Change is Good

I wouldn't have said that the day I got laid off from a job that I had originally thought was a stepping stone to my dream career.

It was the job, that when I stood at the bottom of the sweeping marble steps to the entry of the multi-storied downtown building, I thought, "I've made it."

Like a scene out of a movie, I imagined how my mother -- dead a year -- would have cried from being so proud.

Imagine my disappointment at the disillusionment I experienced only a few weeks in. A few months in I was fed up and feeling totally devalued. Manipulated.

A few months before I was let go, I hated being there and found it hard to get up in the morning because of the dread I felt.

That job was a nightmare.

The experience of getting to work with some fine people -- true professionals -- was wonderful. The adventure of working in a large building full of other professionals (albeit with a few exceptions) made putting up with the troubles almost bearable.

But alas, in answer to my unspoken prayers, mismanagement there decided I was to be among a dozen or so people laid off to deal with the "economic downturn."
Read - 'We got what we needed from you, now you may go.'

I'm truly thankful, now, that they did.

From the moment my editor said, "They need to see you in HR," to the precise millisecond that the HR lady finally said "We're going to have to let you go," I was in gut-wrenching turmoil.

Immediately, I felt a confusing mix of relief and anger. As I was stripped of my employee and press ID literally, my emotions began to run the gamut: Resentment and disappointment; Righteous indignation and deflation.

Adding insult to injury, I was instructed to pack up and get out. Immediately.

My fellow reporter, my partner in crime for the smaller publication put out by company, seemed just as upset as I was. She tried not to cry and attempted to keep me calm while tears were streaming down my face as I packed up my things.

I was told not to make a big to-do out of goodbyes. I guess someone else had. But I was determined to let the people I valued know how much I thought of them and that I would miss them. So around the room I went -- yes, quietly.

I was surprised at how many people that I thought might not really care, were visibly stunned and offering hugs.

Further insult came as my editor ushered me out of the newsroom, into the elevator and stood there watching as I got in my car and drove out of underground garage.

In the blink of an eye, I had transformed from a useful and productive employee with respect and benefits into a threat that needed to be carefully surveilled.

I cried on the way home. I hated it, but couldn't help it. I called a few of my contacts and told them through gulping sniffles what had happened.
These are the people whose loyalties came with me from my previous paper to the one that just disloyally cut me off.
I was assured by each of them that they were behind me and everyone said they would be on the lookout for a job for me.

But the epiphany didn't come until a few days later. I was breathing easier, I could sleep better and my back didn't hurt. I wasn't as cranky - which my husband noticed - and I was laughing again.

Apparently, I had gotten used to the abuse and the idea that my personal value was tied up with my professional life. I had forgotten that self-respect and happiness were more important.

We needed that paycheck, but I shouldn't have let money keep me somewhere that was so destructive and toxic.

Now, I've returned to my beloved community newspaper. The place where during my first week back, I received several phone calls from people in the community who were more than happy I was back.

That makes all the difference. Knowing that other people feel my presence and appreciate the work I do. It makes up for the lower pay and less-than-fancy digs.

Making a difference.

So I've decided to continue embracing change, to see each instance as an opportunity instead of an obstacle.

The grass isn't always greener -- sometimes it isn't even grass -- but you'll never know unless you at least peak over the fence.