What it’s like to choose redundancy and leave a job you love
The last time I was jobless was when I had just graduated. My rent was half what it is now and I had some leftover student loan to live off, a bit of housing benefit coming in each week and the knowledge that step one was to get an internship and some experience, step two was to get a paying job. I’m sure at the time I was stressed, but I remember it as being that simple — naivety probably played a part — and it always felt temporary. That was 11 years ago, almost exactly, and since then aside from the usual annual leave I’ve had a grand total of four days of not working, in between two jobs which pretty much defined me — both at startups; and yet now at the grand old age of 33 I find myself officially without full time work.
Last month I chose to take redundancy from a job I loved, a job I spent six and a half years in, a job I expected to be in for years to come because I honestly thought I’d be there to see the company become a huge success story. No matter that I wasn’t really progressing, no matter that people always said you had to move around to build your career and get pay rises, no matter that friends my age were earning £30k more than me and buying houses — why on earth would I leave my dream job? In the wise words of Elizabeth Gilbert, let’s just say the only thing more impossible than leaving was staying, and so after a lot of heartache, I took the leap.
It really was a leap. I don’t take risks; I never have. It’s probably why I’ve never broken a bone, haven’t travelled extensively and have never been in debt (save for a student loan that I’ll never pay off). The combination of coming from a low-income, keep-your-head-down-and-get-the-job-done family and lifelong anxiety means I am sensible to the core. It was the word that showed up repeatedly on my school reports and I was proud of it. But while everything in me was telling me to stay because I’d been brought up to get and keep a job even if it means you’re a bit unhappy for a while, there was this little niggle at the back of my mind, whispering, jump. Just jump. I almost had a morbid curiosity about seeing what would happen if I did — and now I’m finding out.
The thing is, our industry is brilliant in that you’re never really unemployed, you’ve just gone freelance — I’m not applying for housing benefit or packing up to move in with my parents (yet) because I, it seems, am now in control of what I earn! I can work for whoever I want! I can work from home at any hour of the day! It’s exciting! And oh, I so want to be excited. I want to be utterly thrilled at no longer commuting and at the thought of setting my own rates to match my worth. I want to finally write for all those publications I’ve admired from afar and be known for my writing, known as a journalist in my own right, not just hiding behind a brand name.
Only it’s not that simple. This isn’t like that post-graduation phase where I knew what to do next — there are so many options, yet no solid options, and certainly no guarantees of work — leaving me overwhelmed with what to do next. It’s normal to be figuring things out when you’re fresh out of uni, but at 33 and single I can’t afford to just see how things pan out. How will I pay my (extortionate) rent next month? Can I afford to live in London anymore? What if no one pays me for six months, as I’ve heard some freelancers complain about on social media? Who am I now that I don’t have that all-defining job?
The good news is (yes, there is some), there is work out there — I’ve already booked in for shifts at titles I’d love to work for, but it’s not enough. As someone with anxiety it’s scary to have to start somewhere new on a regular basis, and terrifying to not know where your next pay cheque is coming from. Everyone has also been lovely about it, which helps. Contacts, colleagues and friends are all positive it’ll be the best move I’ve ever made, and I so want them to be right, and in fact want to prove them right just to show both them and myself that I can do it (or else I may never take a risk again, which I imagine most self help gurus would say is a shame).
But losing such a huge part of my identity overnight has left me feeling lower in confidence than ever — and one thing you need more than anything as a freelancer is confidence to put yourself out there and promote yourself, pitch yourself and show people you’re the woman for the job (even more so in applying for full time roles, which I’m also doing). My day job was the one place where I felt I really had my shit together — I knew exactly what I was doing, how everything worked, how to do things for the best results and I knew I brought value to the team and the business. I was also bloody proud of it. Without that, I’m feeling lost. The worst part is no one can really help — this is one of those situations where it really is all on me to work things out, both what to do short term, and what I want, because if being made redundant does anything it’s that it makes you take a long, hard look at what you’re doing and whether you’re on the right track.
So it seems in a way, I’m back to the beginning, albeit with a far more exciting CV than I had in 2008. Step one: get some more experience. Step two: find my new dream job. And in between all that? Find other passions that are my own, rather than making my life all about a job which might not be there one day.
Time will tell; and hopefully in a few years time I’ll look back in the same way I do to those first few months as a graduate and think, it really wasn’t that stressful after all…
