One Year Later

It’s a bit weird for me to think about where I was, one year ago today.

The naiveite I had when I woke up and logged-on to work on January 19th, 2024.

I remember it so clearly.

At exactly 1:36pm, I got a Teams message asking if I “had a second for a quick call?” Innocently, I responded with a “Sure!!”—an emphasis on the two exclamation points. A call request followed almost immediately and I accepted it without a second thought. Then a video stream popped up on my screen, showing that individual and someone else—someone I knew worked in HR. Instantaneously, my heart dropped and my stomach flipped. The scene on my screen seemed eerily familiar and then it hit me: I was about to be an unwitting participant in an Up in the Air reenactment.

The dialog—led by my colleague—was carefully scripted; their emotions were in-check and I could see said person reading from a piece of paper on the table in front of them. I didn’t breathe and my head was spinning as sentence after sentence was dictated. Distinct phrases I remember:

“…an uncertain market and facing future headwinds.”

“…cost-saving measures.”

“…not a reflection of your performance.”

“…your role has become redundant.”

“Severance packages will be distributed via e-mail at the conclusion of this call.”

Then I was asked if I had any questions.

Any questions? Are you serious? Of course I have a zillion questions but let’s start with, “What the fuck is going on?”

Part of me wishes I had had the balls to explode like that, but my only concern was for others. “Am I the only person on my team effected by this?” I asked, my voice trembling with emotion.

“This is a corporate-wide restructure.”

Knowing that others—my friends and coworkers for the last twelve years—were having similar conversations—Emperor Palpatine, “Order 66” style—didn’t make me feel any better. It actually made it worse. My heart broke, again.

The call ended quickly after that. Which was a relief; what else was there to say? Twelve years of my professional life flushed down the toilet, with no opportunity to say goodbye to my second family—which was the most calculated part of the entire thing; there would be no emotional scenes on company property as they pulled their Order 66 on a Friday, when everyone worked from home. There would be other jobs, but I spent more time with those people than my actual family, and not getting the opportunity to address that hurt.

That’s when I broke.

My husband—working in his office in our basement—said he could hear my screams from two flights up and the sound of my feet as I bounded down the stairs. He found me collapsed in a heap on the floor outside his office. He swooped me up into his arms, thinking someone had died. Between uncontrollable sobbing, I told him what happened. We sat like that for awhile. He rocked me like a baby, holding it together—like he always does—and telling me everything would be okay.

I thank God that he was home in the aftermath of that Teams call; I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.

Right then—and in the weeks that followed—things seemed pretty bleak and hopeless. Two weeks later, life doubled down; my husband was laid off in a similar fashion. At that point, it was pretty laughable; in fact, that’s exactly what I did when he broke his news to me.

Now that we’re a year out, I can say—without an ounce of irony—that I am so thankful for the shit storm that life handed me. It was beyond tough; I’m not good in situations I can’t control—DUH!—and its even worse when I can’t immediately fix a bad situation. With this, I couldn’t just snap my finger and immediately have a new job lined-up. So my days became sickeningly mundane and pressured; panic was always creeping in the foreground of my consciousness. As a result, that panic materialized into overwhelming drive, which is why I’m safe—and HAPPY— on the other side of it all.

I wouldn’t wish what I—and my family—went through on my worst enemy, but it pushed me to a better place. In retrospect, I was just coasting; I knew my job backwards and forwards and I was on complete autopilot. I’d voiced as much to many of my coworkers and managers, but unfortunately there wasn’t much they could do career-wise. My husband would also interject to the above to say he’s been telling me for years to get my resume together. I was comfortable and stayed because I loved my coworkers; even when they drove me nuts—a daily occurrence—I loved them like family. The lay-off forced me out of that comfort zone and to a more lucrative situation.

As it did my husband.

We are better off now—professionally, financially and emotionally—than we were a year ago. And thanks to our combined severance packages and us both getting jobs relatively quick, we were able to complete some pretty major house projects. Something we never would’ve been able to do otherwise. I learned who truly has my back; my tribe really circled the wagons and came to my family’s rescue. I HATE depending on people or asking for help; this experience humbled and helped me see that I can’t do it alone. I also have a deeper understanding of the mass lay-off and I harbor no ill-will towards anyone involved. It’s business, not personal.

Perspective is earned from experiences like these and I can wistfully look back with gratitude for the shit sandwich that life handed me. Something I never thought I’d say; when you’re in the trenches, you can’t see beyond the bombs going off around you. Sure, I’ve got a bit of PTSD from the experience—my stomach still flips anytime I receive a “Hey, you got a second for a quick call?” message—but I feel like that’s par for the course and will eventually settle.

Who knew a layoff could teach so much and facilitate a growing moment? Not me! Maybe everyone should experience it once in their lifetime….

But again…I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.