Thanks for Letting Me Go

[This article was orginially posted to LinkedIn]

"Your position has been eliminated."

Said out loud in two and a half seconds, these five words had enough force to knock my world — my safe-ish, happy-ish little world — right off its axis. I felt my pulse surge into my fingertips, my stomach slide into my throat, and my knees start to quiver.

The tunnel vision set in while I reviewed the paperwork laid before me, the voices of the HR rep and the executive team member slowly turning into what I can only describe as the "womp womp womp" of any adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon, and my internal fight or flight alarm ringing loudly in my head. Run.

Escorted by a senior leader, I made my way back to my desk, gathered my two little plants, a half-dead orchid, and backpack — which, too, looked on the verge of lifelessness, without the hoard of company-issued tech I normally lug around. I shook the hands of a couple of colleagues, unable to fully concentrate or explain what was happening, took my badge off my keyring, and made my way to the parking lot.

As I drove home, windows down and the sunroof open, I felt a range of emotions flood through my body: shock, anger, sadness, nausea, disappointment, fear, rage, panic, hurt, and one that surprised me, hope. 

Like many that have faced this situation, my immediate feeling was that I wasn't good enough. I no longer deserved a seat at the table. I was no longer worthy of that job, that paycheck, or those aspirations. And while any therapist will tell you those feelings are normal and valid, they're also simply not true.

I've taken this past week to allow for a full mind, body, and spirit reset. A true spring cleaning of sorts. My inner Marie Kondo is working hard to clear the proverbial cobwebs that have plagued my creativity, mourn (and truly let go of) the things that do not bring joy — read: negative self-talk, insecurity, and bad energy — and help me uncover the light, bright, and you got this attitude and peace of mind that's been clouded by this experience.

I find myself wishing I could travel back in time, just a week, to tell the stunned shell of myself, how okay this change was. And if I'm being honest, even better than okay.

You see, every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Work, relationships, friendships, and life. My storyline as a Senior Content Marketing Manager had arced, and it was time to move on. I've known for a while that the book was coming to a close — and while part of me wishes it was on my terms that it end, the forced hand eliminated any further dillydallying, or worse, deterioration of my character in any non-value add chapters. Sorry, I had to sneak in at least one corporate buzzword.

And rather than tangling myself in the coulda, shoulda, and woulda's of this last book, I'm looking ahead to the next in the series. I know it's going to be bigger, better, and more than the last.

I have almost a decade of experience in the marketing field, from freelance consulting to mom-and-pop shops, and start-ups to a Fortune 50. And I've done the hard work, and continue to pay my dues as a young professional. By no means has my growth been a straight line —I've fallen and scraped my knee, bit off more than I could chew, and made my fair share of screwups. But it's these mistakes that have helped lay the foundation for a successful career in this ever-exciting and always-evolving industry.

I may not know everything, but I do know that I deserve a seat at the table. I'm worthy of a job that I'm wholeheartedly in love with. (And not just the honeymoon love — I mean the challenges you, pushes you, breaks you, and builds you back up again kind of love.) I'm worthy of the pay I seek, and have the KPIs to prove it. And more than anything, I'm worthy of the aspirations I have to learn, grow, and fall even more passionately head-over-heels for my chosen profession.

In closing, let me say — to whoever needs to hear this — the cliche is true:

When one door closes, another opens. We are worthy of chasing dreams and tackling goals. We're worthy of trying, and we're still worthy, even when we fail. It's not always easy to see the silver lining, to believe in yourself in times of adversity, or to dust yourself off and try again — but it is possible. By surrounding myself with strong, empowering, and empathetic people (and leaders), I've learned far more than I could have on my own — this lesson included.

So, thank you, to the powers that be, for making the decision to lay me off. While the future is unclear, I'm grateful for the parting gifts: the time to pause and reflect on my path, the opportunity to be better, and the freedom to try.

TL;DR: Life has a funny way of working out — even when it all seems to be going wrong. Trust the process.