Redundancy came for me at the end of 2024, which I guess means I should be proud: I can cross one of the clichés of working in the software industry off my list. Layoffs and cutbacks are common in these post-ZIRP times, and in some ways it was a relief to finally feel the shoe drop. This article is about my experience with the process—and the aftermath—and some thoughts and reflections now that I’ve found a new role.
Redundancy is lonely
It sounds obvious, but I’ll say it anyway: suddenly losing your daily purpose can make you feel truly alone.
Filling up the hours in the day with CV reviews and job applications is silent, solo work, and you’re extremely conscious of everybody else continuing on with their career progression while you step off the train, waving goodbye as it proceeds to the next station without you.
My experience was slightly different in that I had the chance to stay at my previous company, in a different team, but chose to take the redundancy option that was offered instead. Explaining this to my partner was no easy feat: she was (understandably) concerned that I was choosing a riskier path instead of just taking the safe route with a guaranteed salary. My redundancy payment was good, but wouldn’t last forever – I needed to find a job fairly soon.
This was difficult for us in the early days, especially as the situation evolved: my whole team was at risk of redundancy and things were developing as December progressed. This meant I was frequently checking in with my team members via calls, text messages and coffee catchups as we supported each other through the experience. Nobody else—partners included—could really understand what we were going through, and lacked all the company context and experience to truly get it. This means the experience is also a lonely one for anyone, like my partner, who was dragged into this situation with no agency or control over it. The answer? Talk about it. Be open. Be with people who understand.
Even now, three months on, I still speak to my now-former team several times a week. We’re all tracking job progress and providing support (and memes) to each other as people navigate the difficult waters of either job loss (for those affected), or job changes (for those still standing after the dust settled). This has been super useful and I recommend immediately setting up a similar support group if or when this happens to you.
The thing that has stayed with me most, though, is re-examining how I myself have behaved when friends and colleagues have been in this situation in the past. Much like when I became a parent, I’ve suddenly become uncomfortably aware of how hard this situation is, and how many people I know who have been through it with barely any acknowledgement from me.
After my team was disbanded, I was fairly surprised to completely lose touch with some colleagues and teammates almost overnight – obviously you’re no longer working together and there’s a clear line between work friendships and “real” ones. But a sympathetic message, a generic “I’ll keep an eye out for roles” DM on LinkedIn, or just a “how’s the job hunt going?” email is a real boost when you’re feeling like the whole world has moved on without you.
Redundancy gives no closure: none of us got the chance to have an official leaving “do”, card, gift or any other official acknowledgement. Instead people limped out via Slack messages and vague LinkedIn posts, with limited details and awkward airs all round. A bunch of people probably only discovered I left when they next tried to DM me a question a month or so later.
After feeling bitter about this for a while, I reasoned that I too had probably not done enough of this checking in with friends and colleagues who’d lost their roles in the past, either. It’s an awkward scenario: you don’t really know what to say or don’t have anything useful to share. And you’re probably just secretly glad it didn’t happen to you. But if you’re reading this and you know someone who’s recently posted the “I’ve unexpectedly left my job at XYZ Corp…” LinkedIn status update of shame, please just send them a note to reassure them people remember they exist.
Use your network
The best thing about redundancy was the energy boost it gave me. I dusted off my CV and immediately sent it to a smart friend who hires people like me. She gave me some incredibly useful pointers (thanks, Sal) and I dumped lots of the waffle and focused on outcomes and delivery. As you can tell by the length of this blogpost, I’m not great at brevity – but this feedback forced me to reconsider how I was presenting myself in a job market context, and I had much more success with the updated CV after this.
Multiple former managers got in touch with me when they heard my news: huge thank yous go to Frank, John and Tanya. I’m not just saying this because they each helped me with role recommendations, advice, feedback and support, but I think this is a genuine signifier of a fantastic leader of people. As someone who aspires to be where these folks are, it taught me a lot: how can you continue to be there for your people, even when they’re not “your people” any more? I’ve tried my best since then to perform the same role for my own former direct reports as we navigated this together.
In general, though, it was great to realise that I knew a bunch of people across the industry, had enough contacts who could put me forward for things or point me in the right direction, and that nobody was going to tell me to piss off if I asked them for some CV feedback or role advice. Most of the time we never need to rely on this stuff, but when redundancy comes knocking, there’s no time for embarrassment: just reach out to the people you know have got your back, and you’ll be surprised – and thankful.
Interviewing never felt this tough
Job interviews are always difficult, of course: a “sliding doors” moment where you can almost literally feel a possible new life coming into view – or vanishing forever. But the last time I interviewed for a job when not already employed was in June 2008 when I’d just graduated from university. The stakes were slightly higher this time around. Back then I didn’t have two kids and a mortgage, although on the other hand, 2025 me has a better haircut and a little bit more professional experience, so it’s 50/50.
