The Next Chapter

Exactly one year after I said ta-ta to my tatas (via bilateral mastectomy), I was the boob who was severed.

Sometimes, when you can't see a rainbow, you have to make one 🌈

If you can’t laugh with me, what are you doing here?

I haven’t wanted to talk about it. It has been like a breakup. One I had no idea was coming. But if I’m being really honest? The signs were there. The organization was heading in a different direction, shifting and changing, but not growing.

My job was more than a nine-to-five. It was a mission I was grateful to serve with coworkers who were friends, some even crossed the line into chosen family. It hurts to not see them every day.

I poured my heart into my job in pursuit of a brighter, cleaner future. I felt more passionately about the organization than any I’ve worked for before.

But alas, it was only a job. And business decisions, though difficult, painful, and tangled with personal feelings, are still business.

I’ve had about 15 false starts at a blog post over the past few months, yet nothing fully baked. When I was laid off I thought “well, I’ll finally have time to write.”

But the words wouldn’t come.

I was numb. So overcome with thoughts and feelings that my nervous system threw them all away, leaving my mind blank.

I’ve found distraction — and avoidance? — in every direction.

My house? Never been so clean, so organized. I’m in the best physical shape I’ve been in since having kids. I’m even cooking?! (is that Hell freezing over?!)

And now it’s time to once again sit down in my perfectly curated office and face reality.

I’ve realized I’ve been avoiding this space — the one designed to be comfortable, functional, and to represent my personality in a way that subtly reinforces relationships a remote worker can only foster via Teams. The one dedicated to my career, tucked away from the rest of the house for my use alone in pursuit of professional excellence.

It’s time to shine a light on the thoughts hiding in the shadows of my subconscious, to break the spell of autopilot trained over four years, to the resist the muscle memory of checking various Microsoft notifications.

So here I am. The house is clean. The fridge is full. My to do list is clear.

And I’m ready.

I survived cancer, I can survive a layoff. I may even thrive through it.