When Training Becomes a Performance Narrative

Before Signode, There Was Baptist Health

By Adrienne Floyd | AyeDNicole

Before Signode, there was Baptist Health.

My experience working in treasury at Baptist Health in Jacksonville, Florida, during 2025 remains important because it fundamentally changed how I understand training, management accountability, confidentiality, institutional power, racial disparity, and the difference between an employee being incapable of performing a job and an organization failing to adequately teach that employee how its particular processes are supposed to operate.

I entered Baptist with treasury experience. I was not entering corporate finance for the first time, and I was not unfamiliar with financial operations. What I needed—as every professional entering a new organization needs—was instruction concerning how Baptist wanted Baptist's work performed. Every treasury department possesses its own banking relationships, approval structures, journal-entry procedures, reporting conventions, ERP processes, terminology, controls, and institutional habits. Knowing treasury does not mean magically knowing another company's internal procedures on the first day.

That distinction became central to my experience with Jillian Picco and Christa Genre.

My account represents my firsthand recollection, professional assessment, and interpretation of the events. Where I reference another person's motive or discriminatory intent, that represents my perception unless an independent record establishes otherwise. Baptist and the individuals discussed may have their own accounts. My purpose in writing is to preserve mine.

Training Is a Management Responsibility, Too

My experience with Jillian Picco left me believing that she did not demonstrate sufficient interest in ensuring I genuinely understood how Baptist expected its treasury processes to be performed.

That distinction matters.

There is a difference between an employee being incapable of learning and management inadequately developing an employee.

If an employee is struggling, train her.

Show her the correct process.

Document it.

Provide an SOP.

Allow questions.

Identify specifically what was incorrect.

Explain why.

Give constructive feedback.

Then determine whether the employee improves.

Management cannot reasonably expect a new employee to inherit institutional knowledge telepathically.

The EEOC's race-discrimination guidance recognizes that discrimination can affect training and constructive feedback, not merely hiring and termination. Its guidance provides an example involving an employee of color who was terminated for mistakes while white employees performing below expectations received coaching that enabled them to improve. EEOC guidance on race and color discrimination

That framework resonates with the question I continue to ask about Baptist:

Was I genuinely being given the developmental opportunity necessary to succeed?

I Responded by Creating Structure for Myself

When performance concerns were communicated to me, I did not simply become defensive.

I worked.

Around September 2025, concerns regarding my performance were communicated. My response was to develop an action plan and continue trying to create structure around what I needed to learn.

By October 7, I had developed my own journal-voucher self-guide.

That response says something important about my approach.

When I did not understand something, I wanted documentation.

When a process was difficult to follow, I wanted to make it repeatable.

When management said improvement was necessary, I wanted a roadmap toward improvement.

I was attempting to teach myself while simultaneously performing the position.

What troubled me was the feeling that the narrative of “incompetence” could become easier than management confronting whether the training itself was adequate.

Christa Genre Sent Me Another Employee's Termination Information

Then came one of the most disturbing incidents of my Baptist experience.

Christa Genre, whom I understand to be an FSU graduate with advanced academic credentials, mistakenly sent me confidential information relating to Robert Prefer's termination/personnel matter.

I immediately understood that I had received information I should not have received.

According to the documentation I preserved, Christa subsequently acknowledged the mistaken transmission and apologized.

That created an extraordinary contradiction for me.

I was being scrutinized for alleged performance deficiencies while management itself had transmitted sensitive personnel information concerning another employee to me.

If accuracy mattered for me, accuracy mattered for management.

If confidentiality mattered for me, confidentiality mattered for management.

If professionalism mattered for me, professionalism mattered for management.

If an analyst's mistake supposedly demonstrated professional inadequacy, then management's mistakes deserved objective examination, too.

Accountability cannot travel in only one direction.

From my perspective, Baptist did not treat that confidentiality incident with seriousness comparable to the manner in which my alleged deficiencies were being characterized.

That disparity remains one of the most important parts of my account.

What Exactly Is an “Error”?

My experiences at Baptist—and later elsewhere—taught me to interrogate how corporations use the word error.

A genuine treasury error can be serious.

An incorrect bank account is an error.

