I never thought a job title could destroy a team I loved.
I’m Ryan, 34 now. This happened in 2023–2024 at Horizon Digital, a growing marketing agency in Austin. Our creative team was legendary — 10 people, tight as family. Friday happy hours, group trips to ACL festival, Slack full of memes and inside jokes. We’d pulled all-nighters together, celebrated wins, cried over lost clients. My closest work friend was Mia — same age, same level (senior copywriter), hired the same year. We collaborated on everything, finished each other’s sentences in brainstorms, covered for each other during vacations.
We were the dream duo.
In spring 2023, our Creative Director, Elena, announced she was leaving for a bigger agency. The role was opening: Director of Creative — bigger budget, lead the whole department, report to the C-suite. $150k+ salary, equity, prestige.
Everyone knew it would come down to Mia or me.
We were the top performers — highest client satisfaction scores, most awards, mentored juniors. The rest of the team was talented but junior or specialized.
Leadership encouraged us both to apply.
We laughed about it at first — “May the best writer win.” Promised no hard feelings.
We both threw ourselves into the process.
Internal presentations, 90-day vision plans, stakeholder interviews.
The team rallied around both of us — group study sessions, mock Q&A.
It felt exciting. Healthy competition.
Then the whispers started.
Some juniors preferred Mia — “She’s more collaborative.”
Others leaned me — “Ryan’s better with difficult clients.”
Small things: someone “forgot” to include one of us in a brainstorm email. Side chats about who “deserved” it more.
Mia and I still talked — but carefully. No more venting about stress.
By fall 2023, the decision dragged — leadership “still deliberating.”
Tension thickened.
Team lunches got awkward — conversations died when one of us walked in.
The breaking point came in December 2023.
They chose me.
Announcement email: “Congratulations to Ryan on his promotion to Creative Director!”
Cheers from some. Silence from others.
Mia hugged me — tight smile — said “Congrats, you earned it.”
But her eyes were red.
That night, she posted on her private Instagram story (I saw via mutual friend): “Sometimes hard work isn’t enough. Feeling invisible.”
The team fractured.
Half congratulated me genuinely.
Half rallied around Mia — “She was robbed,” “Nepotism?” (no relation, but rumors anyway).
Juniors who’d bonded more with Mia started bypassing me — going straight to her for feedback.
My ideas in meetings got pushback that never happened before.
Mia took a week off — “family emergency.”
When she returned, she was professional — but distant. No more coffee runs, no more late-night Slack banter.
In January 2024, she requested a transfer to the LA office — “better fit for my goals.”
Approved.
She moved in March.
Three juniors followed her within months — “LA opportunities.”
Our Austin team shrank from 10 to 6.
Morale tanked.
Clients noticed — “The energy feels different.”
Happy hours stopped.
I tried fixing it — one-on-ones, team-building budgets, open forums.
Too late.
The damage was done.
The promotion I’d dreamed of became isolating.
I was the boss no one wanted.
Leading a team that resented how I got there.
Mia and I texted once — awkward “How’s LA?”
No reply.
She’s thriving there — new title, new circle.
I stayed in Austin.
Got the corner office.
But lost the team that made the job worth it.
In 2025, Horizon merged with a bigger agency.
My role got “restructured” — laid off with severance.
I’m consulting now — freelance, decent money, but no team.
No inside jokes.
No one to celebrate wins with.
I got the promotion.
But it cost me the best work family I’d ever had.
And the closest work friend I’ll ever know.
We both applied thinking it would be fair.
It was.
But fairness doesn’t heal division.
Once a team picks sides over a promotion, it rarely comes back together.
I learned the hard way: sometimes the real prize isn’t the title.
It’s the people you climb with.
And when the climb splits you apart, no view from the top feels worth it.
TL;DR: My best work friend and I competed for the same big promotion. I got it; she didn’t. The decision fractured our once-tight creative team — resentment, transfers, resignations, lost morale. She moved offices and thrived; I got the title but lost the team, and eventually the job in a merger. One promotion battle destroyed everything we’d built together.
