The HR Juggler

This beautiful, apt illustration was created by Simon Heath, who encouraged me to write and share this story and my journey over the last few months.

We don’t talk much about the impact of redundancy in HR. It’s true that everyone’s experience is different…this is mine, shared with you this Advent.

From the other side of the table, I await my inevitable fate, knowing already what you will say. I hear your words; that you’re sorry, that you wish it were different, that it’s the hardest thing you’ve done. I blink back the tears, grit my teeth, will myself to remain strong. Observe the bonds of friendship, of respect, of mutual trust irrevocably shatter, through circumstance, through choice. And, as the conversation ends, I leave.

I leave, avoiding the concerned eyes of colleagues, knowing that the tears will come if I let down my guard, even for a moment. Grateful for a trusted colleague taking me for a coffee and a chat, hugging me as a friend and making the transition into becoming one. Travelling home, adrenaline occupies my day as I answer calls and chat with family, colleagues, friends, lawyer. I am coping, I am OK, it will be fine, it is all fine.

Next morning it doesn’t feel fine, as I wake at 4.30am, unable to sleep. There’s little adrenaline left, only sadness and an aching emptiness, irrational sense of failure and of fear. I find myself in Tesco’s at 5am, trying to buy a mop and realise that I am in shock, pathetic, ridiculous, not myself. Even just one day on, it already seems like old news to others, to everyone, except me. I get lost in streets I have walked along for a decade, I try to leave a cafe without paying…I’m disoriented, discombobulated, disjointed, disrupted.

It’s tough. So much tougher than I realised from my usual side of the table. The well-meaning friends and relatives who ask what your next role will be, before you’ve even managed to extricate yourself from the one you’ve got. Explaining, finding the words for something that still hurts, that still and perhaps always will feel unfair. Knowing that future success depends on confidence, but finding it temporarily bruised and battered. However much it shouldn’t be personal, it damn well feels it. Fighting for self-belief, for fairness, for navigating a positive, constructive way forward.

And yet, life continues. The pieces settle and l start to make sense of them again, start to see a future and the opportunities ahead. Start to plan for a summer of adventure and for an autumn of opportunity. Start to feel that time is a gift and one that I have been given to fully enjoy and make the most of. The sun shines on my summer, the kids and I make a list of things we want to do, the simple pleasures of spending time together, playing with friends, swimming and parks, seeing shows, visiting new places. Time stretches endlessly and starts to heal. I become glad that I left when I did, that new things await, that I have the power to choose. I start to believe in the future, to plan for it, to want it, to understand that the best is still to come.

The sadness still comes from time to time, often unexpected, uninvited and is allowed to take its course, in the understanding that there is a process of bereavement and change at work. It doesn’t last long and comes ever more rarely. Sometimes I’m surprised at how little time has passed since it happened and how far things have moved forward. The sense of disruption continues from time to time too, the discovery that seasonal norms are experienced differently from a place of perceived job security than they are from a less certain landscape. I mind the underlying sense of disruption far less when it affects only me, far more acutely when it impacts those I love. From working patterns, flexibility that has enabled me to be far more physically present for my children than many others who hold similar jobs, to simply having the spare energy and focus to dedicate to peripheral but important tasks that I have clearly taken for granted in the past…!

I’ve never been more grateful for the strong HR network of friends and colleagues. Many of whom will smile and shake their heads and think that their contribution was minimal, but I’ve learnt that the contribution is measured by the true value to the person who receives it, not by what it costs to give. So, for those I spoke to in the immediate aftermath, for the wise and thoughtful advice that has remained with me, for the offers of help that I took up and those that I didn’t, for time spent together and sharing of their own experiences, for the invaluable contacts, for the timely interim opportunity, for asking how I am, for friendship and support…thank you. It means more than I can properly say and has made the world of difference.

So now, I’m building again. I have an interim role that I love doing, I have some great options for new permanent opportunities that I’m exploring and I know that things will be more than OK. So, this Advent, as the daily posts take place over at Kate GL’s blog, my story is one of honesty, of optimism, of letting the light in, of taking each day as it comes and moving forward with integrity and positivity, of thankfulness for the good things and acknowledgement of what is truly important. I wish you and your loved ones a wonderful Christmas, strength, peace, happiness, health and joy as we head into the New Year.