Corporatology 005: The Gift of Goodbye

Dignity, Damage, and the Space Between

“The truth will set you free — but first it will shatter the illusion.”
(Modern paraphrase, sometimes attributed to J. A. Garfield)

There’s a polished version of losing a job that lives in board decks and earnings calls.
And then there’s the lived version.

The lived version is a calendar invite with no context.
A short meeting that fractures your sense of safety.
That completely messes with your identity.
A sentence that lands faster than your nervous system can process.

No doubt, a Reduction in Force (RIF), termination, exit, separation - all the synonyms you can muster - is sometimes necessary.
It is not always evil.
But it is always consequential.

And how it’s handled matters more than most leaders realize.

Why RIFs Exist (The Part We Don’t Like to Admit)

We get it. Sometimes a RIF is genuinely unavoidable.

• A company overhired in idealistic optimism.
• Capital dried up.
• A merger or acquisition changed the math.
• The market shifted faster than the runway allowed.

Scripture is honest about seasons:

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1

Businesses have seasons, too. Growth. Pruning. Reset. Survival.

A RIF can be a form of pruning — not because people are disposable, but because the structure became unsustainable.

That doesn’t make it painless.
It does make it real.

Necessary decisions do not absolve leaders of the responsibility to handle them with care.

What the Moment Reveals

Termination becomes damaging — not just difficult — when leaders forget they are dealing with people, not headcount.

The harm rarely comes from the decision alone. It comes from the way silence precedes it, when leaders know what's coming but say nothing.
Trust erodes quietly in that space. People feel it anyway — the tension, the guarded language, the transparency that slowly disappears.
Scripture is direct about this kind of leadership: “Let your ‘Yes’ be yes, and your ‘No,’ no.” (Matthew 5:37).

You don’t have to say everything. But you do-should-must say something.

Damage deepens when urgency replaces dignity. Speed may protect the company, but dignity protects the human. A rushed delivery communicates more than leaders intend — it tells people their ending was an inconvenience. That message lingers far longer than the loss of the role itself.

It becomes heavier still when leaders refuse ownership. When the explanation hides behind “the board,” “the market,” or “the model,” employees are left holding grief with no one to attach it to. Strong leadership doesn’t deflect responsibility; it carries weight. “The integrity of the upright guides them.” (Proverbs 11:3)

People can accept hard truth. Abstraction may protect leadership, but it leaves people alone in the fallout.

And finally, a RIF goes off the rails when the emotional aftermath is treated as an HR problem instead of a human one. The moment after a layoff is not a compliance exercise — it is a trauma moment. People don’t just lose income.

We lose identity, rhythm, belonging, and confidence all at once.

When leadership disengages here, the damage doesn’t end with the meeting.
It multiplies.

What the Moment Requires

If a separation must happen, doing it well has far less to do with perfect language and far more to do with presence. Most leaders don’t intend to cause harm, but good intentions don’t always protect people from damage.

It starts with speaking earlier than feels comfortable. Clarity, even when incomplete, is kinder than silence. Faith-informed leadership understands that truth need not be brutal to be honest.

It requires leading with presence rather than scripts. A real voice. A steady tone. A willingness to sit in discomfort without rushing the moment along.
Scripture calls leaders to this kind of posture plainly: “Weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15).

There is no shortcut around grief. Trying to move past it too quickly only deepens it.

Doing it well also means owning the decision. Saying we decided instead of hiding behind the board, the market, or the model. Responsibility should not be outsourced at the very moment trust is most fragile. Leadership is revealed in the willingness to carry weight rather than redirect it.

It looks like honoring the work, not just the exit. People need to hear that their contribution mattered — not as flattery, but as truth. A role may be ending, but the work done within it does not disappear. Naming that work restores a measure of dignity in an otherwise disorienting moment.

And finally, it means caring beyond the last day.
References.
Introductions.
Time.
Grace.

Offboarding is not an administrative function — it is a leadership act.
How leaders show up after the decision often determines whether the experience becomes a wound or a turning point. In the end, it reveals more about the leader and the company than anything that came before.

You cannot make this loss painless.
But you can make it honorable.

Field Note 005

Here’s the part that took me time to see: sometimes God allows the storm because we would never move otherwise.

