For almost a month now, I have been carrying a heaviness inside me that I haven’t quite known how to put into words. I got laid off from work. Even writing these words feels strange.
For most of my working life, I had never experienced anything like this. I was always the one who decided when a job would end. I resigned. I quit. I moved on.
Sometimes, the reason was personal. Sometimes, I wanted better opportunities. Sometimes, I saw a position that offered better compensation, better prospects, or simply a career direction that appealed to me more. Whatever the reason, I was always the one who initiated the goodbye.
I had always believed that when the time came for me to leave, it would be because I had decided it was time to leave. I never imagined that one day, the decision would be made for me.
Throughout my career, I had also grown accustomed to being someone who delivered. If a job had quotas, I hit them. If there were KPIs to meet, I met them. If there was a target to achieve, I worked toward it until I got there. I was rarely afraid of restructuring because I had confidence in what I brought to the table.
In most of the organizations I had worked for, I had managed to climb the ladder in one way or another. I started somewhere, proved myself, took on more responsibilities, learned new things, and eventually moved upward. That became part of how I saw myself. I was the person who could figure things out. I was the person who could adapt. I was the person who could deliver.
And perhaps that is why being laid off affected me more deeply than I expected. My most recent job was different. There were no demanding sales quotas to chase. No complicated KPIs hanging over my head. No constant pressure to prove that I could outperform a numerical target. It was, in many ways, a different kind of work from what I had been accustomed to. And then, unexpectedly, I was laid off.
There was something particularly humbling about being told that your employment was ending when you had spent your entire career believing that your work ethic and ability to deliver would always give you some degree of security. Suddenly, I wasn’t the one making the decision. I was the one receiving it. And that distinction hurt. More than I expected.
I never thought I would feel this rejected. I never thought I would question my own worth because of a job ending. But I did. The emotional weight became difficult to carry. I found myself struggling to move forward, unsure of where to go or even where to begin. The confidence I had accumulated through years of working, learning, adapting, and progressing seemed to disappear almost overnight.
There were days when I couldn’t bring myself to do much of anything. I felt stuck. I felt lost. And, at times, I felt abandoned. Not necessarily because anyone had intentionally abandoned me, but because I had believed that the people I worked with had seen and appreciated what I brought to the organization. I believed they knew my work ethic. I believed they understood the value I contributed. I believed that the years of experience, discipline, reliability, and commitment I brought to my work meant something. Then suddenly, I was no longer needed.
And as I am trying to establish myself in a different country, that kind of news feels even heavier. I am navigating a different environment. A different culture. A different language. Different expectations. Different systems. And suddenly, the skills I have spent years developing can feel strangely invisible.
My English skills, which had always been one of my strongest professional assets, suddenly seemed almost irrelevant when it came to finding a decent job in a new environment. That realization was painful. It made me question where I belonged. Losing a job isn’t always just about losing an income. At this particular time, it makes me question my identity.
For years, work had been one of the ways I measured my progress. Every new position represented another chapter. Every promotion was evidence that I was moving forward. Every successful transition reinforced the belief that I was capable of building something for myself. Then came a moment when that narrative was interrupted.
And as my professional identity is suddenly shaken, I begin asking questions that have very little to do with my résumé. Am I still good enough? Do my skills still matter? Will anyone recognize what I can actually do? Where do I go from here? What if I don’t find something better? These questions can become very loud as I sit alone with uncertainty. But I’ve slowly come to understand something important:
Being laid off is not the same thing as being inadequate. An organization’s decision to eliminate a position does not automatically eliminate the value of the person who occupied it. Companies restructure. Budgets change. Priorities shift. Departments disappear. Positions become unnecessary. Business decisions are made for reasons that are sometimes completely disconnected from an individual’s worth, ability, or work ethic.
But because I am the person receiving the news, knowing that intellectually doesn’t necessarily make it easier emotionally. I still feel it. I still grieve it. I still wonder why. And perhaps that’s okay. I don’t want to pretend that I’m completely fine. I’m not. I’m still rebuilding. I’m still processing what happened. I’m still trying to regain the confidence that took years to develop but seemed so easy to lose.
But I am also beginning to move. Slowly. Intentionally. One step at a time. I am restructuring my résumé. I’m taking another look at my experience and trying to understand how to present it more effectively. I’m identifying the skills I’ve accumulated over the years and figuring out where they can create the most value. I’m planning my comeback to the workforce.
