Layoff

What no one tells you about getting fired (and why you need to hear this before it happens to you).

Feb 09, 2026

I’ve never told anyone this story.

Not my clients. Not my colleagues. Not even my wife knows some of what I’m about to share.

When I started writing this, Claude asked me: “Are you sure you want to publish this? Once it’s out there, it’s out there.”

I asked myself the same thing.

Part of me wants to keep it buried. The shame is still there. The fear of judgment. The voice that says “what will people think?”

But you know what? I need to remove this burden from me.

Even though I overcame it, it still haunts me. And I know I’m not the only one carrying this weight in silence.

So here it is. The truth about what happened when I got laid off. The parts no one talks about. The reality behind the LinkedIn posts about “exciting new opportunities.”

This is not about resume optimization or networking strategies. This is not another “here’s how I bounced back in 30 days” success porn post.

This is about what actually happens when you lose your job. The collapse no one admits to. The struggle I hid from everyone.

And why asking for help isn’t a weakness... it’s survival.

At the end of this newsletter, you will understand:

• Why your brain lies to you after a layoff (and what to do about it)

• The invisible mental health crisis hiding in “normal” job loss

• How to ask for help when shame tells you not to

Let me tell you what happened to me.

1. The Day Everything Changed

February 25th, 2025.

I spent that week having one-on-ones with my direct reports. Promotions. Salary adjustments. Skip-level conversations about career paths and team drama.

I was exhausted but proud. This was my job. Leading people. Developing them. Moving the org forward.

The year before, I’d been nominated for a Director role in a big enterprise. My manager got promoted to VP around the same time. About 20 days after his departure, I was introduced to my new VP.

He would take the reins of all departmental moves.

By early February, I already knew about the pushback on my promotion. But you know what? I was okay with that. I still had room for salary improvement.

At Zendesk, we operated under a 9-box placement for end-of-year evaluation. Promotion nominations were in the top right... the high performers. The ones set for salary increases or promotions.

So I knew I’d get something.

A few weeks before, I saw the updates on my reports and skips. Most in the top right had been adjusted to 20% raises.

Jackpot.

On the week of February 25th, commitment letters were available. Managers had the green light to have conversations with their teams.

I was anxious to have mine. The previous year had been amazing, despite some bumps on the road.

February 25th. My one-on-one was booked as usual.

But instead of getting a raise or a promotion, I got laid off.

2. The Immediate Collapse

As the only provider for my family of seven, my world broke.

I felt like a loser. I had no ground beneath me.

I failed.

But worse was about to come.

Twenty minutes after the notice, my wife called me. I was still letting it sink. Numb. Unable to process.

“Hey babe... yeah... yeah... yeah. Hey, we need to talk later.”

Between monosyllabic dialogue, a dry throat, and nausea... I couldn’t find the words.

“What will I say?”

That was the first time I’d been terminated in almost 20 years of experience. I was hurt. I was pissed.

My only wish was to smash my computer. But luckily, I could regulate my emotions.

I was on my way to pick my kids up from school. I crossed two red lights. Almost crashed my car.

“Would this be that bad?” I thought multiple times.

A dark cloud was following me. Every thought became negative.

I picked up the kids. We were going home. Silence was loud. They knew something was wrong.

“Dad, are you okay?”

“Dad?”

“DAD?”

Suddenly I was back. Wish I wasn’t.

“Sorry, kid. Yeah, all good. How was your day?”

“You’re weird,” my oldest daughter said.

We got home. While I was opening the front door, I saw my image reflected in the window.

A lost man. A defeated father.

I opened the door. My arms were heavy. My hands shaking.

I said hi to my wife. Kids went to shower. We prepped for dinner. My wife was observing every move, every answer.

I had an elephant on my shoulders. I felt like less of a man. Less capable. Useless.

Kids went to bed. I took a shower to gain courage to face my wife and share the news. A hot bath usually helps me find the right path for my challenges.

Not this time.

I went downstairs. She was waiting for me.

9pm. The day was dragging.

She sat in front of me.

I took a fucking deep breath.

“So, I got laid off today.”

She smiled. “You’re joking.”

My tears confirmed I wasn’t. I started crying like a two-year-old kid.

She sat by my side. The only thing she said before hugging me so fucking hard was:

“I’m here for you.”

3. The Descent

The next morning was tough.

My eyes were red. I didn’t sleep. 5am I was preparing breakfast. Kids had to go to school.

“Dad, are you going to the office today?”

Oh my god.

With a forced smile, I said, “Yes, sure.”

My kids were so proud of me. About my profession. We’d chatted so many times about our product and what I was doing there.

“I want to be like you, Dad,” my oldest used to say.

Day 1 of unemployment. I had no idea what to do. I mean, I knew. But I didn’t.

I cancelled all my coaching sessions for the upcoming two weeks. Reimbursed and cancelled two new customer onboarding that week.

The first two weeks were hell.

I was so frustrated. I woke up every single day at 2am and didn’t sleep anymore. I dreamed every night about punching my manager in the face so fucking hard.

I was negatively surprised by my violence. My animal side.

Then depression came.

In my selfish world, I thought that hurting myself would make it easier. The conversations I had with myself were insane.

“What if I crash the car?”

“What if I jump off this bridge?”

What the fuck? What was happening?

I was suffering in silence. I was ashamed. I was fragile.

“I need help. But I can’t share this with anyone. What will they think about me?”

One day, we were all going to a restaurant. My vision got dark. My heart accelerated…. I was driving.