“When He has tested me, I will come forth as gold.”
— Job 23:10

I would not in a billion years have chosen this ending. But I can now see the ways comfort had quietly become captivity. I overfunctioned for approval, for status, for the subtle satisfaction of being needed. What looked like faithfulness on the outside was often fueled by fear underneath —
fear of being overlooked,
fear of losing relevance,
fear that rest might mean I mattered less.

The storm stripped away what I didn’t know how to lay down. The stress. The need to be available at all times. The belief that being “on” was the same thing as being faithful. When that scaffolding fell, I was left face-to-face with who I was without performance — and it was jarring.

But something else emerged in the quiet.
Peace.
Actual quiet.
The ability to hear and listen.
A clearer understanding of what matters most.
Not my role. Not my output. My life.
My faith began to deepen again, not through striving, but through stillness — listening without an agenda, resting without guilt, trusting that God was at work even when I wasn’t producing.

“He restores my soul. He leads me beside still waters.”
— Psalm 23:2–3

Still waters often come after the wind. And if I could speak to the version of myself who was gripping the old ground, I would say this: consider what’s most important — and let God reorder everything else.

Reconcile the Expense

• Terminations are not rare events. Roughly 1.5–2 million layoffs and discharges occur each month in the U.S., even outside of recessions. (U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, JOLTS)
• Recent years have seen a sharp rise in announced job cuts. Over 1 million layoffs were announced in 2025, the highest levels since the pandemic-era disruptions. (Challenger, Gray & Christmas)
• Job loss has measurable mental-health consequences. Research consistently links layoffs to increased anxiety, depression, and psychological distress compared to those who remain employed. (National Institutes of Health / PubMed Central)
• Layoffs harm those who stay. Remaining employees often experience “survivor syndrome,” marked by lower morale, reduced trust, and increased anxiety about job security. (Harvard Business Review; organizational psychology research)

A Checklist for Recovery (What Helped Me)

This isn’t a formula. And it’s certainly not exhaustive.
It’s simply what helped me regain my footing when the ground shifted.

• I met with trusted friends — people who could lift me up, tell me the truth, and point me back to the Lord when my perspective narrowed.
• I gave my days structure without pressure. I made a simple list for the day or week and chose one small, ordinary task — an odd job around the house — just to keep moving. And no frenzying.
• I returned to caring for my body. I started working out again, regularly. Movement helped quiet my mind when words couldn’t.
• I chose restraint over retaliation. I resisted the urge to berate or badmouth those who were clearly against me. Not because they deserved it — but because my peace did.
• I anchored my mornings in Scripture. I committed to reading the Bible before the day started, before the noise, before the narrative could take over.
• I practiced a new inner language. Instead of rehearsing the loss, I reminded myself: this is better — not because it was easy, but because it was clarifying.
• I defined my non-negotiables. Not for the next role, but for my life. What I would no longer trade away. What mattered most.

None of these erased the grief.
But together, they created enough stability to begin again — slowly, honestly, and without rushing the healing.

Lesson Learned

I don’t have a brilliant lesson yet. I’m still in the middle of this — still listening, still untangling what was mine to carry and what never was.

I'm still putting it away.

But some things are clear.

I’ve learned what not to do.
I won’t confuse availability with faithfulness.
I won’t overfunction to earn approval, status, or security.
I won’t mistake being needed for being valued — or productivity for purpose.

I’ve learned how easily good intentions can drift into unhealthy patterns when boundaries are blurred.
I’ve seen how quickly dignity can be lost when people are treated as roles instead of imagebearers.

What I’m learning now is quieter. Slower. Still forming. I’m learning to pause without guilt. To listen without an agenda. To consider what’s most important before rushing toward what’s next.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12

Some lessons arrive fully formed.
Others are revealed over time.

I’m allowing this one to unfold.

For Those Who Were Let Go

If this is personal for you, I want to say this clearly:

My heart is with you. I would love to pray for you.
Your worth did not leave with your badge.
Your calling did not end with a meeting.
Your future was not cancelled — it was redirected.

“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me.”
— Psalm 138:8

Sometimes God brings the storm not to destroy —
but to move us toward ground we never would have chosen, yet deeply need.

The truth is, the disciples went into the storm because Jesus sent them there. He knew the storm was coming — and still, He sent them. There is beauty in a God who leads us forward even when the waters are rough.

Purpose in the storm.

So if you’re in the middle of that storm right now — you’re not behind or lost or done-for or even wrong.

You could be precisely where you should be. And you’re absolutely being carried. 🤍