An incorrect amount is an error.

A failed reconciliation is an error.

An inaccurate journal entry can be an error.

A broken control is an error.

But an undocumented expectation, managerial preference, or process that an employee was inadequately taught should not automatically become evidence that the employee lacks intelligence or professional competence.

When the same manager controls both training and the subsequent performance narrative, accountability has to operate in both directions.

The employee is responsible for learning.

Management is responsible for teaching.

That is particularly important when an organization later attempts to characterize the employee's inability to follow an inadequately communicated process as proof that she could not perform the profession itself.

Why I Escalated My Concerns

Eventually, I believed what I was experiencing required visibility beyond my immediate management structure.

I communicated concerns within Baptist's corporate leadership because I wanted senior decision-makers to understand what I believed was occurring within the treasury function.

I raised concerns about training.

I raised concerns about management.

I raised concerns about process sophistication.

I raised concerns about the characterization of my performance.

I raised concerns about accountability.

And I raised concerns about what I regarded as inadequate or outdated treasury functionality for an institution of Baptist's size and sophistication.

I ultimately informed senior corporate leadership and the board because I believed leadership should know what was occurring underneath them.

That was not about humiliating Baptist.

It was about a very simple proposition:

If an institution is going to characterize an educated treasury professional as incompetent, then the institution's own systems, training practices, controls, and managerial competence should also withstand examination.

Healthcare Prestige Does Not Automatically Equal Treasury Sophistication

This is where my criticism extends beyond individual managers.

Healthcare institutions can be extraordinarily sophisticated clinically while portions of their administrative infrastructure remain behind technologically.

Treasury is evolving.

Modern treasury increasingly intersects with automation, Power BI, APIs, data analytics, ERP integration, treasury-management systems, cybersecurity, payment technology, sophisticated forecasting, banking connectivity, and FinTech.

That means CFOs, vice presidents, treasury directors, and managers must evolve, too.

Seniority does not automatically equal current expertise.

A prestigious executive title does not automatically equal technological sophistication.

A doctorate does not make somebody incapable of making a serious mistake.

And an employee asking for better documentation does not automatically lack competence.

Sometimes the employee asking questions is identifying the weakness in the process.

That is why I believe senior financial leadership must periodically examine not simply whether treasury is completing transactions, but whether the department's technology, training, documentation, controls, and management practices reflect where the profession is going.

Race Is Why I Believe the Training Question Deserves Examination

I am a Black woman.

The managers central to this experience included white women.

That fact alone does not establish racial discrimination.

But race becomes a legitimate evidentiary question when a Black employee believes she received less constructive training, harsher characterization of mistakes, less developmental investment, or different consequences than comparable employees outside her protected class.

So the appropriate questions are not:

Were Jillian and Christa white?

The better questions are:

How were white employees trained?

How much coaching did they receive?

How were their errors characterized?

Were their mistakes treated as evidence of incompetence or as part of the learning process?

Could they ask for clarification without that question becoming another mark against their performance?

Were they given additional explanations?

Were managers invested in ensuring they succeeded?

And when management itself made a serious mistake, what consequences followed?

Those questions move the discussion from racial suspicion to evidence.

That is where I want it.

My Termination

My Baptist employment ultimately ended in October 2025.

Performance was part of the justification communicated around the termination, according to the documentation and circumstances I preserved.

I disagreed with that characterization.

My position has never needed to be that I never required clarification, never misunderstood anything, or was incapable of making a mistake.

Every professional makes mistakes.

My argument is different:

You cannot fairly evaluate somebody against an organizational standard you inadequately taught her.

If management believes an employee cannot perform, then the quality of training, documentation, coaching, and opportunity to improve should be part of that assessment.

And when the employee is Black while the people controlling the training and performance narrative are white, I believe it is appropriate to examine whether race influenced any disparity in treatment.

Appropriate to examine does not mean proven.

That distinction matters.

Then Jillian Picco Viewed My LinkedIn

Months after my Baptist employment ended, another occurrence caught my attention.

In approximately late July or August 2026, I observed that Jillian Picco had viewed my LinkedIn profile.

I found that concerning enough to document.

