I’ve always considered myself a patient, professional person. I’m Ava, 28 now, but this happened when I was 26, about two years ago. I worked as a project coordinator at a mid-sized tech company in Seattle — the kind with open-plan offices, free snacks, and a “fun” culture that sometimes blurred lines.
That’s where I met Derek.
Derek was 42, married with two kids, a senior developer on my team. He was friendly from day one — helpful with onboarding, quick with jokes, the guy who organized happy hours. Everyone liked him. He had this big, booming laugh and a habit of greeting people with hugs. At first, I thought it was just his personality. Some people are huggers, right?
But it quickly became clear the hugs weren’t for everyone — they were mostly for younger women on the team.
He’d come up behind me at my desk, say “Great job on that report!” and pull me into a full-body hug, arms tight around my waist, lasting three or four seconds too long. Or he’d “accidentally” brush my lower back while passing in the kitchen. Once, during a team lunch, he squeezed my shoulder and left his hand there while talking to someone else.
It made my skin crawl.
I’m not a confrontational person, so the first few times I just smiled awkwardly and stepped away. But after a month, it was happening multiple times a week. I started wearing hoodies even in summer to create a barrier. I’d swivel my chair when he approached. I’d say “I’m good!” and extend a fist for a bump instead. He’d laugh it off — “Oh, Ava’s not a hugger today!” — and do it anyway.
The other women noticed. Two of us — me and Priya, another coordinator — talked about it privately. She said he’d done the same to her but stopped after she firmly said “Please don’t touch me.” I tried that next.
One afternoon in the break room, he went for the usual side-hug. I stepped back and said clearly, “Derek, I’m not comfortable with hugs. Please don’t do that.”
He looked surprised, then chuckled. “Whoa, okay, message received! Didn’t mean to offend.”
I thought that was it.
It wasn’t.
Two days later, he hugged me again — this time in front of our manager during a stand-up meeting, like it was a joke. “Ava said no hugs, but I’m rebellious!” Everyone laughed nervously. Our manager, Lauren (mid-30s, overworked), just said “Okay, let’s focus.”
I emailed Lauren that day: explained the pattern, that I’d asked him to stop, and that it was making me uncomfortable. She replied: “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll remind the team about personal space in the next all-hands.”
No direct action.
The touching continued — scaled back slightly, but still there. Shoulder squeezes. Arm pats. Once, he “playfully” tugged my ponytail during a brainstorming session.
I documented everything — dates, times, witnesses — like the internet advised.
Six months in, I went to HR.
The HR rep, Karen, listened politely. I showed my log. She said, “It sounds like Derek has a overly friendly style, but it doesn’t rise to the level of harassment yet. There’s no sexual commentary, no threats, no isolation. We can do mediation if you’d like.”
Mediation. With him.
I declined. I didn’t want to sit in a room and explain to a grown man why touching me without consent was wrong.
Instead, I set harder boundaries. I started saying loudly, in front of others: “Derek, I’ve asked you repeatedly not to touch me. Please respect that.” I moved my desk to a corner with my back to the wall. I avoided being alone with him.
He started acting wounded. Told people I was “cold” and “oversensitive.” Some coworkers pulled away — team lunches got awkward. A few guys rolled their eyes when I walked by.
Then came the escalation.
In spring 2024, we had an offsite team-building retreat — overnight at a lake resort, trust falls, ropes course, the usual corporate nonsense. I almost didn’t go, but Lauren said attendance was “strongly encouraged.”
That night, after dinner and drinks around a bonfire, Derek sat next to me. He’d had several beers. Started with the usual arm around my chair. I moved away. He scooted closer.
Then he whispered, “You know, if you just relaxed a little, we could be friends. You’re always so tense around me.”
I stood up and said loudly, “Derek, stop. I’m not interested in being touched or whispered to. Back off.”
The group went quiet. He laughed it off — “Jeez, Ava, chill, it was a joke.”
But I saw Lauren watching.
The next morning, I asked to speak to her privately. Told her everything — the pattern, the ignoring of boundaries, last night. She finally took it seriously.
HR launched an investigation.
They interviewed the team. Most people admitted they’d seen the hugs and touching but “didn’t think it was a big deal.” Priya backed me up fully. Two others said they’d felt uncomfortable too but never spoke up.
Derek denied any malice — claimed he’s “just affectionate” and that I was “misinterpreting friendliness.” He cried in his interview, apparently. Said he felt attacked and that I’d created a hostile environment for him.
HR’s verdict: Derek received a written warning, mandatory boundaries training, and was moved to a different team. No suspension, no real consequences.
But the damage to me was real.
Word spread. Some people called me “the girl who got Derek in trouble.” Happy hours stopped including me. Projects I’d led got reassigned. Lauren started nitpicking my work in ways she never had before.
Six months later, during layoffs, I was let go. “Role elimination.” Plenty of others with similar titles kept their jobs.
I know it was retaliation. I consulted a lawyer — but in an at-will state with no smoking-gun emails, it was my word against theirs. Not worth the fight.
I found a new job eventually — smaller company, better culture. But I’m still guarded. I flinch when coworkers get too close. I don’t go to offsites. I keep my camera off in meetings when I can.
The worst part? Derek still works there. Promoted last year, actually. I saw it on LinkedIn.
He never apologized.
That conflict tested every boundary I had — personal, professional, emotional. I learned that saying “no” clearly and repeatedly can still paint you as the problem. That “not rising to harassment” doesn’t mean it’s not harmful. That some workplaces protect the status quo over the people who speak up.
I don’t regret standing up for myself.
But I do wish someone had believed me sooner.
Because the real cost wasn’t just a job.
It was realizing how far you can push your own boundaries before the world pushes back — and how alone you can feel when it does.
TL;DR: A much older male coworker repeatedly ignored my requests to stop touching and hugging me at work. Despite documentation and complaints, HR dismissed it as “not harassment.” The conflict escalated at a team retreat, finally forcing action — but only a slap on the wrist for him. I faced isolation, retaliation, and was eventually laid off while he was promoted. The experience permanently changed how I navigate workplace relationships.
