My toxic boss relied on me to do everything and even texted me on holidays. I quit to save my sanity.

• My boss treated me as a partner at first but began to rely on me too much and text me frequently.
• His behavior made me feel stressed and uncomfortable.

It was my dream job — until it became a nightmare.

After suffering through years in a high-powered, high-stress corporate career in New York City, I landed a job at my alma mater in 2015. It paid reasonably well, the benefits were excellent, and it returned me to the academic environment I loved.

At first it was great, but in retrospect I was the proverbial frog in the pot: The heat slowly turned up for months, but I didn't notice until suddenly I was about to boil.

Everything fell apart when my boss became too toxic.

My boss at my new job seemed great at first

I knew going in that my boss was a bit awkward. When I told my school friends about the job, they said: "Um, don't you remember that guy from when we were students? He was so smarmy."

I didn't remember much, actually, so I wasn't worried.

Things were promising in the beginning. My boss seemed genuinely excited to have me on board. I hit the ground running; the school year had already started, so I dove into my work. I was excited and bubbling over with ideas, and my boss was on board with them all. He treated me as a partner rather than a subordinate.

I became his favorite, and his behavior became intrusive

My boss took me under his wing. There's something seductive about being a favorite, and I leaned in for a long time. Even as his behavior became more intrusive, I was flattered by the attention, praise, increased responsibilities, and trust in my judgment.

All that attention blinded me to the behaviors he started to exhibit. His behavior was intrusive, and it escalated. It was normal for him to appear in my office doorway a dozen or more times a day. He asked for my help drafting emails; sometimes I just wrote the emails for him, because I'm a heavily conditioned people pleaser.

He consulted me on almost every aspect of his job, including things that weren't my business.

He began texting me outside of work hours. The content was never inappropriate, but the texts were increasingly frequent. He even texted me on Christmas Eve.

He was so needy. That wore on me even as I excitedly took on more responsibility and received a big promotion with a raise. Part of me was still flattered, though I acknowledged to friends that his behavior toward me was uncomfortable. It felt like codependency.

I felt increasingly drained, but I didn't recognize the cause. It was becoming unhealthy, and my stress levels rose.

Then everything combusted

I don't want to dive into details, but in one day he obliterated my personal boundaries and then undermined me at work through a blatant lie. I have no idea where it came from or whether he intended any of it, but it broke me. I couldn't be in the same room as him without hyperventilating. I couldn't focus.

I took a leave and began therapy. When I tried to return to work — to a job I still loved and wanted, in theory — the panic resumed.

I owe so much to my therapist. She helped me see that my boss had crossed many lines and that the only thing I did wrong was allow myself to be so absorbed by his black hole of neediness. She also guided me to the understanding that I could have an identity outside of this job and that my mental well-being was more important than any career could ever be.

Walking away was the hardest but most rewarding part

When you've spent your entire life achieving highly — from school into jobs — it can be incredibly difficult to extricate yourself from the mentality that your professional success defines your worth.

Walking away from that job meant walking away from the career I expected to have forever, with no clear path forward. But going back meant jeopardizing my sanity.

I was raised to believe that work comes first. I learned to sacrifice family time, vacation days, hobbies, friendships, health, and happiness because "success" demanded it. I had to change my narrative before I could see that walking away was the right decision.

I had to redefine what success looks like for me and realize that success should be an evolution, not an endpoint.