Laid off. Let go. Dismissed. Released. Discharged. A casualty of corporate redundancy.
I know what it’s called. But I didn’t know I’d be told, via a mid-morning Zoom, that my publication was folding and I was no longer needed.
It took a while to sink in, and at first, I was just numb. I shuffled around my small Brooklyn apartment looking for something to do. There was a lot of cleaning and rearranging. There was also a lot of lying in bed awake. Then the crying started.
I blamed myself
Once I started crying, it was hard to stop. I blamed myself for not seeing the signs and for not being good enough to keep my dream job. I berated myself for believing I even deserved a job. I made it weird. I began looking at my former employer’s current job postings and checking out online updates from former co-workers.
It didn’t feel like a layoff. It felt like I’d been dumped.
In 2025, many people are going through what I went through due to mass layoffs. I don’t know what it was like for everyone else, but for me, the experience was excruciatingly public. My company posted my farewell letter to readers on the magazine’s homepage, and suddenly everyone knew. People I hadn’t worked with in years sent me condolences. More than one ex reached out. “This must be what Taylor Swift feels like,” I remember thinking, as I announced “a bit of personal news” on LinkedIn.
In the days after it happened, everyone was supportive and sympathetic. People told me to take some time for myself. I heard a lot of “it’s not you,” “they didn’t deserve you,” and “just get back out there.”
So I did. I replaced work rituals with new habits. I made coffee, scanned job listings, tailored my résumé, worked on myself, certified for unemployment benefits, tailored my résumé again, and wrote heartfelt yet professional cover letters. I updated my online profile, hoping someone knew someone who could set me up with someone who might be looking for someone. I was ready for a little rebound dating.
I was lonely
And I was lonely. I missed the daily Slacks and conversations with colleagues. I missed my work friends. I even missed going to meetings. It’s hard to go from being around people every day to being alone. I texted people during the workday. I stayed up too late. I drank too much. I sent back the company laptop. I kept the company-branded thermos.
Sometimes I cried in public. It would come on suddenly, like when I was doing something else and remembered I was unemployed. Sometimes I’d wake up and forget that I didn’t have a job, and go through the whole cycle again. Sometimes I’d spiral, like when a former coworker posted about something great that happened at work.
I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t always happy for everyone.
Getting rejected for jobs didn’t help
The job search apps made it worse, with their promises of available positions. Sometimes a bot would reject me a few hours after I’d submitted my painstakingly crafted resume. I’ve had softer rejections on dating sites. A few people told me something might happen for me if I just changed everything about myself and my aspirations. Journalism is in trouble, they helpfully reminded me. It’s especially hard for a woman my age to find work, they supportively suggested.
The worst part was that a lot of people were right. 2025 into 2026 marked one of the worst periods for the US job market in two decades, apart from the pandemic.
Not long after my layoff, friends began calling me to tell me they’d been laid off, too. People who were still employed began giving me pressed lip pity smiles. I felt like maybe my dismissal was contagious. I took to crying in private, so as not to get my situation out to anyone. And then something changed.
It was slow, to be sure. I began freelancing to make ends meet, and thanks to the support of editor friends, I eventually found my footing. I also found my community again, although it wasn’t where I’d left it.
I had spent so much energy mourning the loss of my dream job that I hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe my soulmate career wasn’t tied to one role or one company. I realized that maybe it was connected to how I wanted to live my life and how I wanted to be treated. After all, there was a me before this job, and there was still a me afterward.
Getting laid off taught me that corporate job security is a myth anyway. So yes, I’m no longer married to my dream job. But I can guarantee that in my self-employed office of one, there will never be a redundancy.
