
One year ago, I left my office for the last time. A few weeks earlier I’d been told that due to budget problems, my position at the health charity I’d worked at for just 16 months was being eliminated. Out of a four-office staff of about 25, my position was the only one to be cut. Despite rave reviews about my abilities and work from both colleagues and supervisors, I was being laid off.
I was laid off when I was seven months pregnant.
To give credit where credit’s due, my friend and colleague fought the decision with every bit of middle management authority she had; my supervisor, Sally, hugged me and made nice sounds about being sorry; and the executive director promised a reasonable severance package while joking about me suing the company. And I smiled and reassured everyone that I understood. That I’d be fine. That no, I would not sue the organization.
And then I got in my car and yelled. I went to dinner with my husband that weekend and cried. I questioned why this would happen to me, what I ever did to deserve such treatment. I asked God when I was ever going to get what I deserved – a good job where I was appreciated as a person and respected as an employee. I crunched numbers and made plans and applied for jobs that I wouldn’t be able to start until my maternity leave was finished.
This is what happened when I got laid off when I was seven months pregnant.
I began preparing my co-workers for a more permanent absence than a two-month maternity leave – lists of projects in progress, procedures to follow, programs to maintain, and people to contact. I listened to my boss tell me she’d write me a recommendation letter and my manager describe being laid off as a rite of passage for young professionals. I watched my friend cry about the unfair and unwise decision, and reassured my colleagues that they’d be fine without me. Without my position.
Then I contacted everyone I know to start networking for a new job. Again. And I regretted our decision to buy new couches with some extra “found” money over the summer, knowing that money would have come in handy as I tried to make ends meet, feeding and caring for our newly expanded family with half the income needed to pay our monthly bills.
One year ago, at 32 weeks pregnant, I went to the doctor for a routine appointment. That morning, I deleted my personal e-mail, made a final list of projects to be finished and packed up most of my personal belongings. Though I’d had a healthy and fairly easy pregnancy, lately I’d been feeling bad – puffy, tired, achy – and suspected my doctor might suggest bed rest. It turns out I was half right. My doctor didn’t so much “suggest” bed rest as she did demand that I go straight home without passing go or returning to my office.
So one year ago, I left my office for the last time. Because I’d been laid off.
It still hurts today. I went through the stages of grieving; I believe they’re the same no matter if the loss is your grandpa, your cat or your job. For me, it was a job that I’d wanted and worked toward for years, a job that I’d done well and enjoyed, a job that I resisted becoming attached to but did anyway, a job that I believed was respected as a necessary component of our organization.
Since then, I’ve worked hard to resist bitterness about the decision my boss and the board of directors made. Most days I succeed, but occasionally resentment sneaks up on me. Days when I dislike my current job, days when my husband expresses frustration about the state of my career, days when my former co-workers send me donation requests for upcoming events, days when I learn that while I was at home with a newborn wondering if we’d ever be able to pay our bills again, my co-workers were receiving a Christmas bonus. Those days still hurt.
But overall, I can say that God has taught me so much about remaining faithful and confident in His power and His plan, that my husband and I are closer than ever thanks to weathering this situation, and that I am thankful I was laid off when I was seven months pregnant.