Editor’s note: A Lovefraud reader, we’ll call her Betty, sent her story. It’s a tale of a run-in with a female psychopath who likes to destroy people for the fun of it.
I got divorced and moved from Texas to California. I was 45 years old, and was hoping to transition from my career as an RN. I’d worked in the newborn nursery and the increasing numbers of drug dependent newborns were breaking my heart — I was experiencing burnout. I tried physical rehabilitation for adults, but that too brought me in contact with awful suffering, and I didn’t have enough to give my patients. I had a painful divorce and a painful career, and made the decision to pull myself together and start over. That’s when I met the person I think is a female psychopath.
I interviewed in the art history department of a large university, with the then-graduate adviser, Dr. Wilma (not her real name). I didn’t understand then how fragile I was, but I feel certain she knew in an instant. The fixed stare was there — I thought at the time, “What an intent, alert, person with so much energy!” I felt flattered that she seemed so interested in me. Writing that, I still feel a creepiness, sense of shame at being taken in, and a curling fear in the pit of my stomach.
Perfect victim
I craved attention, though I would have denied it. Looking back at my life, I can see how I trained over the course of it to be a perfect victim for abuse. My dad was an alcoholic, the mean drunk kind, and my mom was so gently needy. The overall feeling in our house was one of walking on eggshells, and the message to me was, “try hard and fail” because my older brother was the “successful, responsible child” so that left me with the “failure” role. My first husband was emotionally distant, and so was my second — I poured myself into those relationships, and of course, I cared deeply while each of them did not, and the colder they were, the harder I tried, and tried. And I found a job just as destructive and abusive as those personal relationships. So when I interviewed for the art history department, I badly needed some confidence and a sense of achievement. I’d also had a couple of bouts of situational depression, following the death of my parents, and after getting divorced.
Dr. Wilma seemed drawn to me at once: She’d call me to come in early to her office, heap praise on me to other teachers, strategize with me over my academic future (she felt I should get a doctorate and teach at university, “Just like me”) — she acted like a close friend and benefactor, and we’d only just met. Deep down inside, I was uncomfortable. I was making straight “A’s” but I’d done that routinely as an adult, and I genuinely loved art history, and found tremendous pleasure in studying it and discussing it — but still, I was a beginner in the field, and I couldn’t get over the fact that she was talking to me as though I was a peer. The other feeling was slower to surface: She seemed to be looking at me in a calculating, almost predatory way, and it seemed strangely almost sexual and at the same time, had the stamp of ownership. I can’t express it any better than that. She’d compliment me, but then say things like, “You walked into my office with interest, but no real academic talent, but I thought, why not? I’ll give her a class! See how far you’ve come!” Not an insult based in reality, but not a compliment based in reality, either, because I was a solidly good student, and I had achieved a nursing education and professional license, and a bachelor’s in psychology after that.
My mentor
Soon she invited me to walk her dogs with her in the mornings, and I slowly began to see how controlling she was. The animals were hyper and had to be constantly engaged or they’d get into trouble. I’m a cat person, so I didn’t understand you have to constantly stimulate and over stimulate most dogs to get them to be that hyperactive. She’d ask my opinions, but then she’d make “suggestions,” which meant “do it or else.” Over the next few years, I committed to specializing in art history, on her appraisal of me as an “excellent student who’s going to make a wonderful teacher,” I took on the burden of student loans — and I put my Texas nursing license on retirement, and didn’t activate it in California or take continuing education in that area to keep the license active. Dr. Wilma let me know that nursing wasn’t really a profession, and with a bright future as an academic, I didn’t need it. I had a “mentor” now to take me over the road of thesis writing and guide me into a wonderful teaching career.
