So You’ve Been Laid Off, RIF-ed, Fired: Phase 1 – The First Impact

I didn’t expect the call. I mean, part of me did. The weeks leading up to it had been tense. My manager and I were no longer aligned. Our 1:1s had become increasingly difficult and unproductive, and even when I walked him through my work in detail, the conversations felt circular. It often seemed like expectations were shifting without context, and no matter how clearly I demonstrated progress, something wasn’t connecting. It left me with a quiet sense that something was coming.

Still, when the moment actually arrived, it knocked the air out of me.

I was sitting in the dining room of a friend’s house, remote working together like we always did. My manager asked if I was in a private space and if anyone else was around. Then he read a script word for word without deviating once. No emotion. No humanity. Just the standard corporate process.

My body went straight into a full freeze response while my brain screamed to fight. And my first thought was not panic or grief. It was an unexpected wave of relief. I realized I would no longer have to navigate the difficult dynamic I had been dealing with for months. That moment of clarity arrived before anything else.

The call ended, and the shock hit me like a wave.

The First Hour

I went upstairs to my friend and his partner and immediately broke down. Not a quiet, controlled cry. The kind that empties out your entire chest. They didn’t push me to explain or problem-solve. They simply showed up with a bouquet of flowers and my favorite candy and let me be emotional, messy, and quiet. Their presence said clearly, “Feel what you need to. We’re here.”

I laid in their bed until my body calmed down enough to function again.

The First Day

I remember very little except being exhausted and scared. I called my dad because he had been through a layoff during the 2000s housing crisis, and he has always been the person who helps me regain control when my life unravels.

He gave me the logic my brain needed. At one point he said, “Applying for jobs and interviewing is now your full-time job.” It sounds blunt, but in that moment it was grounding. It gave me structure when everything felt unpredictable.

Sometime that evening, I passed out from pure exhaustion.

The Morning After

The next morning, the panic hit instantly. The kind that lands in your stomach before your mind is fully awake. The reality of “I am not getting another paycheck” sat heavy.

Before I could spiral, I grabbed my phone and wrote a LinkedIn post. Then I started DoorDashing to make a little money and to feel like I was doing something. Productivity became a coping mechanism, even if it wasn’t glamorous.

Who I Reached Out To

The first three people I told were:

• My closest friend (and his partner, who was with him)

• My dad

• My now-husband, who I had known for about a month at the time

  
  

My friend already knew things had been rough at work. When I burst into tears after the call, he didn’t need an explanation. He just stayed.

My dad gave me logic and steps to follow. He always has.

My now-husband gave me something I wasn’t expecting from someone I hardly knew: reassurance and safety. I trusted him with the rawness of that moment, and he met it with steady support. I have a long history of being the one who supports everyone else, so having someone show up for me without hesitation stood out.

The Support That Carried Me

Each person offered something different.

My friend and his partner gave me the kind of support that comes in small gestures. Flowers. Candy. A soft place to land. The permission to feel without explaining.

My dad gave me structure and clarity.

My husband gave me emotional safety and reminded me that my worth was not tied to my badge.

And then there was the unexpected support. My LinkedIn network. Former coworkers who reached out within hours. Internal recruiters who sent me leads. People who were angry on my behalf or sad to see me go. People who immediately began connecting me to opportunities.

Even DoorDash helped. It gave me something to focus on and a way to feel useful.

But the most important support came from others at my company who had also been laid off. There is something grounding about navigating the chaos with people who understand the shape of the loss. Their presence made the whole experience feel less isolating.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m sharing this because layoffs feel like freefall. Nobody teaches you how to handle the emotional whiplash of losing your job. Nobody prepares you for the shock, the fear, or the grief. Nobody tells you that your body might shut down or that your brain might go into survival mode.

So I want this to be a lighthouse for anyone who might need it someday.

Here is what I learned:

• You are allowed to fall apart.

• You need people who can sit with you in the mess without trying to fix you.

• You need at least one person who offers logic and direction.

• Your value is never determined by a corporation.

• You do not have to move on quickly to be resilient.

• Community matters.

• Your reactions are normal.

This was Phase 1 of my story. The shock. The unraveling. The first glimmers of support.

Phase 2 is coming next, piece by piece, for anyone who needs a Security Blanket during their own unexpected freefall.