A panic attack.

I parked the car in the middle of the bridge. Got out to breathe. My wife came to support me.

Amidst the chaos and her sweet and fearful presence, the bridge was there waiting for me.

I didn’t know where to put my attention. On her? The bridge?

Luckily, it was her.

I got fucking scared.

It was time to get my shit together and move on.

4. What Your Brain Does to You

Here’s what nobody tells you about layoffs:

Your brain will lie to you.

It will tell you that you failed. That you’re not good enough. That your family would be better off without you.

It will convince you that asking for help is a weakness. That you should handle this alone. That admitting struggle means you’re broken.

None of this is true.

But when you’re in it, you can’t see that. The shame is too loud. The fear is too heavy. The isolation feels safer than exposure.

I know because I lived it.

I had 20 years of experience. I was a senior leader. I coached other people through their career challenges.

And I still couldn’t prepare for how a layoff would destroy me.

Because you can’t prepare for this.

You can have an emergency fund. You can have a strong network. You can have all the LinkedIn optimization and interview prep in the world.

But none of that protects you from the psychological collapse that happens when your identity gets ripped away.

Especially if you’ve tied your self-worth to your job title. Your paycheck. Your ability to provide.

I did. And when those disappeared, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

5. The Rejection Loop

I started interviewing.

Rejection. Rejection. Rejection.

It was fucking hard to keep the facade. To hold my tears in public. To pretend I was fine when I was breaking apart inside.

Every rejection confirmed what my brain was already telling me: You’re not good enough. You failed. You’re worthless.

I’d finish a video interview, close my laptop, and sit in silence for hours. Staring at nothing. Feeling nothing.

My wife would ask how it went. I’d say, “Good. Moving forward.”

I was lying.

Not because I wanted to deceive her. But because admitting how bad it was felt like admitting I couldn’t fix it. And if I couldn’t fix it, what was I?

The spiral got worse.

I stopped eating properly. I stopped exercising. I stopped showing up for my kids the way I used to.

I was physically present but emotionally absent.

And the worst part? I thought I was protecting them. I thought hiding my struggle was the strong thing to do.

I was wrong.

6. The Turning Point

It took me weeks to realize I couldn’t do this alone.

I needed help. Real help. Not LinkedIn advice or motivational posts. Professional support.

I started therapy.

I talked to my wife honestly for the first time since the layoff. Not the sanitized version. The real version. The darkness. The suicidal thoughts. The panic attacks.

And you know what happened?

She didn’t leave me. She didn’t think less of me. She didn’t tell me to toughen up.

She held me. She listened. She reminded me that I was more than my job. More than my income. More than my ability to provide.

That conversation saved my life.

Because here’s the truth: your family doesn’t love you because you’re employed. They love you because you’re you.

Your worth is not tied to your W-2. Your value doesn’t come from your LinkedIn title. Your identity is not your job.

But when you lose your job, you forget that.

You need someone to remind you. You need help to see it again.

And that’s okay.

7. What I Learned About Recovery

Recovery from a layoff isn’t linear.

You don’t wake up one day and feel better. You don’t hit 60 days unemployed and suddenly find your dream job and everything’s fine.

It’s messy. It’s slow. It’s full of setbacks.

Some days you feel strong. Some days you can’t get out of bed.

Some days you believe in yourself. Some days you think you’ll never work again.

Both are normal.

But here’s what helped me:

Ask for help early.

Don’t wait until you’re on the bridge. Don’t wait until the suicidal thoughts won’t stop. Don’t wait until you’ve isolated yourself completely.

Talk to someone. A therapist. A friend. Your partner. A support group.

The shame will tell you not to. Fuck the shame.

Separate your worth from your work.

You are not your job title. You are not your salary. You are not your employment status.

You are a human being with value that exists independent of your productivity.

Remind yourself of this every day. Write it down. Say it out loud. Ask your family to remind you when you forget.

Stop performing strength.

You don’t have to be okay all the time. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine. You don’t have to hide your struggle to protect others.

Vulnerability is not weakness. It’s honesty. And honesty is how you heal.

Give yourself time.

You won’t bounce back in 30 days. You won’t have it all figured out in 60 days.

And that’s okay.

Recovery takes as long as it takes. Stop rushing it. Stop comparing yourself to LinkedIn success stories.

Your journey is your own.

Know that it gets better.

I’m writing this from the other side. I found a job. I rebuilt my confidence. I rediscovered my identity outside of work.

But more importantly, I learned how to ask for help. I learned how to be honest about my struggle. I learned that my worth isn’t tied to my employment.

And now I’m here for you.

Final words

If you’re reading this and you’ve been laid off, here’s what I need you to hear:

You are not alone.

What you’re feeling is normal. The shame, the fear, the darkness... it’s all normal.

And it doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re human.

Getting laid off does not define who you are. What you do to overcome it does.

But you don’t have to overcome it alone.

Ask for help. Talk to someone. Tell your family what’s really happening.

They love you for who you are, not what you do.

And if you’re thinking about hurting yourself, please reach out. Call a crisis line. Text a friend. Tell your partner.

Your life is worth more than your job. Your family needs you here. The world needs you here.

I needed to hear this a year ago. Maybe you need to hear it today.

Take care of yourself. Ask for help. You deserve support.

And remember: this will pass. It gets better.

I promise.

If this resonated with you, share it with someone who needs it. And if you need support, reach out. I’m here.

Humanly yours,
Raphael :)

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