This was a former manager associated with an employment experience I considered profoundly unfair. I had already moved forward professionally and was navigating another chapter of my career.

Naturally, the profile view made me wonder:

Why are you checking on me now?

Was it simple curiosity?

Had my name come up?

Was she interested in where I landed professionally?

Was somebody discussing me?

Was there another reason?

I do not know.

A LinkedIn profile view by itself does not prove surveillance, retaliation, harassment, or discriminatory intent. People view profiles for countless ordinary reasons.

That is precisely why I distinguish the fact from my reaction.

The fact: I observed that Jillian viewed my profile.

My qualitative reaction: Given our employment history, the view raised a red flag for me and made me question why a former manager was checking my professional profile months later.

I documented it.

I do not have to invent the reason in order to preserve the occurrence.

Jacksonville and the Pattern I Have Experienced

Baptist became part of a broader pattern that has forced me to examine my experiences in Jacksonville.

I have experienced employment situations in Jacksonville that I considered deeply unfair and, in some circumstances, racially concerning.

Those experiences have made racism in Jacksonville a serious subject in my writing.

That does not mean every Jacksonville employer is racist.

It does not mean every white manager in Jacksonville discriminates.

And it does not establish that an entire city possesses one collective motive.

But I am entitled to articulate what repeated experiences in that city have meant to me.

What stands out personally is that I did not experience my professional years in Tallahassee or Atlanta in precisely the same way.

That distinction deserves reflection.

Was the difference company culture?

Management?

Industry?

Regional professional culture?

Race?

Gender?

Training?

Individual personalities?

Some combination?

My experience gives me enough reason to ask those questions without pretending it automatically supplies every answer.

Baptist in Name—and What Faith Means to Me

My experience also made me think more deeply about something outside treasury:

What does the word “Baptist” mean to me culturally compared with what a corporate institution carrying that name represents?

I distinguish my Black Baptist heritage from predominantly white expressions of Baptist Christianity I have encountered or studied.

That is a cultural and theological distinction—not an allegation that Baptist Health made employment decisions because of Baptist theology.

For me, Black Baptist heritage carries associations with testimony, survival, music, organizing, education, service, family, and the historic role of Black churches in creating institutional spaces when much of America refused Black people equal access to its institutions.

That history matters to me.

So when I encounter an institution carrying Christian language or identity, I inevitably ask:

What does faith look like when translated into institutional behavior?

Christianity should be capable of surviving an accountability test.

A Christian identity should not mean that leadership is automatically righteous.

It should not mean that managers are automatically correct.

It should not mean that institutional reputation outranks an employee's dignity.

Why I Reject Cult-Like Christian Clans

I am strongly opposed to what I describe as cult-like Christian clans—environments where Christianity stops functioning primarily as faith and instead becomes a mechanism for hierarchy, social conformity, exclusion, or institutional self-protection.

I use clan as a criticism of insularity.

I am not alleging that Baptist Health, Jillian Picco, Christa Genre, or the individuals involved with my employment are members of the Ku Klux Klan.

Historical precision matters.

The KKK represents a specific history of organized white supremacy, racial terror, and violence. Equating every predominantly white Christian institution with the Klan would trivialize that history and replace analysis with accusation.

The parallel I am concerned about is narrower:

What happens when a powerful group protects its own narrative so effectively that the person outside that power structure struggles to be heard?

When institutional authority automatically receives credibility, when an employee's questions become a problem, when management's deficiencies disappear while the employee's deficiencies become the official narrative, and when organizational hierarchy becomes resistant to scrutiny, the environment can begin to feel less like accountability and more like institutional protection.

That is what I reject.

White Women, Institutional Power, and the Need for Precision

My experiences have also forced me to confront difficult feelings about white women occupying managerial authority over Black women.

I have experienced multiple professional relationships in which white women controlled aspects of my training, evaluation, or employment status, and I believed the treatment was unfair.

That pattern is real within my personal experience.

But I refuse to turn those experiences into the proposition that white women collectively are “the problem.”

That would be intellectually weaker than the argument I am actually making.

The problem I want examined is institutional power combined with racial disparity and inadequate accountability.

If a particular white manager treated a Black employee differently, examine her conduct.

