Laid off. Let go. Dismissed. Released. Discharged. A casualty of corporate redundancy.
I know all the sterile terms for it. But I didn’t know I’d be told, via a mid-morning Zoom call, that my publication was folding and I was no longer needed.
It took a while to sink in. 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, and a lot of lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Then, the crying started.
Once it started, it was hard to stop. I blamed myself for not seeing the signs, for not being good enough to keep my dream job. I berated myself for believing I even deserved to be there. I made it weird. I began obsessively checking my former employer's current job postings and stalking online updates from former co-workers.
It didn't feel like a layoff. It felt like I'd been dumped.
In 2025, countless people went through exactly what I was experiencing 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 that followed, everyone was supportive. People told me to take 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 my 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 in the job market.
But I was lonely. I missed the daily Slack pings and casual conversations with colleagues. I missed my work friends. I even missed going to meetings. It's jarring to go from being surrounded by people every day to being entirely alone. I texted people during the workday. I stayed up too late. I drank too much. I sent back the company laptop, but I kept the company-branded thermos.
Sometimes I cried in public. It would come on suddenly, usually when I was doing something mundane and suddenly remembered I was unemployed. Sometimes I'd wake up, forget I didn't have a job, go through my morning routine, and then crash into the realization all over again. Sometimes I'd spiral, like when a former coworker posted about a massive win at the company. I'm ashamed to admit I wasn't always happy for them.
Getting rejected for jobs didn't help. The job search apps made it worse with their false promises of available positions. Sometimes a bot would reject me just hours after I’d submitted a painstakingly crafted resume. I've had softer rejections on dating apps. A few people told me something might happen 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 them were right. The period from 2025 into 2026 marked one of the worst stretches for the US job market in two decades, excluding the pandemic.
Not long after my layoff, friends began calling to tell me they'd been let go, too. People who were still employed began giving me pressed-lip pity smiles. I felt like my dismissal was contagious. I took to crying in private so as not to burden anyone else with my situation.
And then, slowly, something changed.
I began freelancing to make ends meet. Thanks to the support of editor friends, I eventually found my footing. I found my community again, even if it wasn't in the exact place 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 specific role or one specific company. I realized it was actually 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. So yes, I am no longer married to my dream job. But I can guarantee that in my self-employed office of one, there will never be another redundancy.