I was really so stupidly, inexcusably naive! She told me what I wanted to hear — that I’d have a new career if I continued to work hard, and that I had a mentor I could depend on to help guide me through the intricacies of academia. Exam after exam came back marked “A,” with praise written in the margins for my “fine work.” Papers, too, received “A’s,” and the criticism lead me to believe my writing skills were well up to standard, and constantly improving, as I was striving to do. She wanted me to visit her office almost daily, wrote long and frequent emails, she’d phone me at home for lengthy calls — and one day, I began to feel (though I shoved that down quickly as well) that I was almost being courted in a creepy way…and it felt weird, off and not right somehow. But how could I complain? She was charming, so eager to “help” me find my way, I felt at a disadvantage academically and I worked frequently twelve hours a day writing and reading, trying to master my chosen field of study. I didn’t want other students to know she “favored” me so extensively because I’ve always earned my way. I felt ashamed at possibly taking advantage.
Always a home
She invited me to her house, and told me, “You’ll always have a home here,” and again, it felt off… it was too much, too soon. In addition, there was something there in that the words didn’t match the lack of emotion in her voice and in her expression — her words seemed somehow rehearsed. But how could I be so ungracious? I so longed for kindness, and I so appreciated it…my eyes welled up with tears … and she smiled. It was not a kind smile, but a one-sided curl of a lip, a cruel smile that didn’t reach her eyes. As I mentioned, I have a bachelor’s in psychology, but even at that lower level without clinical study except in nursing, how could I not have known?
She wanted me to house sit and watch her dogs for a week while she and her husband went on holiday. She’d pay me $300, and having put every penny into school, I needed the job. By this time, I’d finished all the bachelor’s level courses and was well into graduate level work — I only had a year and a half left before I could get my Master’s and could begin my dream of teaching art history in community college. I was also $40,000 in debt with student loans.
The dogs were a nightmare to care for and had to be watched every minute because they were so hyper they’d tear up the house and garden. Now I understand they’d been trained this way in response to their owner. I didn’t get much sleep because they required so much attention, but they were fed, watered, exercised, groomed — in response to the 10 pages of instructions she issued, and her house was cleaned, laundry done, and everything left as found. I’d been instructed not to wait for the them to arrive home, but to leave the evening of their arrival, two hours before they returned.
Flier in the driveway
Three days later, I got a phone call from Dr. Wilma. I was instructed to come to her office very early the first day of school following break. I went into her office, and she asked me to wait there while she went to her car and brought her dogs in (she always brought her dogs to school in spite of rules of no dogs on campus). She brought the dogs in, she looked at her watch, she closed the door and I can only say that she transformed entirely right before my eyes. I’ve worked in psychiatric lock up wards in the course of my nurse’s training, and I thought I’d seen pretty much everything, but I saw a self-possessed, controlled and controlling, smooth, charming, poised academic turn into a snarling, spitting monster within literally a second. I feared for my life, sat in a chair backed into a corner, the dogs now cowering and whining at my feet. She advanced on me, screaming at the top of her lungs, “You betrayed me! I can’t believe I brought that (meaning me) from my university into my house!” It seems I had left a newspaper, one of the little local fliers, in her driveway and not collected it and placed it on her kitchen table with the rest of the mail. She went on for a full fifteen minutes, screaming that I was “crazy” (I had confided to her about my instances of depression), and more abuse that I’ve frankly and thankfully blocked out, because what I remember of what she shrieked at me was horrible and I’ll never repeat most of it to anyone. My hand shook, but I wrote out a check for the $300 and returned every bit of her money. It was only my training, and probably experience as an abused child, that allowed me to remain calm, size up the room, locate something that could be utilized as a defensive weapon should the need arise, and calculate that I could fit though the window. She was physically blocking the door. I heard my own voice from far away say absolutely calmly, “I AM leaving now,” and I will never know how I got up on shaking legs and made it through the door.
