Heads Up For The Wrecking Ball

It was a cold, drizzly January morning when the lay-offs occurred. What would later be called the Great Recession was gaining momentum. During previous recessions, consumers didn't stop spending; this time, the consumer did the unexpected: they pulled back and held on to their money.

Rumors swirled around the company, meetings were being held, people some returning to their desks at the conclusion, others disappeared for some time and eventually returned to clear out their personal belongings.

Many people I had known and worked with for years were told their services were no longer needed. We wept openly in the hallways as we said goodbye to those who were leaving. We didn't understand what was happening or why. There was no official word until later that day on the local news, explaining that more than 100 workers, about 10 percent of the salaried and full-time employee base, were laid off.

Long before we knew the details on the news, the bell had tolled for me as well. I was rushed off to a large open office area no longer in use where HR triage was being performed. I saw someone else I recognized, sitting solemnly and signing paperwork. We nodded at each other in a sign of understanding, not able to speak and knowing we would never see each other again as fellow employees.

I was given my options, such as they were. I was a boomerang employee, having returned the previous spring after being away for five years, so my official time with the company was short. I could sign the forms, agree to no litigation and get a month's severance, or I could refuse to sign them and get paid nothing. There were three people at home dependent on my income. Was it really an option? I signed, took my paperwork, and left the area, returning to my office.

 

I spoke with my boss, who understood my need to finish what I was working on. I saw others during the afternoon who were happy to see I was still there and sad when I explained it was temporary.

I cleared out my office, filling several boxes. I removed the books from the shelves, having placed them there less than a year ago. I continued to work up to the point when my access was finally revoked on the server. It was finally time to leave.

In 1967, psychiatrists Thomas Holmes and Richard Rahe began to study medical records as a way to determine if a link existed between stressful events and illnesses. They discovered a positive correlation between the two that would culminate in what would become known as the Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale. Number eight on this scale is job loss, preceded by other traumatic events such as divorce, serious illness or death in the family.

Similar stages of grieving that occur with the death of a loved one occur with job loss, including shock and denial, fear and anxiety, anger, bargaining, depression and eventually acceptance.

It was a numbness, not knowing how to interpret it; a sadness, a bewilderment and a sense of disbelief.

The previous fall our wages were frozen, the match to our 401K was suspended and bonuses were cancelled. That was enough, the company said. And that's what they said again in January, hopeful the layoffs were the necessary correction to keep moving forward. Three months later salaried employees had their wages reduced by 10 percent to 30 percent, in the best interest of both the business and the employees after disappointing holiday sales the previous year.

None of those moves were adequate to stem the bleeding. It was quite some time before I realized how lucky I was to have been in the first wave of what eventually grew to nearly 25% of the full-time workforce, including the CEO.

Being laid off from my job and under water on a mortgage during the Great Recession became the largest upheaval of my adult life to that point. I was suddenly unemployed for the first time in my career; a visit to the unemployment office was eye opening and not something I wanted to repeat. The chances of staying in Medford were slim to none. We knew leaving our home and friends behind was inevitable. The life we had made for ourselves was going to change and, if we were fortunate, it would happen sooner than later. If we were unfortunate, it would drag on for months and we would become another statistic of the economic downturn.

I focus on the uncertainty of our lives, how change comes when you least expect it, how planning is everything but how plans are nothing. Life goes on, regardless of whether or not we control which way it goes, which is precisely why planning is everything and the plan is nothing.

Again, I am fortunate. A few job offers later, I am gainfully employed by what would become my favorite employer, the one all other companies are compared to and fail to meet the standard. We downsize our belongings for the trip, move to another state further away from family, and start again. After all, what other choice is there?

Mad World

"For me, writing is a process that allows me to work through both the good and bad things in life, to find comfort and understanding in the lessons we have learned."

I wrote that sentence in 2011, during a different time, in what now seems like a different life. The largest upheaval of my adult life, being laid off and under water on a mortgage during the Great Recession, leaving our home and friends behind to move to another state further away from family, was more than two years prior. A rental with a smelly air handling system and an unreasonable property management company, along with Cindy in the hospital for too many scary days during the previous year, was starting to fade. Those storms had been weathered. Relative calm was once again upon us. New home, new city, stable work, stable health; the future looked steady and promising. I was able to process the events of the past, put them into nice and tidy little boxes, work through the positive and negative, learn my lessons, feel a relative comfort, and just be.

