The Leadership Red Flags You Can’t Ignore

Earlier in my leadership journey, my boss’s office had a window that allowed anyone passing by to see inside. Ironically, the transparency of that glass was an illusion—it let people see in but not truly understand what happened within. Like a silent movie with muted horrors, hostility festered in those meetings—words left unspoken yet sharp enough to cut deep. Time and again, I walked past and noticed my colleagues engaged in discussions with my boss—meetings I was never invited to. At first, I assumed they discussed a specific project, something unrelated to my role. However, as the weeks passed and the same group continued meeting without me, the pattern became impossible to ignore.

One day, a colleague approached me casually and asked if I was ready for the move.

“What move?” I asked, caught off guard.

He looked surprised that I didn’t know. “Oh… you’re transferring to another part of the plant.”

Another person from those closed-door meetings later asked if I had packed my things yet. At that point, I knew this wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was happening. Strangely, I felt relief—because I was finally moving away from the most toxic work environment I had ever experienced.

In the meetings I attended, my supervisor allowed racist and inappropriate comments to surface openly. I remember one of them saying, “If the guys working for us don’t do the job, we could just go to Home Depot and get some b**ners.” Though I was unfamiliar with the word at the time, I could tell it wasn’t meant to be flattering. The inference was not lost on me, as I somehow had an inkling of the people he was referring to. I cringed, horrified, as his words shot out of his mouth as though fired from a cannon—explosive, reckless, and impossible to take back. Despite not being the intended target, I held my tongue, but inside, I burned with quiet fury as a daring thought slithered in my mind like a mamba, silent but fanged with suspicion. What did he call people who looked like me in my absence? I gazed at one of our peers of that very background, reading his face for a reaction. He forced a hollow and distant laugh as though it echoed from a deep canyon the words had cut into.  

Another time, the same group discussed an Asian colleague who had recently traveled abroad for his wedding. Someone scoffed, “I thought that guy was gay. How is he marrying a woman?” People laughed it off, finding it funny. I didn’t. Again, our supervisor stayed silent. He never corrected them, never set a standard. I cringed once more. How was this acceptable? So what if our colleague chose that as his lifestyle? Why was his business being discussed here? 

On another day, it was a remark about how the female plant manager must also be the one who ‘wears the pants’ at home. Even then, my supervisor remained silent—nothing but crickets. He said nothing, only offering a reluctant smile, as if he quietly agreed. I wondered if this language would have been echoed in the plant manager’s presence.

I learned to stay on guard, knowing that the moment I left a room, I became the topic of discussion. The stress of working under that supervisor weighed heavily. On a personal level, he carried himself as a “cool” guy who never raised his voice at me directly, one of those guys you want to hang around with. But I saw a serious flaw in his relaxed demeanor: he lacked the backbone to hold people accountable. His lack of action affected me the most; his unwillingness to step up led to a culture of hostility, and soon enough, HR had to intervene after multiple complaints from other employees. Ironically, none of those complaints came from me. I endured silently.

One man, whom I will call Napoleon, a middle-aged man with several missing teeth—a teammate, not even my boss—made my work life unbearable. For a man with so many missing teeth, you would think it behooved him to keep his mouth shut, but no, he would barge into my office, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. He had no sense of decorum whatsoever. He would yell at me in front of contractors and question my competence. Once, he ridiculed me over a minor issue, sneering, “Why is this so hard for you? You’re an engineer! Figure it out.”

The contractors stood frozen, gazes flickering between us, yet none dared to intervene. Silence fell on the room like a wet blanket, suffocating and thick with unspoken discomfort. My hands clenched beneath the desk. Anger simmered inside me, like molten magma trapped beneath the surface of a volcano on the verge of eruption. But I swallowed it—for the moment.

I couldn’t wait for the contractors to leave so I could unleash on Napoleaone what I felt inside. Finally, the contractors left. The passage of time had dulled my anger a little. I nonetheless stormed into his office and shut the door behind me with a controlled force that sent a ripple through the air.

“Don’t mistake my silence for weakness,” I said, my voice steady but laced with steel. “I’ve put up with your derogatory behavior and comments for a long time. I’m not a fool, Napoleon.”

He barely flinched before cutting me off. “I’m going to call security,” he said, reaching for his phone. “You’ve kidnapped me against my will.”

I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“You shut the door. I can’t leave.”

