After the Teams Call - The Layoff Aftermath
The Teams call ended with a digital whimper. The little red "Leave" button was the curtain call on a 15 year career. The navy hopsack Spier & Mackey blazer, my sartorial shield from this morning, suddenly felt heavy.
I sat there, watching the reflection of my own face in the black glass of the monitor. My collar was still crisp, but the "Senior Manager of Engineering" title had evaporated into the ether, leaving behind an overdressed dad.
It’s a strange dichotomy when your professional identity has just dissolved while your physical self remains neat and pressed. In the world of high-end tailoring, an unlined jacket is a feat of engineering. Without a lining, the seams need to be clean. Without the job, I felt a bit like that jacket.
Deconstructed. Raw. Exposed.
The Summit
I walked upstairs to our bedroom where my wife, Claire, was nursing our youngest daughter, an infant who had turned one just the week before.
"I've been laid off," I said. No corporate preamble or gloss. Just the facts, ma’am.
"What happened?" she asked. Her eyes widened a bit, but she otherwise remained calm, her voice soft as she continued to nurse. Our daughter remained in her milk coma, eyes closed and cheeks pulsing every now around the nipple.
"We got called into a meeting this morning. A couple folks on my team got affected but not sure who else," I replied, sitting on the bed beside them. "I need to read some paperwork they are sending... but I wanted to let you know right away."
Claire paused momentarily before her lips curved into a wry half smile. She quipped, "I guess it’s a good thing we didn't choose career over family."
Director That Never Was - Choosing Family
Flashback to six years ago to a discussion we were having. I had been assigned new job responsibilities to work on a strategic initiative for application modernization and Cloud migration. Things started well that first year and I was promoted to Senior Manager.
Our celebration consisted of eating the leftover pasta our kids didn’t finish, when Claire asked what was next. I explained: next on my career ladder was Director, followed by Senior Director, and then Vice-President. But it would get progressively more involved and would involve longer hours including travel to our satellite offices to spend time with the distributed team.
Her career was also taking off, and we were at our limit between juggling our collective work and home responsibilities. After much discussion, we decided then that the cost of trying to go further was not worth the value of the paycheck. Not to say that promotion would have guaranteed but I had a clear idea of what needed to be done and would have been able to make the attempt.
With that I focused on being the best Senior Manager I could. I was able to be present at home. I took my kids to their 6:00 PM swim lessons and did my rotation at 8:00 PM bath rotations. We chose the "unstructured" family life over the "structured" promotion.
Fair Shake
The other reason I was able to cope was upon reflection, the layoff felt... fair. That’s a hard thing to admit, especially when the severance check is not yet in the mail. But if I'm nothing else, I'm grounded and realistic. Here's what I am:
- I work hard.
- I'm fairly bright.
- I have solid communication skills.
- Able to navigate a complex design debate or a delicate business stakeholder dispute with equal aplomb.
But I’m not exceptional. I’m not a "10x engineer" who went home to do work or other personal coding projects. I didn't network deep into the weekly happy hours. I was a "2-3x manager"; dependable, empathetic, trying to be a force multiplier for his team, with enough technical acumen to lead design discussions.
Honestly, I enjoyed the mentoring and coaching more than the technology delivery which is weird if you know me (I skew introverted with passable social skills). I was the navy suit of the org: versatile and professional, but not the one they put on the catalog cover.
Likely it was my willingness to take feedback and accept responsibility that contributed to career longevity. If the team missed a deadline or delivered a defect, I didn't point fingers at the "legacy debt" or the "shifting requirements." I owned it. I walked into my VP’s office and said, "This is on me. Here’s how we fix it."
That, and I can coach engineers.
Ending on a High
Strange to say, the timing was poetic. The year before, we’d just completed the massive cloud migration. It felt like trying to change the tires on a car while doing 80 on the freeway… and realizing the tires needing changing only after merging into heavy traffic. It took years of grueling technical debt exorcisms and more evening and weekend deployments than I care to remember.
The system was humming. The architecture was basic but clean, the pipelines were automated, and the team was justifiably proud. We’d done the work, and we’d done it right. But the most satisfying bit of the whole journey wasn't the successful go-live. It was Sameer.
Sameer was the direct report I’d mentioned in my last post, the one who got the corporate axe before I did. He joined my team a little after we'd started up the Cloud journey. He was rough with a narrow skillset but applied himself and more importantly, had the desire and understanding of the give and take required of him to the next level. I remember the fist pump I did when the promotion finally went through.
When he was cut, it was a dagger to the cut. It felt like I barely had time to ponder it before I was on the street myself. I admit to retreating at that point, going into seclusion to ponder next steps. Definitely could have done better on that front. But personal validation would come a few months later.
Sameer reached out first. Turns out, he landed a Lead Engineer role at another big tech firm, one that required a formal in-depth technical assessment, and something I don’t think he would have passed without our growth together.
That was the best feeling ever and squashed the doubts that might have lingered. I thought of the other associates I managed who I helped promote and affirmed why I embraced the manager role at my company. It was the "bespoke" part of leadership, customizing my coaching and support to fit each individual.
I left head high, knowing I can build and lead high performing engineering teams and more importantly, grow their careers.
The Kids and the Anchor
The front door slammed. "Dad! What’s for dinner!" echoed through the hallway in stereo sound, followed by the rhythmic thud of backpacks hitting the hardwood floor. My oldest daughter and son (now 10 and 9 respectively) had returned from school, and the "professional" part of my day was officially superseded by the "family" part of my day.
We didn't talk about my layoff. Just what vegetables they would be turning their noses at that night and other silliness they learned at school. It was a reminder of how family is the lining of the coat, the part no one sees but what can make or break your comfort.
If your only identity is your job, you’re just the display suit hanging on the mannequin. Work will never love you as much as you love it. That's not to say you should not be invested, just do so with your eyes open. It’s a transactional romance; the moment the "priorities" change, the love affair is over.
The Emotional Echo
I didn't leave by choice. But I'm where I need to be. We are leaning into the "couture" of a life well-lived, rather than the "chaos" of a career chased at any cost.
Find your anchor. It can be family, friends, anything outside of work that gives your life meaning and what you would do if money were no object. Take care of that anchor. Polish it. Keep it strong. Because if something happens whether it’s a corporate storm or other life obstacle, your anchor keeps you from drifting out to sea.
Stay sharp, stay grounded, and remember: the best-fitting life is the ones we tailor for ourselves