Happy 5-Month Anniversary, Layoff.

As I stand here today, something new is coming, and while I’m not ready to share the details just yet, I can say this: I’m filled with hope and excitement. I’m filled with renewed purpose, and I’m ready for what's next. But this is a destination I could not see over the past few months.

I was laid off in February. 

Five months without a title.

Without back-to-back meetings.

Without the ping of “just circling back” emails.

Without the dread of Tuesday morning flights, or eating dinner in an airport instead of with my family because of a delay on the way home. 

I used to be someone who woke up and checked my email before my eyes were fully open. It didn’t matter if it was Saturday or Tuesday. There was never anything urgent, but that wasn’t the point. My email was my most used app - regardless of the hour of day. That's stupid.  

You can plan to leave a job, but you can’t plan for a layoff.

I didn’t choose this.

I didn’t prepare for it.

I didn’t see it coming.

I was blindsided.

As a planner, this is not the kind of runway to set me up for success. 

What followed was grief. Not metaphorical, actual grief. I went through the stages: denial, anger, bargaining. But I got stuck in the quietest one of all: depression.

My husband saw it before I did. He gently called it out: high-functioning depression. I scowled when he said it, just like I did the first time my doctor said it ten years ago. I brushed it off. I was still taking our toddler to school, working out, blogging, building something new, making dinner, going on daily walks. This can’t be depression, I told myself. I’m doing too much to be depressed.

But depression isn’t always collapse.

Sometimes, it’s drowning in motion.

Anxiety circled like a riptide. It would rise up fast and drag me under, unexpected and disorienting. I’d come up for air and wonder how I got there. Every day felt like treading water.

I’ve walked here before. I’ve carried diagnoses for anxiety and situational depression. I know the protocol. I’ve done the work. So I told myself: Tomorrow, we try again.

And I did. Again. And again.

Until one morning, six weeks ago, it clicked.

I woke up determined for the day to be different. Maybe not lighter, but possible. Not just in motion, but with intention. That day, I picked a new workout program and got an accountability buddy. I made a morning routine. I reintroduced order into the chaos. I started showing up for myself in small ways, and small stacked into solid. I got unstuck.

The work isn’t over. I’m still very much in the rebuilding. 

Over the past few months, I’ve had the chance to reconnect with friends and former colleagues. What’s become painfully clear is how many people connect to this story - those who’ve experienced the loss of a job, a marriage, or a sudden and significant life shift. The struggle is all to relatable. As I’ve fought my way out of the riptide, I’ve become more intentional about staying grounded to not get pulled back in. With that clarity has come reflection, and a few lessons I’ve learned along the way.

1. Your family will still be there, even when your job is not.

It’s true what they say: you’re replaceable at work, but not at home. I don’t miss the inbox. I don’t miss the meeting invites. But I do miss the sound of my son’s voice on calls I used to take instead of hearing him. Now I get to hear all of it.

2. More time doesn’t equal more motivation.

Before, I convinced myself that once I had the time, I’d do everything - read more, work out, meal prep, clean the closet. The truth is you don’t do those things just because you have time. You do them when you choose to prioritize them. It was never about time. It was about commitment.

3. Your systems matter more than you realize.

I didn’t understand how much I relied on my success routines until they disappeared. Every morning at work, I wrote a to-do list. Work tasks on top, personal items on bottom. I’d move them into my phone calendar and structure my day. But when the job disappeared, so did the system.

And things started to fall apart.

I forgot splash day at school…three weeks in a row.

I missed a doctor’s appointment.

I let groceries run out.

I thought that habit belonged to my job, but it belonged to me.

4. Your paycheck is not your proof of value.

When the direct deposit stopped, I had to confront a hard truth: I had been measuring my worth by the size of my salary. When you’re out of work, you start to question everything - what you’re good at, what you’re worth, who you are. Money may fund your life, but it cannot define your identity.

5. Alone with your thoughts can be a scary place.

At first, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go back to work. I thought that made me lazy. But what I later realized was that I wasn’t lazy - I was burned out. I loved my job (or so I thought,) could I love another? Even months into the layoff, the burnout lingered like smoke after a fire. I was consumed by exhaustion searching for motivation.

In the stillness, the doubts came:

Will I ever feel successful again?

Was that my one shot?

Am I even capable outside of that company?

Stillness forced me to listen to thoughts I’d been too busy to hear. Some were unkind. Some were necessary. Slowly, I’ve started to respond with grace instead of fear.

Looking back over the past five months, I wish I had seen the opportunity in front of me more clearly. The chance to rest, to rebuild, to grow in ways I’d never prioritized before. I was given the rare gift of time. But instead of embracing it, I struggled. I wrestled with stillness, with the unknown, and with holding onto the optimism I was once known for.

It’s easy to look back and say, “I should have done it differently,” but the truth is, I don’t know that I could’ve walked this path any other way. Not without a crystal ball. 

So instead of regret, I’m choosing gratitude - for the lessons, for the quiet, for the chance to learn what it really means to be present. And yes, for the break from the endless emails and meetings.

Now, as I stand on the edge of what’s next, I’m walking forward with more clarity, more confidence, and a deeper understanding of my own strength and capabilities. That job I once loved and lost? It was never the finish line, it was the launchpad.

To honest leadership,

Natalie

Chris's Comments

It’s easy to talk about leadership when the calendar’s full and the wins are stacking.

But what about when the noise stops?

When the email goes silent and so does your confidence?

Natalie, your words capture the raw truth so many leaders are afraid to say out loud: that grief, doubt, and burnout aren’t side effects, they're mile markers.

Most people won't admit how heavy the quiet gets. You did. And you turned it into light for the rest of us.

Thank you for leading with honesty.

This is what it means to build from the rubble.

To be a Damaged Leader, and to keep showing up anyway.