ARCHIVE: What I learned from losing my dream job

A taster from the annals of my Patreon (RIP)

It’s five years this month since I found out – via the Irish Mail on Sunday – that I was going to lose my dream job.

I can’t be certain, but I think it was April O’Neil in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that I first saw as journalistic inspiration. There are videos of me at age two ‘reading’ magazines and commenting on who I do and don’t like the look of (I was obviously a contrary and very judgemental toddler, I’ve since grown up. A bit.) A few years later, somewhere between Lois Lane, Carrie Bradshaw, Christiane Amanpour and Anna Wintour, I decided I wanted to be the editor of a magazine.

I did journalism in university. I interned at magazines. I started blogging way back in 2007 (a music blog originally, that grew into an all-things website called Think What You Like). It was what I wanted and I was unrelenting in my pursuit. I worked my way from junior to senior, from intern to editor, and when I got there I was 28, about to turn 29. I had said ‘editor by 30’ to anyone who’d listen and now I was there.

And then I saw this in the Irish Mail on Sunday.

I was about to lose my job. I didn’t fully believe it when I read it, and I chatted to colleagues and rolled my eyes. “They’d print anything! They don’t know…”

I was wrong, of course – they did know. And I was called into the CEO’s office that day and was told that the magazine was, in fact, closing. They didn't pull any punches, telling me. It was very matter of fact. It wasn't *my* fault necessarily, and when I say I can't go into the finer details out of fear, I'm not joking. But I still took on so much shame and embarrassment around it – how could I not? The title that I was at the helm of was no longer viable as a business proposition.

A few months later, the TV show was also pulled after 12 years on air.

Incidentally, the way the news was broken to me wasn’t very considerate, but I didn’t care. All I heard was the bottom line: My job, editor of a magazine, was gone.

It dawned on me that day – for the first time ever – just how tightly interwoven my job was with my core identity. When asked about who I was by someone, my work was so fundamental to the description I’d give that it would make up the majority of it, and would be the thing I felt most proud of. I felt lost, dejected and disorientated.

I won’t go into the absolute sh*t show that was my last month at work in detail, but TL;DR: They made my role redundant but wouldn’t make *me* redundant – they offered me an ‘alternative’ job which wasn’t anything like my original one as a way to get around making me redundant, and eventually I had to just leave. I probably should’ve sued for constructive dismissal but I was too blindsided and upset to think with any clarity about it).

That was five years ago this month. Since then, I’ve been working for myself (happily if not profitably) and have had enough time and distance from the loss of my dream job and the drama that came with it to think clearly about it.

Five years on, here are the realisations the gift (?) of hindsight have helped me arrive at. These aren’t the come-to-Jesus ‘what’s for you won’t pass you’ clichés, and they’re not actually that positive at all. But they’re real, and they’re personal. I hope the honesty helps some of you as you move around within your careers.

1

Titles, actually, mean a lot to me

…And I’m sad I don’t still have one.

I had really come to let my title define me. I cannot tell you the pride I once felt when I’d tell someone I was the editor of a magazine. It was a tangible thing for someone to hear. Now, my ‘title’ is wishy-washy. I explain to people that I’m a journalist, but then also have a podcast and do some subscription-based writing and also some creative direction and consulting for brands blah, blah actual blah… People tune out. Saying ‘I’m a magazine editor’ was so much more succinct and people seemed to get it and be somewhat impressed.

That was stupid and dangerous, but I only know that now.

Letting your job define you to the extent I did isn’t good. What you do isn’t who you are. I only know that now with five years behind me – but I still would grab that title back with both hands if I could. That’s awful isn’t it?

2

There’s very little loyalty in the workplace

You might be one of the lucky ones. You might work for a company or person that genuinely has your back and provides support and encouragement and pays more than just lip-service to employee wellness. You might be 100% certain they would never let you go.

Or you might be like me – disposable. Totally dropable, as soon as a cheaper/handier/better option comes along. I don’t say this for sympathy at ALL. I’m saying it as a warning: The only person in the world who will ever put your interests first? You. It’s a very rare business that will legitimately place the welfare of their employees above profit, above efficiency, above success.

I have worked hard at every job I’ve ever done. I think my work performance has always been more than satisfactory and I’ve been committed, present, enthusiastic and a good team member. And yet I saw firsthand that when it came to it, there was no loyalty and no genuine concern for what would happen to me beyond the P45. And that’s a lesson I’m glad to have learned.

3

Losing your job is freeing

Bear with me here – I’m not someone who makes statements like that without taking into account that losing your job is MANY things before it is freeing. Losing your job can be terrifying, life-alteringly so. It can mean lost homes, unpaid bills, downsizing at best, homelessness at worst. I have to acknowledge the place of exceptional privilege I had when I lost my job – I had somewhere to live and I had enough money saved and enough support from family and friends that I could arrive at a place where I saw what happened as ‘freeing’.

But that I did. Let me explain. I always had this massive fear of losing my job. I loved it so much and it paid me well (I mean, not that well, journalists don’t typically make a lot of money) so I was just waiting for the day when it would all… be gone. I was afraid to speak up, to defend myself to my bosses, to assert my knowledge and authority in the role. I was meek when I could and should have been decisive, quiet when I should have been loud. The fear of losing what I loved made me careful, cautious and obedient.

It would’ve stood to me so much more – particularly as a woman – to stand up and speak out, to be confident. But I didn’t because there was a feeling of “there are hundreds of others ready to take this from you” and “you better not rock the boat, you’ve got your dream gig”. No one directly says those things, but you feel them nonetheless.

But losing my job took all that fear away. It has been of benefit to me so much in everything I’ve done since. I care so much, but I also don’t care. If someone wants my opinion now? I give it. No holds barred. If someone tries to swindle me, underpay me, over-demand? I tell them – politely and professionally – to go and sh*te. I have the confidence to turn down work and know that more will come. I lost the dream, and in the process of trying to rebuild it, I found a stronger voice.

Have you any anti-inspirational lessons learned from losing a job? Share in the comments so I don't feel like a harbinger of doom.

Ais x

(Main image is a picture I took at a talk by Substack’s own Head of Writer Partnerships and one of my career idols, Farrah Storr. I think it suits the slightly grim tone of the piece well)