Change, as I have said many times, is the only constant in the universe. Two years later I was out of work again due to a plant closure. It wasn't a surprise, so there was lots of time to plan and figure out the next steps. We persevered, moved closer to family, found our place in the sun and life moved on. More little boxes, more separating out good from bad, more lessons learned.

 

My father passed away. I change jobs after a painful 16 months working for a company that wrote the book on micromanagement. We did some remodeling on my childhood home to ready it for being a rental, and for the first time in over fifty years someone who wasn’t my family moved into that house. Another round of boxes, some comfort and understanding, more lessons acknowledged.

After an eight-year relationship, Laura's boyfriend breaks up with her, eventually moving back to Wisconsin. He had been living with us the entire time, moved from Medford to Bellingham and then to Santa Barbara, so it is difficult for everyone. The evil overlord at work is removed and change is in the wind. Renovating my grandparent's house turns out to be more of a challenge than anticipated and takes forever. Once again it is boxes and lessons.

We move into my grandparent's house on the day most of the US declares COVID-19 a pandemic, turning everyone's world upside down. Some think it will be short, history says otherwise. Masks, social distancing, isolation, friends die. Our cat Maggie, the last tenuous thread to Medford, has to be put down. More little boxes, less understanding, lessons that feel more like punishment than satisfaction.

Unhappiness and frustration in my job and the inability to find new employment take their toll. Receiving an undeserved verbal written warning for something out of my control pushes me to the brink. Laura's dog has to be put down. I keep my door closed at work to avoid interaction with people. I feel alone and forlorn and as if my life is unraveling. I search for a psychiatrist and a therapist, but 18 months of the pandemic has resulted in their short supply. I think I have hit rock bottom but that was just a ledge in the hole I was in and digging deeper with every moment. Another ledge, another, and another; eventually I struck bedrock in the deepest pit of despair I had ever encountered.

No little boxes to hold anything this time, no understanding, no comfort, no lessons. All the other little boxes have fallen off the shelf, opened and emptied their contents on me. Every mistake, every bad decision, every failure in my life came back to bury me.

And with those mistakes came overwhelming feelings of guilt. Shame. Self-condemnation. Humiliation.

I punished myself for past mistakes, as if I could somehow correct all the wrong things I had done. I walked through each day chained to my past, holding on to hurts and grudges, the negative emotions gnawing away at any joy and satisfaction in life.

I know myself and I live with myself every day. I can't forgive what I've done. Pain and guilt are things we carry with us, things that make us who we are. Losing them means I lose myself. But I am already lost, so deep in the rabbit hole of everything I have done wrong and didn't learn and never will that I am drowning in feelings. I need them to stop so I can catch my breath.

The consequences of my behavior cause me angst, fear and paranoid thoughts. An ex-boss once told me I was useless, and I begin to think they were right. I have been fooling everyone for a long time. I am barely capable of doing my job or maintaining my composure. I have a crisis of confidence every time I do something. I have a trusted employee check my work for mistakes. Getting to the office is draining and overwhelming.

I'm already taking medication for my depression but it doesn't seem to even touch what I am going through. I start taking more and it numbs me to the point where I can go through the motions of life without feeling the weight of the past on my shoulders every waking moment. It is a small step but it is forward, not back.

Silence is deadly when it comes to the past. I eventually find a therapist so I can work to free myself from the bondage of holding it all in, to talk about what’s tearing me apart inside. Forgiveness starts with being honest and vulnerable about who I was, who I am.

The numbness eventually wears thin and the emotions break free again. I vacillate between feeling better and worse, between forgiving myself and punishing myself, between good days and bad days. It is a journey, and the road is long.

We live in a less than perfect world and I am an imperfect person, continuing to make mistakes in life. I have hurt and will hurt people, even if I don't mean to. I have regrets and will have more. I have faults and bad habits. The list goes on.

Imperfection is in some way essential to all that we know in life. I must accept me for who I am and move forward. The past is unchangeable; I can't fix all my mistakes. I want to feel better. I need to forgive myself for my trespasses.

I live my life overshadowed by my weaknesses and are swallowed by them. I need to learn to focus on the positive aspects of my life, my strengths, my being. I need to change my mindset and overall outlook. Thought and reflection, in a positive sense, still eludes me. Everyone has their own faults; why are mine my overall focus? I need to come to terms with both my weaknesses and strong points. To keep the see-saw even and not let it swing one way or another. To gain balance.