The Times They Are A Changin'

The day after my 25th birthday—yes, the very brithday where I proclaimed a new level of comfort in myself to all of my friends— I received an ominous email inviting me to a very, very early morning meeting at work. Immediately, I went on high alert. Every fiber of my being began to reverberate with frantic energy. Something was off.

Why would I need to go into the office at 8:30 a.m.? Why would the CEO schedule to meet with me after minimal contact for months? You know how sometimes your gut just knows that something is off? Even without any forewarning, I just knew.

I packed up half of my desk before leaving work that night.

This is just a roundabout way of saying I was let go from my job in March. It’s a really weird thing to admit. For an overachiever who defines herself by an unbeatable work ethic, I never thought I would get fired.  Because while “let go” is a beautiful euphemism I prefer in everyday conversations, it fails to carry the same feeling of shock, shame, or surprise that fired seems to encompass.

When anyone finds out, they immediately ask if you’re okay. It’s a kind response. Understandable, too.  But most of the time, it’s like you can see their mind working, trying to decipher what could have happened. The “are you okay” is really just a disguise for the “why?” they’re dying to ask. However, most people will never know the whole story.

At first, that prospect made me incredibly uncomfortable. I value my work ethic as a defining character trait. I would never, ever want that image tainted. A firing almost feels synonymous with an employee who did something bad. But in reality, most firings are never that simple. There’s team dynamics in play, competing leadership styles and personality conflicts. Which leads me to this: Most people will never know the whole story, but that’s okay.

When it comes down to it, even if I told my experience to the entire world, everyone would have a different take. And it doesn’t change a damn thing. However, we’d all likely agree on one thing: It was for the best.

To be honest, my first feeling as I shrunk into my seat was relief. This momentary reprieve quickly confirmed I was not in the right place. This had nothing to do with the company, but rather my own desires for what I wanted out of my editorial career—the type of stories I wanted to write and the publications I aspired to write for one day. It was obvious I needed to move on, but leaving your first job is hard.

You never realize the community that will develop around you at your first “real” job. I had been in various internships before where the camaraderie of running bizarre errands created unbeatable bonds. But those periods of my life were always brief, with a distinct end. At this job, the friendships didn’t feel flagged with an expiration date. They felt invincible, long-lasting.

At your first job, the coworker who spent a month training you can become one of the most reliable figures in your life. Your sage managing editor that provided you with everlasting support and much-needed edits could become the mentor you needed. And of course, the coworker you trained for a few days almost a year ago could become one of your closest friends. After all, you spend more time with your coworkers than anyone.

To me, one of the scariest parts of my next step was leaving that kinship.

Leaving these friendships was just a smaller part of my overall fear of leaving my comfort zone.  Any time a situation upset me, those feelings eventually subsided to the point where I could rationalize. After all, when you’re angry, you’re certain the grass will be greener on the other side.

But once you’ve taken a moment to reevaluate, you realize sometimes it’s easier to stay where you are than to move on to the next step. The thought of finding a new role actually starts to freak you out as you consider what it might entail. There’s the exhaustion of the job search, the inevitable rejection. It’s easy to forget the early days at a job, where you’re constantly worried about your coworker’s opinions and wanting to impress them. Uncertainty is scary for us. That fear of the unknown is enough to trap us.

But when you’re fired, you don’t really have a choice. Now discomfort isn’t a choice, but a reality. You have to face the unknown and really dig deep to decipher what you want out of life. What do you want out of your career? What are your strengths. What are your weaknesses?

The blessing of a firing is that you get to find out.

I remember friends telling me that the worst part of my situation would be the knock to my confidence. To be fair, as someone who thrives on an occasional 12-hour workday or feeling so important I just have to answer an email on vacation, it would seem inevitable my sense of being would be tied up in my job.

But, it’s strange. As someone who happily pours every part of her soul into her work, it didn’t actually make me question myself. To this day, I know my work is solid.

Instead of focusing on whether or not I have any value, I focus on whether or not I’m ready to give that value to a role. It’s the biggest upside of my situation. I have time to hunt for the right role. It’s unlikely I’ll land my dream job right away. But I want my next steps to lead towards my long-term goals. I want to find another mentor to challenge my work and push me towards becoming a better writer and editor. I want to connect with the work I’m doing.

That’s not to say I think it’s wrong to question your worth after a firing. An organization is removing you from the equation, saying they no longer need you to reach their goals. It’s normal to feel angry, upset, or even worthless. But the best thing I’ve done is look at this as a restart. A moment to hit the pause button and evaluate my next step. I’m undeniably privileged to have the financial means to take a breather, to be picky about what comes next. I don’t deny that.

But it’s funny how in our early- or mid-twenties we don’t realize how many people are just sitting in the wrong jobs. We’re comfortable because it’s our first or possibly second job. We’re still in slight disbelief that someone decided we were worth a salary. We really don’t know where our career is going, let alone if we’re ready to commit to these same skill sets for the rest of our lives.

At this stage of life, most of us don’t really know our worth yet. And if we do, we’re worried everyone else doesn’t see it. We don’t attempt to negotiate salaries. We don’t know how to navigate office politics or properly share our opinions. We’re still focused on this notion that we’re lucky. (Especially in media, where I still can’t believe someone pays me to write and edit.) So if we are fired, it’s not unthinkable that we might associate this with failure.

However to me, this isn’t failure. But a chance to learn and grow a little bit more. It’s all another one of life’s valuable teaching moments. As Anna Wintour said, “I recommend that you all get fired. It's a great learning experience.”

To clarify, this learning came to me in a different way. Not in reevaluating my worth or realizing I was in the wrong job. Rather, it’s been a huge lesson in vulnerability. When I started this blog, I decided to share some of my most intimate feelings with the Internet. Over time, I found alternative creative outlets that required less of me. Less honesty. Less vulnerability. Less effort. It was easier to stop.

When I did that, I stopped creating something powerful that people could relate to. I stopped validating others’ experiences. I stopped creating work I felt proud to publish.

And I forgot.

I forgot how hard it could be to share your secrets online, to own up to your own shame or embarrassment or fear. I forgot how much time and consideration went into creating something impactful. I forgot how much I liked doing it.

Admitting to people that I was fired was terrifying. I couldn’t believe how hard it was to let those words come out of my mouth. But once I started, I realized how easy it was to embrace that vulnerability once again. As you read, it’s not easy to admit. But it’s also something that I want to be open about in hopes of helping anyone out there—whether you’ve been fired, or just need that little push to leap into the unknown.

And yes, I’m okay.