Swore to ruin me
She swore to ruin me, and she did. Her co-workers and underlings (the department is small and only had two other full-time professors) were so under her thumb and so like her that there was no place to go in the department. I couldn’t get an appointment with the dean to state my case or make a complaint or appeal — I was told I could only see her with Dr. Wilma’s approval, “She’s a very nice lady,” the dean’s secretary said, “I’m certain she’ll help you sort out whatever it is.” Camping out in the dean’s office didn’t yield an appointment, either. The Ombudsman promised help — only to reveal straight away in the meeting that, “I have no real power here and all records of this meeting are the property of the university.” I had taken my qualifying examination, the last step before thesis writing, and waited for 8 weeks to get my results, and still couldn’t find out if I’d passed or failed. Appointments weren’t kept, then they were rescheduled and not kept again. Finally, around the tenth week, the Ombudsman called me for a meeting with faculty. Dr.Wilma had brought the other two full-time professors with her, and they were all in attack mode. For two and a half hours, I was soundly verbally abused and called names — the Ombudsman gave up trying to control or run the meeting, and exhibited shaking hands. “You can’t just pay for a degree — you have to earn it. We owe you nothing — it’s 100 percent all on you now…What do you want from us?” Dr. Wilma demanded. “I want to know the status of my qualifying examination,” I replied, “No one will tell me.” “Well I’ve just decided right now, this minute: you fail!”
After they left, and I could finally cry, the Ombudsman said she’d only done counseling of sexual abuse patients, and this was her first case in an academic setting, and she said she’d never seen anything like it. It left me bereft of my belief in the virtues of the university, of learning, and to a very great extent, in human goodness. I felt my insides crumble that day. I was flat out. I broke.
I tried going to another university, driving three hours to another school. I did well in my classes and applied for acceptance in their graduate program. I was told it looked good because my transcript and submitted paper and interview had all been promising. But I’d told them the basics of the truth when the committee chair asked why I left the previous university. They phoned, spoke to Dr. Wilma, and you can guess the rest. After what I was told by a professor was the longest meeting in their history of considering a candidate (three hours), they decided not to believe my performance, the evidence of my character, my skills, or interest in art history and love of education — they believed Dr. Wilma when she told them I was crazy.
Crushed
That happened two years ago. I’ve been deeply depressed and felt worthless and hollow since. It truly crushed me, though I wish it hadn’t. I’m broke, and it left me $45,000 in student debts and no degree, so I cannot teach and have nothing to show for a tremendous amount of work. There was no appeal at the school, and lawyers apparently don’t take cases like this, especially on contingency. Reactivating my RN license and bringing it current in California would be tremendously expensive. I began to come out of shock very slowly, and began to meditate, face and recognize the pattern of being a victim — not that I ever deserved this situation, but how I was in fact an ideal candidate for it. I processed the pain of being the child of an alcoholic, an abused spouse, and having survived burnout from a tough profession. I grieved for my lost financial security, my almost new career and how much I truly loved teaching, I grieved for the good will that died in my soul when those three women worked me over in the Ombudsman’s office while the Ombudsman (a certified counselor) stood by and let it happen. I grieved for myself that I didn’t stand up more and tell them off! That I wanted something so badly that I allowed myself to be demeaned by three ethically deficit “teachers.”
I began Tibetan Buddhist meditation, and sought to learn to forgive. I believe in the healing power of forgiveness, but I’m stumped because I’ve seen something evil. I can only forgive as an intellectual act — my spirit is stuck and it’s very painful. I’ve cried buckets of tears and “LET GO” over and over, and I will do until I have healed. I now trust myself to build a new life, but at 55 years, it’s going to be hard to get a job where I’ve no experience, especially in this economy. I could have taught for a good 20 years, paid my student debt, and provided for myself, but things look bleak now.
Armed with knowledge
I know that there are so many people who have lost so much more than I have. I know it, reading these posts, I realize it I’m actually lucky because it could have been so much worse. If nothing else, I am now armed with knowledge, and can hopefully walk on by the next ruinous person I encounter without letting them into my life. But I will always be shaken by this devastation — not by a lover or a spouse, but by a trusted, respected, and admired teacher. And I still feel ashamed, and like it was somehow my fault — until I read your posts.
Thanks you, Donna, for listening to my story. It’s healing somehow, and it helps me to know that I will recover from this. It has given me understanding and compassion for those who live with this these fundamentally lacking individuals. I so admire their strength and courage to survive and rebuild their lives, and also the genuine love and support evidenced on your site.
