Layoff Recovery Phase 3: Rebuilding

Phase 3 doesn’t start when you get an offer.

It starts when someone actually sees you.

For me, rebuilding began when a recruiter called and outlined a role that felt unsettlingly familiar. In a “someone has been paying attention to the last five years of my work” way. It felt like they looked at my career and said, “I know exactly what job description he needs to flourish.”

That was new.

Being Seen Instead of Tested

My first interview confirmed it. No scripts. No posturing. No trick questions designed to catch me slipping. They weren’t naive, but they weren’t adversarial either. They asked pointed questions. They let me ask the ones you’re usually told not to ask. And they answered honestly.

No rainbows. No “we’re the perfectest company that ever existed.” Just reality.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t being evaluated on how well I could perform a version of myself. I could present my value and have it respected without being told I needed to be one-of-a-kind just to be treated as more than a number in a directory.

I felt confidence come back online.

I realized how much of my identity had been wrapped up in being “Cade Scherer, the Microsoft employee,” instead of “Cade Scherer, the walking encyclopedia on data security who solves messy problems.” When they put real technical scenarios in front of me, I slipped right back into outside-the-box thinking without even trying.

And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t broken. I was just in the wrong environment.

Interviewing With Standards

Before I left Microsoft, I was willing to be whatever a company needed me to be. Passion didn’t matter. Whether I was walking into another grinding machine didn’t matter.

After the layoff, that changed completely.

I only considered companies I could ethically support. For companies whose values didn’t align with mine, I made myself expensive on purpose. I asked for salaries I knew they wouldn’t meet. Not to be smug, but because interviewing was experience I needed after being off the market for five years.

I wanted to understand how teams worked. How leadership showed up. What people valued. Where they saw cracks in the system. I asked all the “taboo” questions because I wanted the wrong company to opt out early.

I couldn’t get any more unemployed than I already was. I had already planned for the possibility that I’d be sleeping in my car by month six. Fear loses some of its power when you’ve already stared down the worst-case scenario.

Most of all, I didn’t show up differently in interviews. Anything worth doing is worth doing right.

Choosing Instead of Hoping

The power shift was quiet, but it was real.

I knew I couldn’t go back to corporate bullshit. I couldn’t keep grinding my mental health away while watching layoffs happen in waves for years and being told we were “all in this together” by leaders whose real compensation lived in bonuses and stock awards.

I wasn’t a headcount. I was someone who built solutions that met clients where they were at.

What made my current company a yes wasn’t one flashy moment. It was that everything lined up. Different people. Different conversations. Same core message every time: We do the right thing for our clients. Every time.

The companies that talked themselves out of consideration usually did it accidentally. Vague role boundaries framed as “we’re a family.” Everyone chipping in all the time. Work-life balance as a buzzword instead of a boundary. Supporting your team matters. But lack of clarity almost always means someone is paying the cost later.

Walking away didn’t feel dramatic. It felt detached. Once I justified it to myself, the decision was easy.

“The salary isn’t right.”

“I’d rather walk across hot coals than go back to that.”

Survival mode doesn’t always come with big emotions.

Landing and the Quiet After

I found out I had the job during a quick sync with my new manager. I had to pull my motorcycle over on the side of the road to take the call and still make it to the last therapy appointment I could afford without insurance.

I held it together on the call, probably with a ridiculously big smile. Accepted verbally. Thanked her.

Then I got off the phone, spun in a circle next to my bike, texted everyone I loved, and couldn’t stop smiling. The sun was out. The weather was perfect. Stability was finally within reach.

What surprised me most once I started was that nothing surprised me. The company was exactly what it had been presented as. They give a damn. About clients. About employees. About each other. About life outside of work.

The hardest part, honestly, was 1:1s. Years of being misunderstood trained me to over-prepare. To document everything. To phrase things perfectly so my work wouldn’t be devalued or twisted. That kind of hypervigilance doesn’t disappear overnight, but it’s easing.

What This Changed

I’ve always worked hard. I always will. I believe in doing things right, owning mistakes, and giving the same effort in my last two weeks as my first two with every employer.

What changed is this: loyalty is no longer unconditional.

A company gets my best by default because I always assume best intent. But they have to work to keep it. If that trust is broken, I’ll find a new job. They are just as replaceable as I am.

And that’s not bitterness, that’s balance.

If You’re in Phase 3

Rebuilding doesn’t mean everything is fixed. It means you’re choosing with intention again.

It means you’re being honest about what you can and won’t tolerate. It means you’re rebuilding trust slowly, including trust in yourself.

If you’re here:

• You’re allowed to be cautious.

• You’re allowed to have standards.

• You’re allowed to want peace.

• You’re allowed to expect honesty.

This phase isn’t about proving anything.

It’s about building something you don’t have to recover from.