When I lost my dream job as a senior director of content last year, it felt like a spiritual amputation. For years, the organizational leadership had spoken of our team as a “global family,” and I had believed them. When the layoffs swept through, taking my position along with dozens of others, we weren’t even granted a proper goodbye. I was left not just unemployed, but utterly untethered, unsure of who I was without my title.
By January, my unemployment benefits had evaporated, and my severance was nearly gone. My bills, however, remained unfazed by my new reality. I was a single mother of three, running out of funds, and spending fruitless hours trapped in the mind game of job hunting: *Am I searching in the right places? Why did they reject me? Is there something wrong with me?*
I needed a lifeline. So, while continuing to apply for full-time roles in my field, I took a part-time job at a local garden center for $17 an hour—just slightly over Massachusetts’ $15 minimum wage. I was transparent with the hiring managers about my ongoing job search, and they kindly brought me on board anyway.
For two months, I spent nearly nine hours outside, multiple days a week, doing physical labor in whatever weather New England threw at me. I was exhausted after my shifts in ways I had never experienced in my corporate roles. Yet, somehow, it became one of the best jobs I’ve ever had.
The healing began with the environment. After a long, bleak winter spent hunched over a laptop, being surrounded by plants and wildlife fed my starving soul. But more than that, the work forced me out of my anxious head and back into my body. Physical labor leaves no room for the endless swirl of rejection and self-doubt. My mind narrowed to the simple, grounding tasks at hand: Water flowers. Unload trucks. Stock tables. Help customers. Repeat. Breathe. Relax.
It turns out, I had missed the tangible reward of a hard day’s work—a connection to my roots, pardon the pun, as a farmer’s daughter. I had also missed feeling seen. Without a job, I had felt invisible; with a job, even a modest one, I felt purposeful again.
To my surprise, I discovered a deep joy in retail. I had never worked in customer service before, but I quickly realized that a garden center is a uniquely happy place. People arrived smiling, relieved that winter was finally over, and they left carrying flowers I had helped them choose. I wasn’t just selling plants; I was sending them home with joy.
The people around me amplified that joy. Employment provides an automatic community, and the isolation I had felt during my unemployment began to fade. My new coworkers shared my passions for gardening and wildlife, welcomed me wholeheartedly, and introduced me to a rotation of regulars and their dogs. I had found my people.
But perhaps the most profound shift came from the management. I hadn’t experienced true leadership in years; my previous bosses had cultivated a toxic environment where people were afraid to speak up or make mistakes. In stark contrast, my managers at the garden center saw me. They knew I was a single mother juggling co-parenting, and they built my schedule around my life, giving me as many hours as I could take while ensuring I could leave early for school pick-ups.
My paychecks were modest, and I still had to rely on savings to stay afloat. I knew this job would never cover all my expenses. Yet, calculating which bills I could pay after a long shift brought a strange peace. Somehow, that $17 an hour saved my life.
During my time among the flowers, I kept my ultimate goal in sight, scheduling interviews for full-time communications roles on my days off. Exactly 365 days after my layoff, I received a winning offer.
Today, I am a month into my new role as a communications director for a health nonprofit, and I couldn’t be happier. I am once again financially stable, surrounded by kind people and strong managers who want to make a difference.
It all feels a bit surreal, but it has reaffirmed a vital truth: it was never just about the money. It was about finding myself again. It took a year, and a wonderful detour among the flowers and new friends, but I am finally home.
And I still work at the garden center every Sunday I can.
