The Layoff at 59 That Changed Everything

There are moments in life that divide your story into two parts: before and after.

For me, one of those moments came when I was laid off at 59 years old.

I thought finding another job would be the easy part. It turned out the real challenge was navigating a job search after 50 in a hiring world that had completely changed.

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People assume a layoff is about losing a paycheck. That's certainly part of it, but for me it felt more like a divorce. I wasn't just walking away from a company. I was walking away from people I loved working with. Bosses I'd admired. Friends I'd worked beside for years. Projects I cared about. The routine I'd built. The influence I'd earned. Overnight, all of it disappeared.

The Questions We Ask Ourselves

Even when you know a layoff is driven by budgets, reorganizations, or decisions made far above your head, it's hard not to take it personally. It's just business.

Bullshit, of course it's personal.

I replayed the layoff in my head a hundred times wondering what I could have done differently. Was I no longer valuable? Should I have seen it coming? Could I have worked harder? Looking back, I know those questions were just part of grieving, but at the time they chipped away at my confidence.

Then Reality Showed Up

After I'd given myself enough time to be angry, sad, and ask all the "why me?" questions, I finally had to have a little talk with myself.

"Okay, girlfriend... put on your big girl panties, quit whining, serve yourself a big-ass dish of reality, and let's figure this shit out."

It wasn't that I was suddenly over it. I wasn't. But life doesn't pause while you're grieving a job. The bills still show up. Your family still depends on you. At some point you have to stop asking why it happened and start figuring out what's next.

And honestly? I wasn't all that worried.

I remember thinking, "I've got this." I'd built a successful career, worked for incredible companies, hired people, led teams, and solved some pretty complicated problems over the years. Surely finding another job couldn't be that hard.

I figured I'd dust off my résumé, send out a few applications, have a handful of interviews, and be back to work before I knew it.

Bless my little heart. I had absolutely no idea what I was walking into. While I was busy building my career, the entire hiring process had changed.

Apparently, you're not writing a résumé for people anymore. You're writing it for software. Before a hiring manager ever sees your résumé, a computer decides whether you're worth talking to. Suddenly I was learning about keywords, matching job descriptions, and rewriting my résumé for every application.

I just remember thinking, "What in the actual hell happened?"

That was my first clue that I wasn't just looking for another job.

I was learning an entirely new game.

Then Came the Age Thing

Then there was the elephant in the room that nobody really wants to talk about.

Age.

Nobody ever looked me in the eye and said, "You're too old." At least not to my face. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't cross my mind every single time I hit the "Submit Application" button.

I started looking at my résumé through completely different eyes. Instead of proudly listing everything I'd accomplished over the last thirty-plus years, I found myself asking, "Is this making me look too old?"

So I started deleting jobs I'd worked my ass off to get. I shortened timelines. I removed dates. I edited out pieces of my career that I was incredibly proud of because somewhere in the back of my mind I thought, "Maybe if they don't realize how long I've been doing this, they'll actually call me."

Can we just stop and think about how screwed up that is?

We spend decades building experience and earning credibility, only to turn around and wonder how much of that story we should erase because we're afraid we'll look too experienced.

Too experienced? WTF? Isn't that exactly what companies say they're looking for?

That whole process really messed with my head. Instead of feeling proud of everything I'd accomplished, I found myself wondering if the very experience I'd spent a lifetime earning had somehow become a liability.

And that's a hard place to be.

Oh... And Apparently I'm Too Expensive

Then there was something else that crossed my mind more than once... salary.

Let's be honest, when you've spent thirty years building a career, you're probably making a lot more than you were when you were twenty-eight. That's not because you're greedy. It's because you've earned it. You've spent decades learning your craft, leading teams, fixing disasters, growing revenue, mentoring people, and helping companies make a hell of a lot more money.

What surprised me was how early that conversation happens now. It used to be that companies wanted to get to know you first. They wanted to understand what you could bring to the organization before compensation ever came up. Today, it often comes up in the very first screening call.

I couldn't help but wonder how many times I was quietly screened out before anyone even understood the value I could bring. It's frustrating because experience saves companies money every single day. We've made the mistakes. We've learned from them.

