After the layoff: Why feeling the loss matters
I was lucky — or at least I think I was. The extended notice period, slightly over a year, gave me something most people facing layoffs never get: time.
But first, let me say this: retrenchments don’t feel the same as they did 10 years ago. Back then, they seemed rare.
Today, especially in Singapore, they’ve become more commonplace. When I first told close friends, and later shared the news in a previous blog post, several were either going through the same thing or knew someone who'd recently been laid off.
As layoffs become more frequent, it’s worth remembering: there is no shame in losing your job this way. It wasn’t your choice. It doesn’t mean you failed. Business decisions were made, and you happened to be on the receiving end.
It may sound like I’m grasping at straws, but retrenchment forces you to see something essential: your job is not your worth. You’re not defined by your job title, salary, or earning potential. Your worth is intrinsic, and being laid off doesn’t define who you are.
The long goodbye
When my former employer announced the retrenchment exercise a year ago, my colleagues and I were each given notice ranging from five to 17 months, depending on our seniority and labour laws.
There had been two or three rounds of retrenchments at my previous workplace, so the news didn’t shock or surprise me. My first thought was simply: So it’s my turn now. To me, it was just business — an organisational decision, not a personal judgment. That perspective gave me a steadier footing, though it didn’t make the experience less complex.
Then came an unusual twist: the office was being relocated to another market, and we were asked to hire and train our replacements. Therefore, a long notice period was required.
Bittersweet? Perhaps. But I chose to see it as an opportunity. How often do you get to witness a transition like this up close — to see how leadership handles it, and what’s needed to make it work? I was determined to learn from it, and I did.
When my replacement became pregnant, I was asked to cover her maternity leave — and I agreed, grateful for the extra time and the chance to save a little more before moving on. During that period, I also had the chance to mentor and guide three individuals from the content team.
I had supervised writers before in an earlier role, but this was my first time doing so in a corporate environment — and remotely, since we were based in different countries. The circumstances may not have been ideal, but the experience stretched me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Working through the transition gave me more than just knowledge of the practical steps — it provided a deeper understanding of the process and perspective on leadership styles, resilience, and my own readiness for change. Having a veteran project manager brought in to lead the transition also made a difference: I learnt a great deal from her approach, observing how experience, clarity, and empathy can steady a team through uncertainty.
I could have quickly found another role and left earlier. But I wasn’t ready to. (And yes, I was eyeing the severance package, though some might argue it wasn’t worth it.) Still, I know myself: I haven’t been particularly agile or proactive with my career. I’d stayed in my comfort zone for years. This layoff forced me to pause and ask questions I hadn’t confronted before.
As my last day approached, a sense of relief began to creep in. Maybe because I’d been doing the same work for over four and a half years, and needed a change. Maybe because I, too, needed a break.
Then the day arrived.
The release I didn’t know I needed
That morning, I woke up with a dry mouth and throat. It was a public holiday for most of my team, and I saw no reason to call my manager — we’d already had a farewell lunch and a few calls that week. In hindsight, I didn’t want to because I knew I would cry, and I didn’t want to.
She sent me a quick message on Teams, asking if I had received the farewell card signed by the whole team. I had — and I really cherish the messages inside it. Reading their words left me feeling grateful. It wasn’t that I didn’t already know — but seeing it written down made it feel different, more tangible.
I had a video call with a close colleague before heading to the office to return my work laptop and access card in the afternoon. It was a small comfort, a reminder of the connections I would carry with me even as I prepared to let go.
But as my cab turned into the office drop-off point, that warmth began to fade. A quiet emptiness crept in, heavier with each passing second. My chest tightened, and I felt numb — unsure of what exactly I was feeling, only that something in me was quietly aching. There was a sensation like a sour burn low in my stomach — almost like a mild acid reflux.
At the same time, there was a small flicker of excitement, a restless flutter in my stomach like butterflies. I was sad, but also looking forward.
Heavy and light all at once. It felt like I was floating between two worlds, no longer belonging to one, not yet stepping into the other.
I told myself I wouldn’t cry. But when I ran into one of my favourite stakeholders — someone who’d always spoken kindly and candidly with me for thought leadership pieces, who made me feel welcomed and appreciated — I faltered.
He asked how I was feeling. I said “bittersweet”. He replied, “That means you are relieved,” perhaps to make me feel better. My throat closed up, I couldn’t say a word, and simply nodded. I could feel the tears coming.
I quickly returned my items to the administrator and escaped to the office toilet, where I spent about 15 minutes crying softly in intervals (I held back tears every time someone walked in). Each time I thought I was ready to walk out, the tears returned. It hit me then: I really needed to cry.
But I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I wanted to cry without holding back, but I wasn’t ready to do that in front of my kid and in-laws, to explain how I was feeling. Not yet.
So I went to the cinema. A Friday afternoon, nearly empty halls. By chance, a film starring Aaron Kwok, about a father and his disabled child, was showing. Sad enough to match my mood. There was only one other person in the theatre. When the lights dimmed, I let the tears flow — grief, release, relief, all at once (timed with the sad scenes, of course).
The thing people don’t get about loss
This is the part that’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t gone through a retrenchment — or to someone who left a job by choice, even if they liked it but felt they’d stopped growing and needed to move on.
Loss — especially when it isn’t your fault — lands heavy. For me, even knowing it was coming a year in advance, it still hit hard.
From the outside, people think: great, you get a decent severance, you can rest, and then just find another job — no big deal.