And this time, I’m being more deliberate about the kind of work I want. I don’t simply want a job. I want a better opportunity. I want a position where my skills can actually be used. I want an environment where experience is appreciated rather than overlooked. I want work that challenges my mind rather than simply occupying my time. I want to move toward a better-paying, non-manual-labor career where I can contribute through what I know, what I’ve learned, and what I am capable of doing. Most importantly, I want to find an environment where my work ethic isn’t merely tolerated but valued.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to do is change the way I interpret what happened. For a while, I saw it simply as rejection. They didn’t want me. They didn’t need me. They let me go. And perhaps that was true in the most literal sense.
But I’ve started looking at it differently. Maybe rejection isn’t always the end of the story. Maybe sometimes, rejection is redirection. Maybe being removed from one environment creates the space necessary to find another. Maybe losing something that once seemed like security is sometimes the push we need to pursue something that is actually better suited to who we’ve become.
And perhaps, in ways I couldn’t see while I was still inside it, this was also a form of protection. Over time, the environment had become increasingly toxic. There were things I had tolerated, things I had overlooked, things I had normalized simply because I needed the job. Sometimes, I tend to stay in places longer than I should because familiarity feels safer than uncertainty. I convince myself that enduring something is the same as being resilient.
But there comes a point when staying costs more than leaving. Maybe I couldn’t recognize that while I was still there. Maybe I needed the door to close because I wasn’t strong enough to close it myself. And perhaps that is the part of this experience I am slowly beginning to appreciate. This is something I have to remind myself of repeatedly.
I am not starting from zero. I am starting from experience. There is a difference. I am carrying years of professional experience with me. I am carrying the lessons from every workplace I’ve been part of. I am carrying the challenges I’ve overcome, the people I’ve worked with, the problems I’ve solved, the targets I’ve achieved, the responsibilities I’ve handled, and the skills I’ve developed. None of that disappeared when my employment ended.
A company can take away a position. It cannot take away everything I learned while occupying it. It cannot erase my work ethic. It cannot erase my resilience. It cannot erase my ability to adapt. It cannot erase the years I spent proving to myself that I can learn, grow, and succeed.
So, yes, I was laid off. But I refuse to let “laid off” become my identity. It is an event. It is a chapter. It is a setback. It is not the entirety of my story. I don’t know exactly what my next chapter will look like yet. And perhaps that’s what makes this season uncomfortable. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know exactly where the next opportunity will come from. I don’t know how long the search will take. I don’t know which door will eventually open. But I know what I’m doing now.
I’m rebuilding. I’m learning. I’m refining. I’m applying. I’m strategizing. I’m reminding myself of what I bring to the table. And I’m refusing to allow one employer’s decision to become the final verdict on my professional worth.
Maybe this is an opportunity to become more intentional about my career. Maybe it’s time to stop simply taking whatever opportunity is available and start pursuing opportunities that genuinely align with my abilities and aspirations. Maybe this is the beginning of a professional chapter I wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue if everything had remained comfortable. And maybe, just maybe, the setback is preparing me for something I cannot see yet. I don’t know whether I would have willingly walked away from that job if the decision had been left entirely to me.
Perhaps that’s why the situation had to happen the way it did. There are times when I remain in familiar places because I am afraid of what comes next. Sometimes, I confuse stability with fulfillment. Sometimes, I become so accustomed to surviving an environment that I forget that I am allowed to seek something better.
So I’m choosing to believe that this ending is not merely an ending. It is a redirection. Perhaps even a protection. The job ended. But my career didn’t. The position disappeared. But my skills didn’t. The paycheck stopped. But my ability to create value didn’t. And the rejection I initially felt so deeply?
I’m slowly learning to see it differently. Perhaps I wasn’t rejected. Perhaps I was redirected. Perhaps life simply decided that I needed to leave a place I had become too comfortable tolerating so that I could begin searching for a place where I can actually grow.
So here I am. Still standing. Still figuring things out. Still carrying some of the heaviness of what happened, but also carrying something else now—hope. My confidence may have taken a hit, but it isn’t gone. My direction may have become unclear, but I’m finding my way again. And my story certainly isn’t over.
This time, I’m not waiting for someone else to decide my worth. I’m going to rebuild it myself. And when I return to the workforce, I hope I return not merely with a new job, but with a clearer understanding of what I deserve, what I can offer, and where my talents truly belong.
Maybe this wasn’t the ending I wanted. But perhaps it is the beginning I needed.
Louella Papa Virtual Services 