Today marked six months since I was laid off.
I realized it in a strange way. I got in my car to grab coffee and, out of pure habit, drove straight to work. I was already pulling into the parking garage when it hit me: oh sht, I don’t work here anymore. I turned around and drove home.
When my wife asked where I’d been, I told her I was just driving and thinking. And I was. I thought about the people who were laid off before me, some of them were ten times the employee I ever was. They didn’t lose their jobs because of performance; they lost them because of bravado, politics, being labeled “too much,” or because the wrong VP didn’t like them. Most of them have landed great roles at other Fortune 100 companies.
My wife suggested I reach out to them, to call or email and ask for help. I told her I’d be surprised if any of them even responded. The truth is, several of them had reached out to me when they were let go, and I stayed silent. I didn’t want them back then. They felt like competition.
A lot of the people who stayed weren’t chosen for the quality of their work, but for who they knew, and honestly, being female or non-white didn’t hurt either. I’ve reached out to friends still at Chevron. No response. I’ve reached out to people who were laid off before me. No response.
I call them friends, but maybe we never were. Maybe we were just people using each other until there was no value left, and then we were discarded.
Right now, I feel like I’m walking alone, and it feels terrible. I made a lot of money as a 26+, but it’s lonely at the top (if you call 26+ the top), and it hurts to know people are calling you an a--hole behind your back. I tell myself “fu-k them,” but it still hurts.
It really hurts. I keep wishing I had been a genuine friend instead of just a company friend. I wish I had lived out the faith I claimed, instead of being a “corporate Christian,” saying the right things for appearances. Lately, everything hurts. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, but I still feel empty.