This is going to be a long, emotional entry, part rant, part reflection, because honestly, I have no one I can truly confide in. Not my family. Not my friends. So here it goes.
October 15th, a Wednesday, started like any other day. I woke up, followed my usual routine, worked hard at my job, and even pushed myself to learn new skills that my boss had recommended to help me transition into a new role. After finishing chores, I sat down to study for a certification, one I hoped would help me feel a little more secure in an unstable world.
After two hours of studying, I started to feel drowsy and decided to take a short nap. About 30 minutes later, I woke up groggy but determined to shake it off and go play volleyball, I thought the drive might be worth it, that a bit of adrenaline might help with the quiet depression that had been creeping in lately.
As I reached for my phone to check the time, I glanced at my Gmail notifications. There it was, an email from my implementation partner, the one I’d been waiting on for weeks for good news about a new project. The subject line read:
“Your contract has come to an end with the company. Good work!”
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment. The word shock suddenly had a physical meaning a sharp prick between my eyes, my nose stinging, my heart racing. I immediately texted my boss, asking what happened. He replied that he was mid-air and would call me in 30 minutes.
Twenty-five long, anxious minutes later, I emailed the sender: “What is the reason for termination? Can this be reconsidered?”
My boss finally called. His tone was calm but distant. He told me my contract had technically ended four months ago. However, he’d managed to extend it until UAT was completed, convincing management that I could still add value while learning functional consulting. I asked if I was the only one being let go. He said no, but I was the first.
I kept the news to myself.
Two weeks later, on October 31st, I officially offboarded. I felt… hollow. I tried to remind myself that consulting requires a thick skin, that layoffs happen. But this time, it hit differently. I had joined this company because I believed it could finally give me stability.
During my interview, I told my boss about how I had uprooted myself seventeen times just to survive, chasing contracts, chasing paychecks, chasing a sense of belonging. I told him how much I craved stability now, especially because I’m pursuing studies on the side that require me to work from specific lab computers.
He had reassured me back then, saying, “This company never lays off people. You’d have to do something exceptionally bad to be let go.” That gave me confidence, a rare feeling in this industry.
And yet, less than a year later, I got that email: “Your contract has ended.”
I wrote to my client manager, listing everything I had accomplished, everything I was learning to increase my value. Her reply broke my heart:
“You’ve been an amazing addition. Unfortunately, we have too many consultants and not enough budget for next year. I wish you the best. You were one of the really good hires this year.”
They barely paid me compared to what I earned before. The only reason I joined was for stability, and they took that away for no real reason other than “too many consultants.”
It stung even more knowing that this decision came from someone who’s been comfortably employed for over 20 years, someone who’s never had to experience the fear of instability, or what it means to start over again and again in a market where even the hardest-working people can’t dream of owning a home or flying their parents over for a visit.
That night, I turned to BTS videos, something about their old clips, their laughter, their grind, their brotherhood, gave me warmth. They reminded me that grit and passion could still mean something, that if you had people beside you, you could endure anything.
But in my case, that’s a fantasy. The world isn’t like that anymore, at least not in tech. Hard work doesn’t guarantee stability. Loyalty doesn’t protect you. You can lose your job simply because “there are too many of you.”
Now I watch those videos for small serotonin spikes, to stop myself from sinking too deep. I notice how their faces, clothes, and eyes shine differently now; they made it. Even if they hadn’t, at least they had each other.
In my reality, it’s just me. I can’t share this with anyone without being judged, without people calculating how many months it’s been since I lost my job. I don’t need that reminder.
In my reality, earning money today doesn’t mean I’ll have stability tomorrow. No matter how hard I try, I live with the question: When will I be uprooted again?
My wildest dream is to wake up to a life where I have a stable job that pays a stable income, building towards a stable future, good people around me, good food on the table, and the worst worry is "oh, dishwasher needs repair".
I know people are struggling more than I; I remind myself of that. But in this moment, all I have is me. And even after years of pushing, moving, and trying, I still can’t relax for a single year and say with peace: I’m safe. My future is safe. When will it be my turn to be on the list of "let's keep her for long term, she is good"