We know what works and what doesn't. That experience has value, even if it comes with a higher salary.

Oh... And I Don't Have a Degree

Then there was the degree.

I don't have one, and honestly, for most of my career it never really mattered. Nobody ever looked at me and said, "Well, she doesn't have a college degree, so she can't do the job." They looked at what I'd accomplished. I'd built teams, generated revenue, led organizations, solved problems, and delivered results. My experience spoke for itself.

Then I started job hunting again.

All of a sudden, I kept seeing "Bachelor's Degree Required" on posting after posting, and I couldn't help but think, "Really? After thirty-plus years of actually doing the work, this is what we're hung up on?"

Half My Job Titles Don't Even Exist Anymore

Then I discovered another little surprise that honestly made me laugh.

Half the job titles I'd held throughout my career didn't even exist anymore.

When did companies decide that every role needed a shiny new name? The funny part was, the work hadn't changed nearly as much as the titles had. I'd read a job description and think, "I've been doing this shit for twenty-five years... I just don't know what we're calling it this week." It finally dawned on me that I didn't need new experience—I just needed to learn the new language.

Once I started translating what I'd been doing into the words companies were using today, things started making a lot more sense.

And Can We Talk About Interviewing?

And can we talk about interviewing for a minute?

Holy shit...when did interviewing become an Olympic event?

It used to be you'd meet with the hiring manager, maybe a couple of people on the team, and they'd make a decision. Now it feels like you interview with half the company before anyone is willing to say yes. I actually think it's great that everyone gets a chance to weigh in once you're hired because you know the team wanted you there. But sweet baby Jesus, it takes forever.

And while we're at it... what happened to professionalism? I showed up dressed for every interview because I wanted to make a great impression. More than once I logged into a video interview only to find someone with bed head, wearing sweats, looking like they'd rolled out of bed five minutes earlier. My personal favorite was the interviewer who showed up to an in-person interview with a half-eaten plate of chicken legs and ate lunch while interviewing me. I remember thinking, I remember thinking, "Seriously? I've been interviewing all day. I haven't had a sip of water or a chance to pee, let alone eat, and you're having lunch?" It made me laugh, but it also reminded me that interviews work both ways. Candidates are evaluating companies just as much as companies are evaluating candidates.

The Biggest Thing I Forgot

Then one day I had to laugh at myself. "I didn't wake up stupid because I got laid off." One company had eliminated my position, but they hadn't erased thirty years of experience. I could still solve problems, lead teams, build strategy, grow revenue, and help companies succeed.

The company was gone. My skills weren't.

Then I realized something else. One of the most valuable things I had wasn't even on my résumé.

It was the people I'd met over the last thirty years. Not LinkedIn connections—real relationships. People who knew my work, trusted me, and had seen me at my best.

If you're going through a layoff, don't isolate yourself. I know it's tempting because your confidence takes a beating and you feel embarrassed. But this is exactly when you need your people. Pick up the phone. Grab coffee with someone. Let people know you're looking. Ask for advice. Ask for introductions. Most people genuinely want to help—they just can't if they don't know you need it.

Some of the best conversations I had during my job search were with other people who'd been laid off. We'd swap job leads, compare interview horror stories, review each other's résumés, and occasionally just laugh at how absurd the whole process had become. Those conversations reminded me that I wasn't broken—I was just going through something really hard.

And when you finally land on your feet, don't forget to reach back. Buy someone coffee.

Make an introduction. Share a job lead. Review a résumé. Sometimes the greatest gift you can give another person isn't a job—it's reminding them that they still have something valuable to offer.

Somebody held the door open for you at some point in your career.

When it's your turn, hold the damn door open for someone else.

What the Layoff Really Changed

If you've just been laid off, let me save you a little time.

You're going to question yourself.

You're going to wonder if you're too old, too expensive, too outdated, or somehow not enough anymore.

Don't believe that voice.

It's lying.

One company made a decision. They did not define your future.

They simply closed one chapter.

The next one?

That's yours to write.

"One company made a decision. They did not define your future."