I took a step back, crossing my arms. “No one has kidnapped you. Go ahead, call security. While you’re at it, understand this—I won’t be so nice the next time you try to embarrass me like that. Let me make this clear, Napoleon. If you cross my path again, I promise I’ll burn yours.”

The blood drained from his face, his hand hovering over the receiver as if paralyzed. For the first time, the man who relished in making others feel small now looked like the one who had been cornered. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned and slammed the door behind me as I left his office.

When I stepped into the hallway, I felt the weight of unseen eyes. Several colleagues peered cautiously from their doorways, their expressions mixed with curiosity and apprehension. They had heard everything.

Moments later, Napoleon slunk into my office, his tone softer, his posture no longer dripping with arrogance. “We need to work together,” he said. “I didn’t realize some things I said were offensive.”

I met his gaze without blinking. “You need to leave my office.”

I reported him to my supervisor. Nothing changed. This man was so “valuable” that the company relied on him for emergency troubleshooting in the middle of the night. His so-called talent made him untouchable.

As younger engineers joined to reduce this dependency, his resentment grew. Instead of adapting, he took out his frustrations on me. I reported it. Again, nothing changed.

Even operators—people he worked with daily—loathed him. I watched him get into arguments with them time and time again. On all occasions, he was the perpetrator. Yet no one reported the issues to HR because apparently, if the plant went down, only he could get it running. He seemed to relish this power, which somehow shielded him from consequences.

I also endured constant questioning about my credentials. Despite holding both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in engineering, my knowledge was always doubted. I wondered why I had to prove myself to people with no such credentials repeatedly. I had earned my degrees—they were not given to me. Yet, I had to justify my expertise to those who had never walked the same path. I learned to downplay my degrees because, somehow, my education threatened their sense of importance. But no matter how much I minimized it, they couldn’t take my qualifications away.

Over time, I noticed another pattern. My peers received high-visibility assignments—projects that led to promotions. Meanwhile, I handled the mundane, unnoticed work. Year after year, I watched others progress. I got no feedback on what I needed to do to improve my performance or increase my chances of advancement. I worked in that role for years without a single one-on-one meeting, no discussion of expectations, and no explanation when the raise arrived. My respect for my supervisor eroded. I couldn’t trust him. He failed to address the hostile environment he had allowed to fester despite his empty assurances that he would “take care of it.”

Eventually, I accepted my reassignment with open arms. On paper, it felt like a demotion. But in reality, it was an escape. I knew why it happened. My mentor had trained me to expect this behavior in spaces where the gatekeepers of the status quo resisted change. The remnants of history only amplified the struggle. But I played the long game. In the corporate world, experience is currency. So, I endured. I learned. And I vowed that if I ever became a leader, I would be nothing like those I had worked under.

Leadership Failures That Destroy Trust and Credibility

1. 1. Spilling secrets: Leaking confidential information breaks trust instantly.

1. 1. Playing favorites: Favoritism divides teams and breeds resentment.

1. 1. Breaking promises: If you can’t deliver, communicate—silence is worse than failure.

1. 1. Lying or getting caught in a lie: Once credibility is lost, it’s nearly impossible to regain.

1. 1. Leading from behind: No one will follow if you don’t set the standard.

1. 1. Abandoning your team: Failing to stand up for them when they need you the most is a betrayal.

1. 1. Making it all about you: If your team believes you only serve yourself, they’ll stop serving the mission.

1. 1. Ignoring problems: Dismissing concerns raised by your team doesn’t make them go away—it makes them worse.

1. 1. Letting emotions dictate actions: A leader who loses control and lashes out only exposes their insecurities.

1. 1. Dodging responsibility: Failing to own up to mistakes creates a culture of excuses and blame-shifting.

1. 1. Keeping people in the dark: When leaders withhold feedback, they rob their team of the opportunity to grow.

1. 1. Neglecting personal connections: Skipping one-on-ones leaves employees feeling directionless and undervalued.

1. 1. Failing to recognize effort: Overlooking contributions makes people disengage—unseen effort quickly becomes unspoken resentment.

Any leader who exhibits these traits doesn’t deserve to be followed. If you find yourself under someone like this, get out as soon as you can—for the sake of your mental health and well-being. You cannot give your best under a leader you don’t trust, respect, or believe in.

I took notes, remembering everything I hated about that environment. When my time came to lead, I made sure to be different.