Coping with the 5 stages of grief and bereavement

I’m still processing this morning’s layoff. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out why, out of all the reporters who could have been laid off, I was the one who got the axe. My colleagues seemed just as stunned as I was; according to Sarah, Robert Mullins marched into Carole’s office afterward and launched into a diatribe about how stupid it was for her to get rid of me.

It was pretty clear from the start that the editor and publisher didn’t care for tech news. It was something they vowed to do while the sector was hot, but they never did enjoy it or even understand it. When the sector fell, my work became dispensable. That’s especially true with the paper’s shift to small-business news. Now, they’ve completely dismantled the tech team they worked so hard to recruit.

Anyway, they say that every significant loss involves five steps of grief -- I think I’m still in denial. I just can’t get myself to feel much of anything about getting laid off. Well, maybe I’m a little angry already. If that’s the case, I’m already in stage II. I’m angry that I got recruited from a job I was perfectly happy with and in an area I loved to be abandoned in this high-priced rat-hole. I’m angry that I put so much effort into this job and tried so hard to make my tech coverage stand out, only to find out too late that they couldn’t care less.

It doesn’t matter that my former editors are complete morons. A layoff is a a form of rejection, and it’s hard getting rejected by anyone, let alone someone with such influence over your standard of living.

And of course, I’m worried. I’m afraid that in this economy, I won’t be able to find another job that pays as well -- if I find a job at all.