retrench

SINGAPORE - Growing up, I was obsessed with collecting toys that came with Happy Meals.

Whenever my parents took me to a McDonald’s outlet, I looked forward to going home with a Hello Kitty plushie or a Transformers autobot.

For what I thought was a blissful period, my dad started adding a new toy to my collection almost every day.

I learnt only recently that I had got it completely wrong.

He had been retrenched. Not wanting to worry my mum, he continued to leave home as usual and spent the day at the library, often having lunch at McDonald’s, until he found a new job.

Unbeknownst to him, my mum knew about the ruse. She had tried to reach him in the office and was inadvertently told that he had lost his job.

I did not understand why my parents, who had a loving relationship, found it difficult to talk about retrenchment, until earlier this year.

That was when my then employer, an international media outlet, closed most of the roles in my Singapore-based division.

My colleagues and I were encouraged to apply for new positions that were made available under a restructuring process.

I had dialled into the meeting because I was on annual leave and thousands of miles away from home. Towards the end, we were asked if we had any questions.

I found myself with a jumble of thoughts and nothing to say.

I wandered around a museum and watched a ballet performance. All while feeling like I was going through the five stages of grief.

I kept it from my mum, not wanting to worry her.

In other conversations, I said I was feeling okay. I was determined to focus on the positives.

I would not feel the impact immediately, as I was expected at work for several more months.

I also had the opportunity to apply for roles within the company, and I knew I had a decent chance at them.

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Finally, I did not have large financial commitments. I did not have a mortgage or children.

Then the insecurities crept in, and these were much harder to talk about. I felt shame, even though we were told the restructuring was not based on performance.

I questioned if I was employable in an industry that I had spent a decade in.

I stacked myself up against my colleagues, many of whom were trying for roles in the restructuring, and external applicants.

I contended with how I would feel if I failed to get a role, and as importantly, how that would look. The optics bothered me and there was nothing I could do but sit with uncomfortable feelings.

I can only imagine what was running through my dad’s mind in the late 1990s, when retrenchment was a taboo subject.

He was the sole breadwinner supporting a mortgage, my mum and I, and with more at stake than existential thoughts and a bruised ego.

Retrenchment is viewed differently now. Just look at the LinkedIn networking platform, which is peppered with posts on job losses.

The responses are overwhelmingly positive, offering comfort and, more often than not, connections to a new gig.

As one retrenched worker put it: “The response from you all has been so supportive and genuinely encouraging that it almost makes a girl want to get laid off more often! Emphasis on the almost...”

In the current economic climate, with companies from Microsoft to the Bumble dating app announcing layoffs, people are using the platform to talk about the grief associated with losing a job.

I have benefited from this, as it reminds me that retrenchment is a relatively common experience.

But I could not find the words for a post, and having to engage in a public space felt like too much of a burden.

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Grief, however, had a way of reminding me that it needed some place to go. I was hypersensitive and erratic, and I knew I needed to accept that things would not be the same.

With the restructuring, I lost a job that I loved, which came with a range of functions. I lost colleagues, many of whom had become friends.

In choosing to leave the company, despite being offered roles, I gave up the prestige that comes with working for a global organisation.

Giving grief an airing looks like this to me. In the immediate aftermath of the restructuring, my colleagues and I spoke a lot, sharing our worries, encouragement and practical resources.

This grounded me during a challenging time when I was often working the early shift, and spending the afternoons and evenings at interviews.

I am seeing a counsellor, which was a benefit offered to affected staff. She has helped me to balance my identity as a journalist with the other things I value.

I told my loved ones about my struggles. I put aside thoughts of whether my feelings were valid and focused on what I knew I was carrying.

Somewhere along the way, I told my mum. “Never mind,” she said. “Remember to eat well or else you will have no energy.”

I learnt a big lesson. The stigma of retrenchment is nowhere as strong as my dad’s experience, but it still carries a sting.

During the process, I felt most comfortable keeping silent, thinking it was the best way to figure out the next steps. That silence magnified my inner turmoil. In crises, we are often our harshest judges.

We live in a world that I hope has become kinder to downturns, failures and messy feelings.

I don’t think I have grown more comfortable with putting my thoughts online. But I did not have to look far for support, with people who were willing to see me through a difficult season.

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