When good jobs go bad

I met a neighbour through Olio (of all things) and we started hanging out. Their family recently moved here from London and she's currently a trailing spouse. 

When we first met, we talked about work. I was puzzled by her seemingly picky attitude to potential jobs here, which didn't gel with her obvious keenness to work and high level of education and competency. Maybe she sounded a little like me - I wasn't sure I liked how it came across. 

After getting to know her better I realised we had similar experiences with work. We both had jobs we loved, once. The kind that most people dream of - where you wake up in the morning feeling excited about your day. 

Then one day, the company restructured, and everything went to shit. Tagline: When Good Jobs Go Bad.

Both of us survived layoffs, but to great detriment. In my case, I remained on the payroll but was removed from the team and my entire job scope was taken away. Essentially I learnt that everything I worked for and put my heart into in the past 3 years was no longer important or even necessary - which was disillusioning to say the least.

My neighbour's case was much worse. Her manager was laid off were replaced with a complete snake who bullied and sabotaged her professionally behind her back. I was so angry for her, hearing her story. When you love and identify with your job strongly, it hurts so much to have that ripped away from you. 

Far better to have been let go, we agreed. That might have been a little financial setback, but we would get our closure. We would have something concrete to process, to grieve over, and then move on. As survivors of restructuring we both had our work identities taken forcibly away, yet we were obliged to feel "grateful" about how things turned out. We couldn't grieve: we never got to air our wounds. 

After her job turned evil - which happened on top of her cat dying and former marriage dissolving - my neighbour was depressed and considered taking her life. It's chilling how work can send you down that spiral.

At that point - luckily - she remembered she had a lot of money saved up and decided that she couldn't die without spending it first. So she used the money to fund a move to Europe to get a master's degree. By then she had rebuilt her life and didn't feel so bad anymore. Her savings literally saved her.

I wish I had done something drastic like that after my D-Day. But I guess my way of dealing was to quit working full-time. Although I told myself it was an early retirement trial, I realise now that I was starting the process of rebuilding my life and identity. It's been slow going because my main means of self-expression - writing - was also the foundation of my former career. It took a lot of time and practice to unlearn old habits and play with the medium in a new way.

As for being picky about jobs... well, it's completely understandable after all. After going through a traumatic experience like this, knowing that work has the power to fuck up your life and your well-being, it's impossible to treat it as lightly as others seem to. I certainly can't do the flippant "it's just a job" *shrug* thing. So a picky job-seeker I will remain.