Learn more: Comprehensive 7-part recovery series presented by Mandy Friedman, LPCC-S
Lovefraud originally posted this article on March 4, 2009.
How knowing the truth about sociopaths changes everything
Boy do I understand.
So many people have been betrayed in their marriages and romantic relationships. It’s sometimes hard to explain how an N/P/S can harm a target without romance entering the picture at all.
My own story is far less extreme than yours, but I really do understand. It’s amazing how effectively an N/P/S “mentor” or “leader” can wreck a target’s social and professional standing.
I hope awareness of these personality disorders spread so that smear campaigns against targets will not be so effective. If you could have picked up the pieces of your education, your situation would not have been so dire. In most cases, if the majority of people were not so easily swayed by the gaslighting of the N/P/S, the evil they do would be significantly mitigated.
I am a veteran who earned her degree while following my husband’s military career around the globe. It really infuriated me that Universities thought their various academic programs were somehow “special”, when every single one of them were virtually identical. Each would only accept transfer credits as “electives”. It took me forever to finish my degree, and by the time I was done I had done 3 times the work of my peers. The vanity of the Universities would have been hilarious if it had not been so frustrating.
That this professor could undo all your academic work just by labeling you crazy is an inditement on the credibility of the University’s academic rigor. What matters? Your academic record, or this professor’s evil tongue? Evidently this professor’s evil tongue carries more weight! If that’s the case, what exactly do coursework and academic achievement mean?
Worse is that an objective analysis of the bare facts of the case discredit the university and the professor. Her personal involvement with you was an inditement on her character.
The counselor was a twit. Really and truly, she let the inmates run the asylum when she allowed those professors to gang up on you. If that twit of a counselor didn’t have any grit in her gizzard, she shouldn’t have walked into the room. What did she think she was there for?
I’m sorry to say this Betty, but reading your story makes me realize how little the P, N and S in my life have taken from me. Really and truly, I feel like I got off with a warning! Your Psycho Professor and her dupes did incredible harm.
God bless you now and in the future. I pray that your life is far better from this day forward.
PS: I earned a teaching certificate about 12 years ago, and my deepest regret is that I failed to do what I had to do to keep it current. It wouldn’t have been that hard.
We never know when we’ll need to fall back on that sort of thing. Your story makes me think about getting off my dead rump and doing research to see what it would take to renew it.
I wonder if ‘Dr. Wilma’ was planning this all along, or was it something that triggered her at the end– like maybe you being so nice and cleaning her house so well, etc that made her feel bad about herself and go nuts? Sometimes I isolate myself and kind of feel like I have given up on trying in life after my experience with my s. How do we go out in the world and keep trying with this fear that we will be targeted again? There is so much individualism and aggression in our culture/humanity in general anyways, in addition to full fledged Ps and Ss. Sometimes it feels like you have to reign in intelligence, gentleness, and genuine kindness because it is going to make people hate you, or target you. I also had an alcoholic father and was physically abused for many years. Is it more than just our behavior as people who were abused? Sometimes I wonder if I am actually admitting some kind of phermone or something from being abused that attracts abusers. It seems like the victim in the above letter would have to have some sort of recourse. I know she said she did approach a lawyer. I think with all of her excellent grades, and the fact that Dr. Wilma had her over to her house and became this way over a flyer left in her driveway would stand as evidence?
Spellcheck– That was supposed to be REIN in. Not reign. I think. lol
I know that rage and patholigical lying, it is sickening.
I suggest you see a school counselor- do not give up. Maybe teach art in a private school.
I had a psycho exboss who has blacklisted meto a certain degree within his power. But as the years have passed- his influence has diminished as I have new work history and references.
These monsters exist-I know it now, please feel validated at least. Perhaps an art therapy degree- you have an RN and an undergrad art degree…I bet you are employable today.
Take a deep breathe and make a list. Dr. Psycho (my psycho was an artist too…always reminds me of how psychopathic Picasso was) has only so much sway. She’s not in control anymore.
Start today- look at job ads everywhere and access what you need to do something in your field. You can do it.
