Let’s be honest: getting laid off feels a lot like being broken up with over text, except the text is a 9 a.m. Slack message from someone named “People Operations” and the follow-up is your laptop bricking itself the moment you click “Join Zoom.” One minute you’re Employee of the Month (in your own head), the next you’re googling “is it normal to cry in the cereal aisle?” Spoiler: yes, and the security guard has seen worse.
The first week after a layoff is basically the five stages of grief, but with more LinkedIn scrolling. Denial: “They’ll realize they need me and beg me to come back.” Anger: “Who approved a 37-slide deck about synergy and then fired the only person who knew how to spell it?” Bargaining: “If I offer to work for half-pay and my firstborn, can I keep my health insurance?” Depression: eating cold lasagna straight from the Tupperware at 2 p.m. while wearing the same hoodie for four days. Acceptance: finally showering and discovering that, huh, the hoodie does stand up by itself now.
Here’s the part nobody screenshots and turns into an inspirational quote: failing at work (whether it’s a layoff, a botched project, or accidentally replying-all with “this is why we can’t have nice things”) does not make you a failure. It makes you a human who temporarily worked for a company that confused “restructuring” with “musical chairs, but with paychecks.” J.K. Rowling got sacked from her secretarial job for daydreaming stories at her desk. Steve Jobs got fired from the company he founded (talk about a plot twist). Oprah was told she was “unfit for television.” Somewhere there’s a support group for billionaires called “We Got Canned Too.”
So how do you actually crawl out of the professional dumpster fire without setting your résumé on fire for dramatic effect?
1.Feel the feelings, but set a timer. Give yourself a solid 72-hour pity party (sad playlist, ugly crying, ranting to your dog). Then, like a responsible adult who still has Wi-Fi bills, set an alarm labeled “OK, pants time.”
2.Do the autopsy, not the funeral. Grab a coffee (or something stronger) and brutally, honestly answer: What part was actually my fault? What part was market chaos, terrible management, or Mercury in retrograde? Write it down. You’ll spot patterns (e.g., “I keep joining startups named after fruit”) and free yourself from carrying blame that isn’t yours.
3.Update the résumé before the imposter syndrome moves in permanently. Layoffs are so common now that recruiters literally have a filter for "survived a reduction in force." Lead with what you achieved, not the dramatic exit. Example: "Increased revenue 42% before the entire department was optimized out of existence." It's honest and faintly heroic.
4.Tell your network - yes, out loud. The most cringe sentence you"ll ever type is "I'm back on the market!" but it works. Half the jobs I've landed came from a friend going, "Wait, you're free? My company's desperate." Humble-bragging is dead; desperate-friend-signalling is the new LinkedIn.
5.Treat job hunting like the world's worst dating app. Swipe (apply) often, go on coffee dates (informal chats), and don't ghost people even when their follow-up email is just "Hey." Karma is real and she reads BCC.
6.Do one ridiculous thing that has nothing to do with your career. Learn how to make sourdough. Take up boxing. Audition for community theater as a tree. Your brain needs proof that you’re more than your job title, and nothing says “I’m fine” like nailing the role of Tree #3.
7.Remember the math: every “no” is statistically moving you closer to “yes.” I once got rejected 68 times in a row. On the 69th application (nice), I landed a role that paid double. The universe apparently has a sense of humor and a counter.
Getting laid off or bombing spectacularly doesn’t put an expiration date on your potential; it just rips the duct tape off the check-engine light you’ve been ignoring. Fix what you can, laugh at what you can’t, and keep driving. Somewhere out there is a hiring manager who will read your story, chuckle at the hoodie-that-stands-up line, and think, “Finally, someone who won’t freak out when the printer inevitably explodes.”
You’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. This one’s just another Tuesday in disguise. Now go update that LinkedIn headline — maybe something cheeky like “Professional Phoenix | Currently Rising.” Works every time.