But that misses the point. It’s not about money or employment. It’s about something you had — something you were good at, perhaps even proud of, a rhythm you built your life around — and suddenly it’s gone.
Taken away.
And people needed time to grieve that before they could move on. I needed to grieve.
I wanted to keep busy. I thought about all the places I’d been meaning to visit — like the stretch of Rangoon Road I could turn into a story. I’d visit Bird Paradise even if I couldn’t find anyone to go with. I thought about my novels waiting to be written, and how I finally had time to use the SkillsFuture credits that had been sitting unused for years.
I also wanted to do nothing. To lie in bed all day in the dark, to not think, to not bathe, to not eat. To just be in silence.
Of course, that’s not entirely possible — I have a child who depends on me. But even in the middle of responsibility, I craved some form of stillness.
(On my list: visit Bird Paradise and stare at birds in silence, and head to the beach and stare at the waves — also in silence.)
Busyness isn’t healing
The instinct after a layoff is to work towards getting a new job. Update the resume. Rework LinkedIn. Network. Learn something new. Fill the days.
But busyness doesn’t erase grief.
My kid’s one-week school holidays started the very next day after my last working day, and the week was quickly filled with his activities. I did not have time to process my loss, and I thought I’d be fine.
But I learned that if you skip over these feelings, they don’t vanish. They just sit there, waiting for you, and might return with more force later. And they did. Twelve days later, and it still feels fresh, like day one.
From friends who had gone through the same thing, I also learned that grief after a layoff doesn’t follow a neat timeline — it comes in waves, sometimes catching you off guard, and those waves can keep rolling in for months.
One friend told me that even after she landed a new job, she struggled with imposter syndrome and carried a constant fear of being laid off again. The loss doesn’t always end when you find new work; sometimes it shadows you into the next chapter.
A layoff shakes your identity, your rhythm, your sense of belonging. I find myself reminding myself — gently, not harshly — that I’ve made it through difficult chapters before. And if this retrenchment turns out to be the hardest one yet, then I owe it to myself to admit that too: that I’m standing in the middle of something deeply painful, and still finding a way forward, one day at a time.
For me, focusing on small strengths — such as finishing a piece of writing (like this one), cooking for my family, or even managing to rest properly — is a lifeline. Believing that I’m still worthy, beyond my work, gives me the foundation to rebuild.
Questions worth asking yourself
Instead of running from the emotions, I’ve started to ask myself questions — and maybe these might help others who’ve been laid off too:
General reflections
Can I afford not to work right now? Not just financially, but emotionally.
Do I need a break? And what would that look like?
Could freelancing bridge the gap? Staying connected without the grind. When should I start?
Does my heart actually need healing? Or simply an acknowledgement?
Who am I outside of my job title? Perhaps it’s time to reassess my personal brand.
Personal reflections
What kind of work do I want to do next?
What role would allow me to express myself more fully?
Do I want to lead a team?
I’ve always wanted to write a book — if not now, then when?
If I take on a bigger role, would I still have time for my family and for writing?
There’s a lot more I want to do, and I’m reminding myself — one step at a time.
Maybe you can do the same. Is there a dream you once brushed aside? A different field you wanted to explore? A job with better work-life balance? Ask yourself: What drains you, and what makes you come alive?
What you can actually do after a layoff
When the shock softens, there are ways to move forward:
Grieve properly. Layoffs aren’t only logistical; they’re emotional.
Review your story. Update your resume, your LinkedIn — not just for recruiters and potential employers, but to regain clarity. Maybe it’s time to create your own site? (I did!)
Rebuild energy. Therapy, massage, exercise, or simply rest can all be part of the recovery process. Hanging out with supportive people helps too.
Experiment. Freelance, consult, volunteer, learn. This isn’t wasted time. It’s planting seeds, and learning new things.
Reconnect. No sooner had the layoffs been announced than I started getting messages from people wanting to help. Reach out to your network.
Redefine success. Maybe it’s not the same ladder anymore. Maybe it’s something new.
Why processing your emotions matters
Of course, not everyone has the luxury of time. Loans, mortgages, visa status, and other factors may push you to accept another job quickly, even if it’s not ideal. That’s real, and it deserves recognition.
But even then, the pause — however short — can be used to reflect.
Some might ask: “What’s the big deal? People lose jobs all the time.”
But loss is personal. Don’t brush your feelings aside. At the same time, don’t view a layoff as losing your job — it really is so much more.
And sometimes, it doesn’t happen just once. A friend of mine is now facing her second retrenchment. She still has two months before her last day, but she’s already in pieces. It’s a reminder that in today’s economy, especially in Singapore, layoffs can strike more than once — and each time can feel just as devastating. That’s why processing your emotions isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. If you don’t, the weight only builds, and the fear only deepens.
You may not see it now, but a layoff can become an opportunity for change, growth, or renewal. It takes effort to shift your perspective, and that effort comes more easily when you care for your own emotional and mental wellbeing along the way.
Looking back, I can see why I was lucky — to have advance notice, to learn from a transition that few people get to witness, and to be given time, however bittersweet, to prepare myself emotionally for what was to come, and to say goodbye. But luck doesn’t cancel out grief. The loss was still real.
What that time gave me was perspective: the chance to see the layoff not only as an ending but also as a pause.
A moment to stop running, to sit with the loss, and to ask what comes next. Not to keep busy for the sake of it, but to allow myself to feel, to grieve, and then to ride the waves forward — clearer, lighter, and stronger. Whatever comes next, I’ll be ready.
