Last March, I got laid off.
At two in the afternoon, my manager called me into the conference room and said something about “company restructuring” and “your position has been eliminated.” I didn’t feel much. I just nodded, picked up the small box with my personal things, and walked out of the office building.
It was still cold in Chicago. I sat in my car without starting the engine, just staying there for ten minutes.
Over the next three months, I sent out over a hundred resumes. Most got no reply. A few led to interviews, then silence. The mortgage, car payment, my daughter’s tuition for next fall — three stones pressing down on my chest. My husband watched me with careful eyes, afraid to ask too much.
One night, my daughter drew me a picture. On it, in wobbly letters, she wrote, “Mom, you’re the best.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t the kind of deep realization you see in movies. Just a simple thought: worrying won’t help. I kept sending out resumes, but I stopped refreshing my inbox every hour. Every morning I ran two kilometers at the community park, then came home to make breakfast for my family. I prepared well for interviews, and after each one, I let it go.
Days passed. In July, an education software company made me an offer. The pay was less than before, but the team was a good fit. On my first day, the HR person showed me to my desk. Near the coffee machine, someone had stuck a note: “This too shall pass.”
I stood there for a few seconds, thinking back to that March afternoon when I had sat in my car, not knowing what would come next.
Calmness is not giving up. It’s knowing the storm will pass, and knowing that until it does, the only thing you can do is stand still.
