin King when she finally understands: he was only ever as powerful as she believed him to be. The whole labyrinth, all those obstacles, the sense that she was trapped — it was all just smoke and mirrors. The real trap was in her head.
Sound familiar?
My old boss didn’t have power over me. Not anymore. I was the one giving it to them. Every time I jumped at a notification. Every time I apologized for taking up space. Every time I spent Sunday evening catastrophizing about a Monday that would be perfectly fine.
I was handing them the keys and then wondering why I felt locked in.
So I stopped handing them over.
Little by little, email became just email. Time off became something I took because I’d earned it. Sunday nights became about settling down in front of our favorite show and maybe texting a friend to catch up.
If You’re Still in It
Maybe you’re reading this from inside your own labyrinth. You’re thinking, “That’s great for you, Val, but I still have to see this person every day. They’re still making my life hell.”
I know. I get it.
So here’s what I wish someone had told me back then:
Their version of you isn’t you. They’ve created this narrative where you’re incompetent or difficult or whatever story they need to tell themselves. That’s fiction. It’s not real.
Document your wins. Save emails where other people praise your work. Build your own evidence file. Their story isn’t the truth.
Stop auditioning. You know what you’re doing, right? Every time they move the goalposts, you run faster. You think if you could just nail this one project, work all the overtime asked of you, or finally get that one thing right that everyone keeps missing the mark on, they’d see you.
The thing is… their approval is not the prize. It’s not worth what you’re paying for it. Find people who see you clearly and value what you bring to the table, and listen to them instead.
Evict that toxic person from your brain. Your mind is premium real estate, and they’re living there rent-free. Stop rehearsing conversations that haven’t happened. Stop drafting responses to criticisms they haven’t made yet. Stop letting them narrate your internal monologue while you’re trying to fall asleep. When you catch yourself doing it, because you will, just notice it and redirect. It’s like meditation, but for your self-respect.
Remember that this is temporary. I know it doesn’t feel temporary. It feels permanent and suffocating, and like this is just your life now. But it’s not. This boss won’t be your boss forever. This job isn’t your whole career. You’re building something that will span decades. This is one chapter. It may be a long chapter. Probably a really terrible chapter. But still… It’s just one.
Have an exit strategy. Even if you’re not ready to use it. Update your resume. Reach out to old colleagues. Set up coffee with people in your industry. Browse job listings just to remind yourself that other jobs exist. You don’t have to quit tomorrow. But knowing you could… that you have options, changes the power dynamic. You aren’t stuck. You’re choosing to stay, for now, for your own reasons. That’s different.
What would happen if we just said it out loud?
You have no power over me.
To the old boss who lives in our heads. You have no power over me.
To the toxic workplace that rewired our nervous systems. You have no power over me.
To that voice that sounds suspiciously like someone who stopped mattering a long time ago. You have no power over me.
Say it, mean it, and watch what happens.
What I’ve learned is that these Goblin Kings were never as powerful as they seemed. The power was always ours. We just forgot that we were holding it.
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