If an HR department failed to investigate, examine the HR process.

If executives allowed outdated treasury practices to persist, examine leadership.

If Black women received less developmental investment, examine the comparative evidence.

Specificity makes the criticism stronger.

Christa's Education Makes Accountability More Important, Not Less

Christa's advanced education is relevant to me for another reason.

Doctoral education requires research.

Research requires evidence.

It requires distinguishing hypothesis from conclusion.

It requires recognizing limitations.

It requires documentation.

Those are precisely the standards I believe corporate professionals should welcome when employees challenge an institutional narrative.

According to my records, Christa mistakenly sent me another employee's sensitive personnel information.

The appropriate response is not:

She has a doctorate, therefore she cannot make a serious mistake.

The appropriate response is:

What happened?

What policy applied?

How did Baptist respond?

Would an analyst have been treated similarly for comparable mishandling?

Credentials should increase accountability, not eliminate it.

Black Women Need to Leave a Record

This experience is also why I believe Black women need to become more expressive and deliberate about documenting our professional experiences.

For generations, institutions have documented us.

Managers write our evaluations.

HR creates our files.

Employers document why they believe their decisions were justified.

Other people describe our attitudes, performance, communication, and professionalism.

Black women are equally entitled to preserve our own accounts.

Write.

Document.

Research.

Preserve lawful evidence.

Keep your performance evaluations.

Keep the action plan you created.

Preserve the self-guide you developed.

Write down significant meetings while you still remember them.

If training is inadequate, request clarification.

If there is no SOP, ask for one.

If you receive information you should not possess, do not circulate it; report it appropriately and preserve lawful evidence that the incident occurred.

If you believe an employment decision was discriminatory, learn the applicable administrative deadlines rather than relying exclusively upon social media.

And if you publish a review, write what you actually experienced.

Say Their Names—but Say Exactly What You Can Support

I understand the instinct behind saying:

Say their names.

Institutions possess communications departments, lawyers, websites, executive titles, and enormous search-engine visibility.

Employees often possess only their own voices.

I do not believe Black women should automatically erase the identities of people central to experiences we are describing simply because those people hold corporate positions.

But naming someone creates an additional responsibility:

Be precise.

If I name Christa Genre, I should identify what I allege Christa did and what documentation supports my account.

If I name Jillian Picco, I should distinguish my professional assessment of Jillian's management from an adjudicated finding.

If I mention Jillian's LinkedIn view, I should say she viewed my profile—not invent why.

Do not falsely accuse somebody of a crime.

Do not publish confidential personnel files.

Do not post private financial information.

Do not encourage strangers to harass anyone.

Do not turn a review into a threat.

Make your experience searchable because it is well documented, not because you engineered a digital punishment campaign.

There is tremendous power in being able to write:

This happened to me.

This is when it happened.

This person was involved.

This is what I personally observed.

This document supports my recollection.

This is what the employer said.

This is why I disagree.

That is accountability.

Corporate Christianity Should Survive the Accountability Test

Micah 6:8 has become particularly relevant to how I think about this experience:

“Do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.”

The word humbly matters to me.

A humble manager can acknowledge inadequate training.

A humble executive can examine whether a department is technologically behind.

A humble HR department can investigate management rather than assuming managerial authority equals correctness.

A humble employee can acknowledge her own mistakes.

And a humble institution can accept that prestige, size, Christian heritage, and corporate reputation do not make it incapable of treating somebody unfairly.

That is the Christianity I recognize.

My Black Baptist heritage does not teach me that faith requires intellectual silence.

It teaches me that testimony matters.

And testimony becomes particularly powerful when testimony is accompanied by documentation.

Baptist and Signode Taught Me a Related Lesson

Baptist and Signode are different employers involving different people, different facts, and potentially different legal issues.

I will not collapse them into one allegation.

But they taught me related professional lessons:

Training matters. Documentation matters. SOPs matter. Controls matter. Constructive feedback matters. Management accountability matters. The definition of an “error” matters. And race deserves examination when comparable employees appear to receive materially different opportunities to succeed.

My later Signode experience made me even more attentive to those issues because I again found myself documenting instructions, creating SOPs, questioning controls, and distinguishing managerial preference from actual operational error.

