Propaganda I'm Not Falling For (Even After Three Layoffs)
Some of the layoff propaganda I'm rejecting as I explore my next steps, grapple with self-worth, and navigate the liminal space I find myself in.
I was laid off a week ago — for the third time in the last five years. I’ve gotten pretty good at surviving these moments and yet they’re a punch in the gut each time.
Each layoff has been different. My circumstances, the market, my mindset, my cushion, and even who I am.
After my first layoff, I’d just pivoted into a product role. I’d been working at a bigger company that had been in the news for a plummeting stock for months, whose CEO had stepped down the same day. I was laid off with 2,800 other people, and recruiters, hiring managers, accountants, and life coaches were invading my inbox. I took a week off to let the dust settle and then got to work of finding a job (which I made my full-time job). I combed through my inbox looking for my next move, and had dozens of interviews lined up before I had to submit a job application. I had time to breathe, but I was also invigorated and ready to hit the ground running. I didn’t really want to take too long to find my next gig.
I found a job within a month, but told them I couldn’t start for another full month. I booked a flight to the Bay Area and spent that month enjoying a break I felt like I’d earned.
The second time was different. I’d been laid off from an early-stage startup that no one had heard of. We barely had a product. And I was pregnant and felt immense time pressure.
I had gotten a few recruiters in my DMs on LinkedIn over that month, and I feverishly reached out to them right after I got the news to try to connect. I had my first interview scheduled for the next day. I didn’t feel like I had time to breathe, and was playing various (and very real-feeling) scenarios in my head. Scenarios where I’d go into labor while interviewing or sending my resume from the hospital bed as I navigated nursing and parenting for the first time.
Luckily, that wasn’t the case — I found a job twelve weeks before my due date, and offered to start days after I signed my offer. And luckily, it was a job I could grow into and was excited about.
Now, over two years later, I find myself back here. Laid off again, but now I have a child. While I have more responsibility, I’m finding it increasingly hard to ‘hit the pavement’. The stakes feel grim, maybe the worst they’ve been — the jobs are unexciting, the market feels abysmal, and my logical brain is telling me to go, go, go! The narrative that I find myself defaulting to is one that comes from scarcity, and I’m trying really hard to fight that.
I’m spending time thinking about what I actually want next, and ignoring the propaganda that we so often hear from a layoff. I’m rejecting the idea that I should be lucky to even be considered for a job, and that I can’t have standards and goals. I’m rejecting the LinkedIn posts filled with silver linings and lessons learned (while acknowledging it’s a privilege to even be able to take this beat and do so).
The layoff propaganda I’m not falling for this time
That I have to feel bad that I was laid off.
That this defines who I am, that this defines who I will always be, and that I am stuck in this cycle.
That I should feel hopeless about my future, regardless of what I do next.
That I should feel hopeful for the future at every moment and not let myself feel sadness.
That I should be desperate for a job (any job!). Even when I sometimes do feel desperate for a job (any job!)
That I can’t mourn what I’ve lost. It’s okay to mourn the structure, stability, the exciting things about the work I was doing, the paycheck, and the co-workers who are no longer part of my day-to-day life anymore.
That I can’t enjoy myself and take care of myself during this time. Working out, keeping the house in order, taking day trips to the beach, and dreaming of walking the entire length of Manhattan are just as valuable as sitting at a computer.
That it all needs to be a hustle. I don’t need to spend every moment on LinkedIn and I don’t need to shill my resume at every moment if I don’t want to.
That I’m not allowed to experience leisure — I can turn the career podcasts off and still watch a horrible show1 if I choose.
That my layoff story needs to be inspiring or admirable.
That I can only talk about my layoff during this time. I don’t need to become a one-trick pony (but also, it’s okay if this is what kinda consumes my writing for the next few weeks).
That I should try to not talk about my layoff during this time.
That I need to stay positive and can’t show myself empathy. Not everything needs a silver lining, and not everything needs an “at least”2.
That I need to be miserable. I’m allowed to enjoy myself and have moments, even when things feel hard.
That I shouldn’t be honest about how hard this is.
That my career is the most interesting thing about me. I’m much more interested in the morals and values people hold, what drives them in life, and what they do in their free time than their careers — I should give myself that same grace.
That I need to use every moment of this time wisely and productively. I do have a desire to be productive, but not out of necessity. I finally have the time to take care of some things, and I’m excited to do that, but I never want to feel guilty about how productive I’ve been.
That I can’t acknowledge my own burnout.
That I need to update my resume on day zero. Or week one. Or at all3.
That I need to know exactly what I want to do right now.
That I can’t explore multiple paths.
That I should take every interview, referral, opportunity that comes my way even if I know it’s not a fit.
That if I don’t act fast, every door will close.
That I have to maintain all professional connections, regardless of how said connections make me feel.
That everything happens for a reason — and that I need to know the reason right now. I do believe that everything we go through is something we’re meant to, but that reality is often not comforting until the moment has passed and the gift of hindsight gained.
That strategy can’t be rooted in following my gut. My intuition is loud, and is already telling me a few things I’ve not yet found the ability to fully say in this space. Listening to that is the strategy.
That I have to stay on whatever narrow path I am on and can’t explore new possibilities or potential. I don’t want to be limited by what I thought my career was.
That my self-worth is measured by how quickly I bounce back.
This time, I refuse to fall for any of this. It takes work, and I still feel guilty that I sit here, a week later, without having even opened the folder that stores my resume on my computer. I’m choosing honesty, integrity, and grace over urgency and desperation (even when things feel urgent and desperate).
Thanks for reading and for being here. This all feels hard to navigate, but having this space to process has been the most helpful. Huge shoutout to everyone here, reading along, and especially to those sharing their thoughts.
Another huge shout-out to my paid subscribers — generating just a little bit of income during this time is allowing me to breathe ever so slightly.
If you’ve thought about becoming a paid subscriber in the past, now could be a great time. Not just to support me through this transition, but I’ll be writing more and know there will be more paywalled content coming your way.
If paid subscriptions aren’t your thing, I’d love for you to share this with someone you thought of while reading it. And you can always buy me a coffee or leave me a tip.
The current horrible show in question:
Can’t talk about empathy or say ‘at least’ without sharing this Brene Brown talk/annimation
I mean, I should probably update my resume…it’ll happen, but I’m not in a rush right now.
Thanks for sharing all of this. I hear it all. Love the Brene Brown animation. Such a great description of empathy. And I love how you are giving yourself permission and grace.