“WOW” I don’t know what else to say. I’ll have to think about it.
Those little things that are an excuse to set them off. I remember one with my ex-TOX, early on….
One day, she was telling how she REALLY appreciated men like me, her son, her brother…married and faithful, commited…kind of went on and on….
Within a week…the raging monster…HOW COULD you (me) go to WalMart and not call me (her) at work to see if she needed anything?
I was selfish, only thought of myself, never thought about her, couldn’t load the diswasher properly…She didn’t want me “doing her laundry” because I “overdried” her blue jeans…
yeah, I cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor…but I took too long doing it….
WTH? I had given up my “career” of nearly twenty years…she didn’t have to work then outside our home….I travelled, that was a problem. Now I worked “third shift” (for 25% of what I’d left). She started working days. I had to watch our youngest daughter and sleep when I could….
I think I’m beginning to understand it a little.
Dear Betty,
Welcome to LF, and your story is very profoundly expressed. Thanks for sharing with us.
I had a “Dr. Wilma” in the first University Nursing department where I was working on my BSRN degree. I didn’t know what she was at the time, but several of us knew she was TOXIC to certain people (men in particular) and when she started “courting” me I knew that I am far too “big mouthed” to kiss her arse for another two years so I arranged to change Universities and work on my Regsistered Nurse Practitioner certificate. I found a few other “Dr. Wilmas” along the way as well—I sometimes think nursing departments are rife with them in most colleges/universities—but in any case, your story described my own disordered “Dr. Wilma” to a TEE!
I was fortunate and blessed by God to get out of her clutches when I did because she held a powerful position in the department. She is still there.
The “courting” you described, almost a sexual feeling thing, is so “right on”—great descriptions. Thank you again for sharing your story, and thank you for joining us here at LF, it IS A HEALING PLACE.
Betty,
You were wronged. This woman is wrong and she’s crazy. There is nothing about this that is your fault. What you earned was stolen from you. Flat out. You didn’t collaborate in this. You were ripped off.
I don’t know when you’re going to feel capable of this, but ultimately, you’re going to have to say “no.” To the original university, and to anyone else who, despite your assertions that the woman is out-of-control crazy, relies on her to judge you. She hates you, and has done everything in her power to destroy you. There is no reason for it except that she is crazy. And if they accept her word over your, they are participating in that effort.
Whether or not you’re broke, I’d find a lawyer who will give you a first interview. Get his or her permission to copy on correspondence with the university. And then start fighting.
Again, when you’re ready. When you’re angry enough to see through this BS.
Start by characterizing this as what it is. Theft. Theft of your work by a petty woman with personal reasons to sabotage your academic career. It’s not your problem to say what those personal reasons are. But you could point out that you’re certain that you’re not the first person this has happened to, and you are willing to run ads in the local paper and the paper of the nearest large city to solicit participants in a class action suit against the university.
What you want is an independent review of your work, your qualifying examination, and your academic performance at that university by a neutral party who can make an informed decision. That means, you will not accept anyone who is potentially vulnerable or beholden to this woman, but it has to be someone who can judge the material with some knowledge of the subject matter. You don’t care what kind of problems that presents to the university. That is the only fair way to resolve this.
If that review results in a decision against you, in terms of pursuing your masters degree, you want clear terms of exactly what failures to perform they see, and what it would take to correct it. And then you want the university’s assistance in placing you in another program, either there or at another university. Because this is the only way the theft of your academic credibility and career can be resolved. And then you also want a professional investigation of this woman and the department for unfair dealing and harassment of students.
If they refuse, and they probably will on the first round, start looking for ways to put pressure on them. Tell them that you’re registering a formal complaint with the accrediting institution they operate under. If they are state institution, tell them you are registering a formal complaint with the Department of Education and the consumer protection agency. These are basically phone calls, and probably filling out some forms, to which you can add a copy of this article, edited down or not. I’d take out the part about your parents, but otherwise you come off as rational and blameless.
Matt might have some thoughts about this.
