Six weeks ago, I lost a job that I loved. I’ve experienced many emotions since then; here are a few metaphors that have helped me make sense of it all.
Breaking up
When I got the news in that conference room, I felt all the feelings you’d expect at the end of a romantic relationship: shock, hurt, anger, confusion. I was dumbfounded with questions like “Why did this happen to me?” and “How did I miss the signs?”
After coping by eating ice cream from the carton, drinking strong cocktails with friends, manipulating heavy objects at the gym, and dumping pages of words into my journal, my questions grew more productive and insightful, like: “How can I handle this gracefully?” and “What can I learn from this experience?”
Graduating from school
My team’s last days of working together after the announcement felt like the time after finals but before graduation, when everyone is about to go in different directions, but we’re still together. We shared résumé tips, LinkedIn recommendations, and words of encouragement. We came together for virtual and in-person happy hours and a talent show. It was exciting to watch the team disperse to new adventures like so many dandelion seeds aloft in the breeze, recognizing that our time together was ending for all of us – and would be part of us forever.
Parenting
In my final conversations with employees I hired, managed, and mentored over the years, and in the transition meetings where I handed over projects to other colleagues, I had a bittersweet realization: My time of influence was ending. Things would continue without me. I had done my work, and now it was time to trust that I had done it well.
It’s the same feeling I get when I see my adolescent children tick off milestones toward independence. When they eventually go off on their own, I will hope that I’ve imparted some wisdom and given them the tools to succeed. They aren’t there yet, but when the time comes, I hope that I’m able to look back and know that they will be fine without me. And I, too, will be fine. Eventually.
Skydiving
I haven’t been skydiving, but the metaphor of getting pushed out of a plane resonates. I wasn’t ready to jump, but now I’m in the air and there’s no going back. Intellectually, I know that I have a decent parachute (my skills, network, resources) and will probably land somewhere good. If I can get past the terror of falling, I might embrace the exhilaration of the wind in my hair and appreciate the fact that, from this vantage point, so many things are possible, and it’s a beautiful view.
Dating
There are so many ways that job searching is like dating: the painful limitations of online profiles. The first-date/interview, where you wear uncomfortable clothing to an unnatural social interaction where you discuss deep topics with strangers who might become hugely important to your life, or who might just ghost you. Wondering how long you should wait to follow up or give up. Putting yourself out there. Chasing the sparks of human connection. Getting drunk on possibilities. Negotiating expectations. Making yourself vulnerable. Shining your brightest. Dealing with rejection. Getting back up again and again.
Buttering toast with a screwdriver
This is how it feels to apply for a job on almost every company website. It works, more or less, but the user experience is terrible. Most candidates are too polite to complain about the time they spent retyping all the information from their résumé into the application form, or trying to find their college major from a drop-down menu with 538 options and no discernible search function. I did not major in Agricultural Journalism, but that was as far as one employer’s form would allow me to scroll.
Being a teenager
One moment, I feel ready to take on the world. A few minutes later, I want to hide under the covers. My emotions are cranked up to 11. I feel more excited about every possibility and more sensitive to every slight. I’m craving ‘90s alternative rock and boxed mac and cheese and pointless road trips with my friends.
Maybe it’s the uncertainty of my future, that feeling of being untethered. Of course, I’m not… I still have a family, a mortgage, and a couple of good decades left in my career. I just don’t know what they’ll look like yet. Until then, I’ll do my best to resist audibly sighing and rolling my eyes at the next person who tells me, “It’s a hot job market!”
Losing a loved one
I know. It sounds dramatic. But the truth is, I loved my job. Losing it unexpectedly was traumatic and sad, and what I’m feeling is grief. Admitting that was essential to healing and moving forward. That’s why I’m putting it in writing and sharing it here… in case someone else needs to read it.
I’m not a psychologist, just a person who has lived through grief and loss, and I know the only way out is through. After the hurt and the pain subsides, it gives way to positive emotions like gratitude and insight.
I’m getting there now, after weeks of reflection. My parachute hasn’t opened yet, but I have opened my eyes. I am appreciative that I had a job I loved, and I am grateful for the privilege to take a few weeks to reflect and process this loss.