I Believed in Public Service. That Was My First Mistake.
The current fuckery is so bad, I finally decided it was time to retire.
Let me be clear: eligibility does not equal affordability.
I was offered a deferred resignation option — basically, paid administrative leave through the end of the year, followed by retirement. I would still receive my pension and, under current law, the FERS supplement. The pension and supplement have been in place since 1987 — long before I ever joined federal service — and have been a standard part of federal retirement planning for nearly four decades.
Now, Congress is pushing a bill that would eliminate the FERS supplement immediately upon Trump’s signature.
No notice. No phase-in. No time to prepare.
They’re not fixing anything.
They’re dismantling it.
That’s not reform — it’s deliberate harm.
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I Took the Job Because I Believed in the Work
I took my first federal job in the early ’90s after serving in the Peace Corps. It wasn’t easy to find work with an English degree — shocking, I know — and I didn’t want to leave my small-town Indiana home, even though it was conservative, backwards, and proudly stuck in 1952.
After what felt like my 600th application, I finally got an offer from the federal government in Chicago. I said yes.
I built a life around public service.
I believed in the mission.
I believed that showing up and doing the right thing mattered.
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Then Trump Happened
The first Trump administration came after people like me — career civil servants who still believed the work mattered. They tore up our collective bargaining agreements, slashed telework eligibility, and — pettiest of all — revoked our union office space.
It wasn’t just professional. Trump’s tax plan hit middle-income federal families hard. He targeted LGBTQ+ communities. He banned Muslims. He traded compassion for cruelty.
And through all of it, we stayed. We served. We hoped it would get better.
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COVID Came. We Stepped Up.
When COVID hit, we helped keep the country running. We protected people. For a brief moment, the public seemed to notice. They saw how much we were doing — even from home.
It felt like maybe — just maybe — there was recognition.
But it didn’t last.
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Meanwhile, My Family Was Drowning
My son graduated into the pandemic and joined AmeriCorps. My daughter’s school life fell apart — she was later diagnosed with autism. We were barely hanging on in a city we could no longer afford.
Groceries. A mortgage. Busted appliances. A 100-year-old house. Some of the highest property taxes in the country. We were constantly behind.
So we made the call: move back to Indiana. Try again. Start over.
Like a lot of families, we were just trying to survive.
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That’s When the Real Misery Started
I thought moving back to Indiana would give us the best of both worlds — remote work, lower costs, a little breathing room.
Instead, my monthly expenses are now higher than they were before. Everything’s more expensive now — groceries, insurance, medical care, even basic repairs. Cheaper ZIP code, bigger burden.
And on top of that, I got Trump 2.0.
The second wave came harder. This wasn’t just petty cost-cutting — it was punishment. The messaging from the top was clear: federal employees aren’t public servants; we’re enemies of the state. They want us anxious. Disposable. Afraid to speak up. Afraid to stay. Afraid to retire.
And it’s working.
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Let’s Talk Dollars and Sense
Yes, I have a pension. That’s the foundation. But it doesn’t go far — not when you’re raising kids, helping with college, or still paying a mortgage.
The FERS supplement was created to cover the years between early retirement and Social Security at 62. It’s not extra. It’s part of the design. And even with it, I’ll still need a part-time job to get by.
Here’s the twist: Congress wants us out early — because it’s cheaper for them. They offer early exit plans, then move to strip away the one piece that makes those exits viable.
And they’re doing it now. No warning. No transition. Just gone.
So when people say, “You’re lucky — you get to retire early,” my answer is:
Nothing like being given seven days to make decisions about the rest of your life.
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If You Voted for This, Don’t Pretend You Care About Me
Seriously. If you supported the people behind this, don’t say you care about workers. Don’t say you value families.
You’re not hurting “the system.”
You’re hurting me.
You’re hurting my family.
This was a choice — and it’s costing people everything.
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This Is What Betrayal Looks Like
I spoke up. I fought for what mattered. I stood up for my colleagues, my community, and the people we served.
I believed in the work — even when it was hard, even when it came at a cost. I gave this country everything I had.
Now that same system is turning its back on me.
This isn’t just my experience. This is a warning.
It’s happening to public servants across the country — people who gave their lives to something bigger and are now being pushed aside like a budget line.
You can’t call that reform.
You can’t call that patriotism.
It’s betrayal.