I did around a dozen interviews during January 2025, mainly for two organisations who both had lengthy recruitment processes. The interviews themselves were challenging but fair—no nasty tricks or surprise questions—and I was given lots of information ahead of time to prepare. But I still went into each one feeling short of breath, nervous and suddenly doubting everything I’d ever done: imposter syndrome strikes.
One thing that helped was doing some breathing exercises and playing the most relaxing internet game from Web 1.0 just before each call, whose soft music helped chill me out. Once the interviews began, everything was fine – for better or worse, I’d gained all my experience already, and just needed to talk about it. But I wasn’t prepared for the intense feelings of anxiety and uncertainty once I’d finished each stage: waiting around to hear back and find out if you’ve progressed to the next stage is interminable when you’re not currently working and everything is riding on this. I suspect that if I’d been gainfully employed while interviewing, my work would’ve kept me busy for the 9-5 and consequently I wouldn’t be refreshing my Gmail every two minutes hoping for news.
That said, it’s given me a new appreciation for comms and feedback when recruiting. I’ve always tried to give candidates a good experience when I’ve been the one hiring, but I’m sure there’s more I could do. I kept a spreadsheet log of my applications and, of the places which rejected me on the basis of a CV alone, they tended to take 4-6 weeks to even do that. One place, though, turned me down literally 15 minutes after I applied, which felt so quick that I ignored their “don’t ask for feedback” message and asked them to at least tell me if there was some glaring red flag on my CV which made it so easy to filter me out. There was: I haven’t worked for any startups. On we go…
Give something back
You can’t spend all day applying for jobs, and interviewing is stressful: you’ll need time to decompress before and after. This probably means you’ll be killing time, and even if you’ve built your support group, checked in with your wider network for tips, and reorganised your desk for the fourth time, you’ll still have whole days to fill.
The best thing I did here was to use that time productively – for other people. I’m a people manager, and my job is managing software engineers and helping with their career goals and progression. I realised early on in the redundancy process that it was going to be at least a few months before I’d next sit down for a 1:1 call with an engineer I managed: how rusty was I going to be?
I posted on LinkedIn that I had some spare time available for early-career software engineers who wanted advice, ideas, interview practice or CV reviews. I reasoned that these folks need and deserve the support more than others, and posted the message. Shortly afterwards I was inundated with calendar bookings and requests for advice and had to close down the post. Now I was a little daunted: what could I offer all these people?
But we had the calls, and they were great: lots of people at the early phases of their career in tech, all passionate and dedicated to getting to the next step. In each case I tried to listen to their needs and offer my take (where they asked for it), or throw out some ideas about where they could focus next. It was nice to give something back to people (and fill my empty calendar), and also really great for me to keep some experience of talking to engineers and hearing about their concerns in this “interlude” period before someone was paying me to do it again.
This doesn’t just have to be for people managers: if you’re a software developer impacted by layoffs, you could teach a coding bootcamp class, or mentor a junior engineer, or join a local volunteer project to help OAPs get online (or similar). This stuff will remind you that you have a purpose and add value, and give you something meaningful to do in between job applications and interviews. You can also mention it in job interviews to illustrate your resourcefulness and proactiveness. What are you waiting for?
In closing
I start my new job next week. Redundancy has been a positive experience for me: I’ve ended up being able to keep most of my cash settlement, had some time out from a stressful working environment, found a better job and even managed to do some DIY around the house. It wasn’t how I planned to end 2024, but in hindsight I think the last few months have been some of the happiest I’ve spent in a year or two.
Not everyone’s experience of redundancy will be like this, and I’m very fortunate to have landed on my feet. But I think the advice above will still put you in good stead if this happens to you without any warning – or money. Keep in touch with people also affected, reach out to the people in your network who understand your worth and can help you, and give something back to the wider community to give yourself a breather from the intensity of jobhunting without an existing role.
And if you’re lucky enough to be in a job that’s not at risk? Keep an eye out for the folks you know who aren’t in this position. Send them a text, drop them some company gossip/memes, or just let them know you remember they exist and that they’ll be okay. Today you, tomorrow me, and all that.
This blogpost is dedicated to all the brilliant folks who helped me through this: AK, Jacques, JJ, Milly, Ranjeet, Rich, Nik, Riz, Sally, Frank, John, Tanya, Hannah, Isabella, Oleg, Josh, Max, and everybody else who checked in, met up for a drink, sent me a LinkedIn message (and tagged a recruiter… actually, just kidding) or anything else. I hope I can do the same for all of you when you need it, too.
And of course, biggest thanks go to Maddy, who was there alongside me through it all (and not by choice) and kept me going all the way to the finish line. ❤️