The Lemon Life | online magazine offering a fresh perspective on post-grad life.

Words by: Virginia Manning

Image by: Megan Verhey

“I hope you understand how serious this is”, my director said to me during a meeting. “You have three weeks to prove to this company that you belong here.” Nearly paralyzed with fear, I nodded my head, and felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of my face. I hope she hadn’t noticed it. I went back to my desk with shaky arms and legs, and then seriously considered barfing on my computer.

Everything was wrong with that conversation. Back at my desk, I tried to rationalize my warning by self-deprecating and finding reasons that I deserved it. I resolved to work harder than I ever had, and although I was already working fifty-nine hours a week (my average), I was ready to increase it. What I did not know was that my company was bracing itself for an impending $41 billion merger, and that my job security (and the company’s) no longer existed. My director had warned me, but it was futile

I worked for pharmaceutical companies, promoting (cancer-causing) drugs and running the conferences to market them. Because it was agency work, and the demographic was twenty-something women (with the exception of upper management, who were stresspots on the verge of mental breakdowns), no one complained about the twelve-hour workdays. The high salary and killer benefits made everything seem worthwhile and I was even happy when I lost a couple of pounds due to stress, and I sucked into the notion that making money is everything. My fierce directors and borderline-psycho manager intimidated me, and I felt like a kid desperately seeking approval. Initially, the travel required seemed appealing, but spending seventy-two hours during my first conference without sleep took the glamour right out of it. A couple of months later, when the excitement of a pay cheque died down and I resented most of the people in my office, I kept working hard only to save for graduate school, my ultimate goal.

Then there was a client merger and my termination ensued three weeks after it. In a meeting that took place over my lunch hour, and coincidentally on my birthday, they sent me home with an exit letter. I waited until I got into the elevator alone to cry for being both relieved and terrified. It was early spring and I had nothing to do but go home, eat a real meal, and apply for unemployment insurance. After calling friends and parents and using explicit (but carefully-chosen) words to describe my former office, I was forced to look at the situation positively. I had two weeks to make the deadline for an application into a Master’s of Science program, so I clocked fifty hours of mandatory volunteer work, thanked my generous referees, and sent in my forms. Even though I’m still waiting for a response, I’m hopeful.

No longer chained to a desk, I stopped avoiding my friends to catch up on sleep and took my health seriously. As my resentment of that office began to dissipate, (but not disappear completely), I thought about how much more I have to offer than to be a slave to a job that I dislike. Being laid off forced me out of a situation that was thrusting me towards burning out, and taught me how to recognize what I want.

I had never learned a lesson like being laid off, which was frightening, and it made me more driven to pursue the career I wanted because I had no other choice. I had put school on hold to develop some sense of work life. I am almost grateful to have been let go—if the decision were not made for me, I would have continued to be miserable and intimidated there for the sake of holding down a job whose only advantage was money. Even though the future is uncertain, now that I am removed from the situation, I can recognize what I want.

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