‘Leadership, especially in social work, should never be about control and fear’

Last month saw Anti-Bullying Week marked and across the country many schools are encouraging children to wear odd socks or attend sessions that teach them what bullying looks like and why it’s never okay.

 These initiatives are so important – but here’s something we often overlook: bullying doesn’t stop at the school gates. It doesn’t disappear as we grow older, and it certainly isn’t confined to classrooms. Bullying can take many different forms and can happen anywhere, online, in social spaces, even at work. 

I qualified as a social worker over a decade ago and in doing so, I entered the profession with genuine pride, excitement, and a real desire to make a difference. I knew the role would be demanding – children’s lives and wellbeing often depended on my decisions –  but I also believed that, with the right guidance, I would grow into a compassionate and capable practitioner. 

In my first year, I was fortunate to work under a manager who nurtured me. She supported me, corrected me, and gave me the space to learn without fear. I felt valued, protected, and encouraged to flourish. Under her guidance, I could bring my authentic self to the role – curious, reflective, and committed to learning. 

What I didn’t realise at the time was that she was shielding me from a storm that was waiting just beyond her departure.

Under scrutiny

When she was promoted to another post, I was genuinely happy for her but anxious about what would come next. A colleague I knew and trusted stepped into her role, and I initially felt reassured – familiarity, I thought, would make the transition easier. I was open with her, sharing my challenges and vulnerabilities, believing that honesty would be met with understanding. 

Sadly, that trust was misplaced. 

Almost immediately, I began to notice subtle but unmistakable changes in how I was treated. The tone of conversations shifted; what once felt like support began to feel like scrutiny. I felt I was spoken to sharply, my work picked apart, and my requests for help were not adequately considered. 

I felt as though I had gone from being nurtured to being under surveillance.  I was later told by colleagues that my manager was quite likely working on instructions given from ‘higher up’ due to how one particular senior manager felt about me and my practice, a judgement call made potentially due to one perceived mistake I made as an ASYE. 

Gaslighting and loss of confidence

As time went on, the changes became more pronounced. I experienced gaslighting – situations where my recollection of events or feelings was questioned, leaving me to doubt my own judgment. I was made to feel that my need for support was a weakness rather than a reasonable expectation for a practitioner still learning the ropes. 

In trying to adapt and survive, I made a mistake that many people in toxic workplaces make – I began to shrink my authentic self. I muted my personality, doubted my professional opinions, and tried to mould myself into what I thought I needed to be in order to survive and succeed. 

I stopped bringing my full self into my practice because I thought that would make me safer. The one saving grace I had was a few excellent colleagues, with whom I still remain in touch.

But what I’ve come to realise, even years later, is that by shrinking my authentic self, I actually made myself more vulnerable. I left behind the confidence, curiosity, and creativity that had made me effective in the first place. 

I became anxious and hesitant, second-guessing my instincts and overthinking every interaction. I lost touch with who I was – both as a professional and as a person. That loss of authenticity didn’t protect me; it eroded my resilience and made it even harder to perform my duties in the way I knew I was capable. 

Emotional toll

The emotional toll was heavy. I began to dread going into work. My self-confidence, once carefully built, started to crumble. I felt isolated and undermined, constantly questioning whether I was good enough for the profession I had worked so hard to join. 

My anxiety became overwhelming, until eventually I felt I had to go off sick. I was signed off for six months; I felt embarrassed – me, a grown adult, having to take time off due to being bullied. 

I was able to confront my manager during a union meeting about the way she had made me feel, and her response, that has stuck with me to this day, was that she could be “tongue-in-cheek”. 

That one comment summed it up for me. There it was, the lack of accountability for how her months of targeting had made me feel, all summed up as just being her humour or personality. There was no regard that for me it had been months of erosion — of confidence, trust, and identity. 

I don’t think she ever realised the depth of the impact her behaviour had on me. Even a decade later, I still feel the echoes of that time: the occasional self-doubt, the wariness around authority, the instinct to brace myself if I feel I may have mistakenly overlooked something. 

Yet, despite everything, that experience has shaped me in ways I now value. It taught me how deeply words and tone can wound, the lifelong impact they can have on someone, but how powerful kindness, fairness, and genuine support can be in rebuilding someone’s belief in themselves. 

I do wonder, does that manager, now being in an even more senior role, ever reflect or even remember this moment in their career? Or was I just another staff member they ‘dealt with’? The African proverb 'The axe forgets what the tree remembers' comes to mind.

Recovery

After recovering, I made myself a promise: if I ever returned to social work, and if I ever became a manager or found myself in a position of influence, I would never make anyone feel the way I had felt. I would never allow another person to be made to feel small, undervalued, or disposable. I would never act on someone else’s instruction simply to make them comfortable or to use my authority as a weapon. 

Instead, I would always strive to lead in a way that supports, enables and empowers people. I wanted to create an environment where workers could meet the demands of their role without fear, where mistakes were seen as opportunities for learning rather than grounds for humiliation. That promise has guided every decision I’ve made in leadership since.  

Over the years, I’ve been told that I have a personable approach – that I’m accessible, kind, and person-centred. That feedback means more to me than anything. It reminds me that I’ve transformed my pain into purpose, and that the empathy I once longed for is now something I can offer others. 

Of course, I’m still human. My neurodivergence means that sometimes I can come across as firm or blunt, and I continue to reflect on those moments. But I would never want to be remembered as the person who made someone question their worth or their place in this profession, or as someone’s bully. 

Workplace bullying doesn’t always look like shouting or overt hostility. Sometimes it hides behind professionalism, humour, or hierarchy. It can be subtle – a tone, a shrug, a deliberate silence. But its impact is profound and lasting. It can silence voices, stifle authenticity, and drive good people away from the profession they love. 

Lesson for leadership

If my experience has taught me anything, it’s that leadership – especially in social work – should never be about control or fear. It should be about compassion, fairness, and understanding. When people feel supported and valued, they thrive. And when they thrive, the service they deliver improves too. 

Today, I’m proud to work for Coventry City Council, where the culture feels very different from what I once experienced. The organisation has a genuinely relational approach – one that values reflection, openness, and learning. Even when mistakes are made or something is overlooked, there is never finger-pointing or blame. Instead, the focus is on understanding what happened, learning from it, and improving practice together. It’s about growth, not punishment. 

That kind of culture builds confidence rather than fear, and collaboration rather than competition. It creates an environment where people can bring their authentic selves to work. It reminds me every day that compassion and accountability are not opposites; they can, and must, coexist.

As we reflect on the importance of standing against bullying – especially in the workplace – it’s vital to remember that silence can be a form of complicity. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught:

“Help your brother, whether he is an oppressor or is oppressed.” 

The companions asked, “We help the oppressed, but how do we help the oppressor?” 

He replied: “By preventing him from oppressing others.”
(Sahih Bukhari)

This timeless wisdom reminds me as a Muslim that we have a duty not only to support those who are harmed, but also to intervene when harm is being caused. Allowing bullying to continue unchecked is not just unkind – it’s unjust.

Rabya Kataria works as a fostering support team manager at Coventry City Council