So yeah…that happened. Last Friday, I was riffed. Released from my j-o-b by one of them there gubment agencies. Relieved of duty due to cuts for so-called efficiency. A funny thing about it is that I was a busy little worker bee. After 18 years of combined contractor and government service, they said they’d be just fine without me. No care about how many professional and collaborative connections I made, how many projects I successfully worked on, consistent stellar performance reviews and associated awards, or my being an awesome problem solver.
Employees were let go based on “civil service tenure, veteran’s preference, length of Federal service, and performance ratings”. Well, I wasn’t let go due to my performance ratings, I can tell you that much! AND, I would have had a longer tenure if the first half of my time hadn’t been under a direct hire authority. But I had to get my foot in the door, and at the time, it was the best and greatest opportunity to be a civil servant. Then the other thing that prevented me from being considered permanent was that I had to do a second probationary year. You know, they should do something about that. Don’t force people to do another probationary year if the job is still the same, the office you work in is still the same, you have the exact same supervisor, but the classification of the position has changed. I had 11 more months to go to reach permanent status. Anyway, another battle for someone else at another time.
The lead-up to the final day was CRAZY. The amount of anxiety, stress, and panic attacks was taking a psychological, emotional, and physical toll. The day before, I damn near fainted thinking about the emails expected the next day, not knowing who would be cut. How many? Would it be me? Would it be people I care about, and I get to stay? Or if I got to stay, how much of other people’s work would I have to take on?
BREATHE
It didn’t help that this has been looming for months since the new administration took over. The news cycle constantly reminded us of shake-ups. Headlines of people dying from the stress of it all, people selling their homes, advertisements for food banks, and how every market in the National Capital Region is affected. From small business shuttering their doors, unemployment claims skyrocketing, state governments having hiring freezes (indicating a further shrinking job market), and court battles that gave temporary reprieves but no real relief or hope for employment security.
I had finally gotten my head wrapped around it the eve of D Day. At least I thought I had. All I knew was I could not become a media headline and let stress and worry take me out of here. I still have things to do and people to take care of. So, I took a sleep aid that night because if nothing else, I was going to get a good night’s sleep.
When I got up Friday morning (July 11th), it took me 5 attempts to find something to wear to work. How does one dress to be told that your livelihood is being stripped away from you? Do I need to wear jeans and sneakers to comfortably carry out my belongings? Do I wear a cute dress to look my best and defiant in the face of adversity? Does this call for business casual attire? Or should I say to hell with it and wear distressed shorts and t-shirt? I finally settled on a maxi dress with jean jacket and comfortable sandals.
When I got to work, all my government co-workers were ill at ease and visibly disturbed. Those without this worry were business as usual and happy to see another Friday. “Happy Fridays” were met with, “Not today. Today I find out if I have a job or not.” Yes, I was a buzzkill that day.
As soon as I arrived at my office, I checked in on my newest coworker, who had just recently completed his probationary year without being let go. He was as anxious as the rest of us. I don’t think any of us sat still that morning. We had heard rumors that the notices would start going out at 10 am. The hours leading up to that time were spent checking in with colleagues through Teams chats and calls, or in water cooler conversations.
10:00 am came and gone, and it got to be too much, so my bestie and I decided to get away from the office and go to lunch early. It was fine because we had our work phones and were still dialed in real time to any communications. Every new email alert on the ride to lunch triggered a fresh flash of anxiety in our chests, but we made it to the restaurant and sat without ado. We got our drinks and were just about to order our food when at 11:31 am, my phone chimed first. I picked up my device and read the subject line, Notice of Employment Action. Immediately, it felt like I had touched an electrified fence as the shock of what I had received ran throughout my entire being. I gasped and said, “I got the email. It’s me.” And began to cry.
That moment in time seemed so very surreal. I couldn’t believe it finally knocked at my door. My girlfriend was in such disbelief and just as hurt for me as if it had happened to her. In that moment, I no longer wanted to eat or drink for that matter. I was going to leave my drink at the table, but still pay for it and then thought, hell no! They’re not going to take that away from me. I will at least still enjoy a refreshing beverage before I get to the business of clearing out my desk.
I’m so glad I didn’t drive that day. I spent the car ride back to the office trying to gather myself. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying and vulnerable. “I don’t know why God thinks I’m so strong!” I protested. “Because you are, Li.” said my friend promptly.
How dare I ask that when I rarely allow anyone to see me weak or exposed. I know that statement was born of the fear of my unknown future. It seems I had spent a lifetime there at the agency. I was there for nearly two decades. I amassed a large work family. When you spend that much time in a building and in relation with people 40+ hours a week, they become your work sons, daughters, husbands, and wives. Or your work sisters, brothers, play cousins, aunties, and uncles. Or your work mom, or dad. Even sometimes a godchild or godparent. An employer can let you go, but they can’t kill those relationships. They may have torn apart our 40-hour routine, but they can’t break the bonds formed that spanned years of shared trauma bonding, quarterly award feasts, luncheons, healthy competitions, celebrating highs, and surviving lows at said j-o-b.
When we arrived back in the office, I called out to the newest coworker and asked him if he was okay. “No.” he replied, sounding completely numb inside. “Well, neither am I,” I stated just as dumbstruck, and then immediately began printing off necessary emails and packing my things.
But if I can be honest, I hated being awakened by my alarm clock to drive to a job that I had been performing (and well) from home for five years. More and more, I struggled with understanding why we had to drive on-site with a government-issued laptop that I used from home to connect to meetings on Teams in the office. I was perfectly fine and capable of connecting from home. It just seemed like such a waste of natural resources—gas for my car and mental and physical energy from being forced to commute two hours round trip to the job site.
What’s a girl to do?
In these nearly two weeks of being cut, I’m catching up on sleep and taking a break from work talk and worrying about a job. I think I’m handling this well. I honestly don’t know if I’m actually fine or if I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I know a major thing has happened to me, but is it really that huge of an impact on my life? Did my job define me? I don’t know, time will tell. I just know that I have plenty to do and lots to concern myself with outside of work. I’m busy working on home projects and connecting with my family, trying to decompress from months of stress and anxiety. One thing I know, I have to give myself the chance to recover from this ordeal before I jump out there searching for work.
Note to self. Everything I lose makes space for something for me to gain.
So What’s Next?
Is there an age limit for being a sugar baby? Like, how do I apply for that? But I don’t want to give up the cookie! Let me know if someone needs some arm candy. I can get gussied up real nice for a political event. I have all my teeth and toes, and I know a few words and terms.
Speaking of toes, if you see me out in the streets, get a pic of them while it’s still free! As soon as I complete my research on which is the best app to show my wares for income, I’m on there. I already have my screen name. Nope! Not telling you so it’s not stolen.
Anyway, ta ta for now, dear readers.
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