That does not prove Baptist and Signode discriminated against me.

It demonstrates why I became increasingly disciplined about documentation.

Experience taught me to stop assuming the institution would preserve the chronology from my perspective.

Why I Am Writing This Now

I am not writing because Baptist terminated me and I need revenge.

I am writing because termination does not erase experience.

Baptist may disagree with me.

Jillian may disagree with me.

Christa may disagree with me.

That is their right.

My right is to document what I experienced responsibly.

My experience left me believing that I was characterized as professionally inadequate while deficiencies I perceived in training, management, confidentiality, and treasury functionality did not receive equivalent scrutiny.

That is the disparity I continue to question.

Jillian Picco's appearance in my LinkedIn profile views in approximately late July or August 2026 does not prove anything nefarious.

But it reminded me of the lesson Baptist had already taught me:

Preserve the record.

Sometimes former managers reappear.

Sometimes questions remain unanswered.

Sometimes an experience that once looked like an isolated workplace conflict becomes more instructive after you have accumulated additional professional experience.

And sometimes writing becomes the means through which an employee makes sure that the corporation's version is not the only version history retains.

The Record Matters More Than the Title

I am willing to acknowledge something that every serious discussion of workplace accountability should acknowledge:

I can be wrong.

A manager can be wrong.

An executive can be wrong.

An analyst can be wrong.

A healthcare institution can be wrong.

A doctorate does not eliminate human error.

A management title does not eliminate bias.

Being Black does not automatically prove discrimination.

Being white does not automatically prove discriminatory intent.

That is precisely why evidence matters.

The answer should not depend upon whose title is larger.

It should depend upon what the record establishes.

For Black women navigating corporate America, that is the lesson I carry from Baptist:

Do not surrender your narrative simply because somebody else wrote the performance evaluation.

Preserve your work.

Preserve your attempts to improve.

Preserve the training you received.

Preserve what you were not taught.

Preserve significant management mistakes.

Preserve your escalation.

Preserve the termination documentation.

And when you write publicly, separate what you know from what you believe.

Faith should produce accountability, not immunity from it.

Education should produce curiosity, not arrogance.

Management should produce development, not merely documentation against an employee.

And Black women should never surrender the right to articulate our professional experiences simply because somebody else had the institutional authority to write the termination letter first.

A termination ends employment. It does not erase the record.

— Adrienne Floyd | AyeDNicole

Legal Notice & Preservation Statement

This article reflects the author's personal experiences, firsthand recollections, professional opinions, contemporaneous observations, and interpretation of events occurring during her employment. References to alleged discrimination, disparate treatment, inadequate management, confidentiality concerns, retaliation, wrongful termination, or other potentially unlawful conduct constitute allegations and/or the author's interpretations unless expressly identified as findings made by a court, administrative agency, or other competent authority.

Statements concerning the motives or intentions of any named individual represent the author's perceptions unless supported by independently established evidence. References to information communicated by coworkers or other third parties should likewise be understood as reported information rather than independently adjudicated fact.

Nothing in this article alleges that Baptist Health, Jillian Picco, Christa Genre, or another person discussed herein is affiliated with the Ku Klux Klan. References to “clans,” institutional insularity, or historical racial power structures are cultural, historical, and institutional commentary and should not be construed as allegations of membership in, affiliation with, or participation in any extremist organization.

The author has preserved documentation and other materials relating to the events described. Sensitive personnel, financial, medical, proprietary, or confidential information is intentionally not reproduced publicly where disclosure would be inappropriate.

Nothing contained herein should be construed as a judicial or administrative determination of liability, legal advice, or a representation that the EEOC or another governmental authority has reached a finding concerning the people or organizations discussed. Any responding person or organization retains the ability to present its own evidence, explanation, defenses, and interpretation of events.

This publication is intended to preserve the author's account, discuss workplace and institutional issues, and contribute to broader conversations concerning race, professional development, training, corporate accountability, faith, treasury management, and the experiences of Black women in professional environments.

The author expressly reserves all rights, claims, remedies, evidentiary materials, and legal positions available under applicable law. Nothing in this publication is intended to waive any such right, claim, remedy, or position.