When you gave the university your money, you entered into a business arrangement with them. Academic institutions try to cloak themselves in a lot of blather about their higher mission, but they are in business. They sell classes for money. When you buy an education, you buy it with expectation of certain things, including reasonable guidance and fair treatment. This woman did not give you reasonable guidance. And the university did not give you fair treatment.
Everything depends on how you present this. And how you think about it. Which is why I said at the beginning that this is theft. It is a lot of things. Theft, harassment, coercion, failure to perform on a business deal, slander, intentional malice. But you need to get the point where you are certain about the wrongness of it. Forget about every mistake you made. They are not relevant, and frankly not meaningful from anything you’ve said. You accepted what she gave you. You didn’t pursue her. She initiated every bit of it, and you responded appropriately to someone who had power over your academic career.
Finally, I’d call every lawyer in that town and ask if they’ve ever pursued a case of a student suing that university. I really don’t believe you’re the first person to face this situation. The dean’s response makes me suspicious. You’re reading this as the wagons closing against you, but I suspect that there are a lot of people afraid of this woman. You might be surprised at who comes out of the woodwork if you pursue this.
And if you have to go to court to sort this out, you will go with an attorney who works on contingency, because you’ll be suing them for big bucks.
Not one thing I’ve suggested would cost you money, just time. And here’s why you do it, and why you don’t give up. You want your name back. This woman has changed it, and you want it returned in the same pristine condition it was when you arrived at that school. Anything short of that is unacceptable.
Betty:
The clubby world of academia. Just like the clubby world of law. I am always astonished how everybody is busy circling the wagons to protect these monsters until the cost gets too great. And that is what you must do — make the cost too great for the university and for Wilma.
My first job out of law school was with a major lawfirm. My first day there I was getting settled in when my officemate storms in, picks up the phone and starts screaming at her headhunter “I”ll go anywhere. Just get me away from that bastard, X.”
She banged down the phone and handed me a stack of business cards and said “Here are my headhunters. Take them. YOu’re going to need them.”
She was right. She left 2 months later and I became his newest victim. It was so bad there when you asked somebody what class you were in, you didn’t give a year. You gave a month.
5 months after I got there, the other partners interviewed the associates one by one to “determine the problem.” The answer was always the same. “X”.
9 months after I started I got an offer from another firm and walked. I was the final straw. The partners decided that 10 million in billings or no 10 million in billings, X is destroying the firm and forced him out.
Unfortunately, the damage had been done.
With respect to your situation, I was just posting when Kathy beat me to the punch.
First, I’d start with the accrediting institutions for both the university you attended and the division you studied under.
Since his woman has effectively trashed your career, you have no incentive not to play hardball with the university and whatever associations accredit university art history departments. YOu must make it too expensive for the university to protect Wilma.
Second, I’d contact your student loan lender – they have to accredit the institutions that their student borrowers attend. If Sallie Mae comes sniffing around, this is not a good sign. No student loans = no students = out of business.
Third, I would also contact your state attorney general’s office.
Fourth, I will guaranty that this woman has had other victims before you. Do you have contacts you can reach out to at the university you attended? Or any way to establish a blog and get out the word? Also, where did this woman teach previously? Perhaps there are victims there.
The reason I say this is one complainant looks like a bitter student. Three is the makings of a nasty class-action suit.
Fifth, I will guaranty your university has policies against student harassment and what are appropriate boundaries between professors and students. Based on her use of you for slave labor, sounds to me like she violated them.
And you must do this now. Wwo years has gone by and you could be bumping up against statute of limitations issues.
I understand the need heal from this experience. However, healing cannot replace action. There is no way to escape the student loans, so you don’t want to give the university or Wilma a pass. Speaking from personal experience, action helps heeling.
Betty:
One other thought came to me after I posted. Is Wilma and/or the university saying you didn’t deserve the “A”s you got? That seems to be part of what I’m picking up from what they said. If that is the case, that Wilma gave you inflated grades (definitely a violation of school policy) and the university colluded in that, there could be a fraud case against them.
Also, allegations of grade inflation/tampering/selling does not go over well with accredting institutions.