Coaching the Recently Jobless
Telling someone to just bounce back after losing a job is like telling someone to rebuild a house while they’re still standing in the ashes. Not only is it premature, it completely ignores the human behind the career story—the part that’s burned, bewildered, and wondering what just happened.
Job loss, whether it’s called a layoff, a redundancy, or “a strategic pivot,” is rarely just about the job. It’s about identity. Structure. Self-worth. And in some cases, survival. When a client sits across from me (virtually or otherwise) after being let go, they’re not just looking for a résumé review—they’re trying to piece themselves back together.
Here’s the truth that many leaders, colleagues, and even well-meaning family members miss: losing your job can feel like being ejected from the tribe. It activates something ancient. It can feel like rejection, failure, and exile all rolled into one. So when a client shows up in that state, I don’t coach them like someone who needs fixing. I coach them like someone who’s in grief.
Because they are.
Start with the grief. Stay with it long enough.
I’ve coached high performers who went from running large teams to sitting at home in their sweatpants wondering if they imagined their competence. Some feel ashamed. Others feel numb. Some want to leap into the next thing immediately just to escape the discomfort.
But here’s what I’ve learned: urgency to “move on” too quickly often skips over what’s still tender. I make space for them to tell the unvarnished version of what happened. The confusion. The anger. The ego hit. And sometimes, surprisingly, the relief.
Grief is data. Relief is, too. We don’t need to rush to reframe everything as a learning opportunity. Sometimes the bravest thing a client can do is say, “That really hurt,” and let that truth stand without dressing it up.
From there, we build. But gently.
I offer scaffolding, not a bootcamp. I might start with three grounding questions:
- What do you need right now—today—not forever?
- What do you still know to be true about yourself, no matter what title you do or don’t have?
- What part of you might finally have some breathing room now that this role is gone?
The third one always takes them a second. And that’s fine. I’ve had clients whisper, “I think… I might sleep better now,” or “I won’t have to mute myself anymore in meetings.” That’s not toxic positivity. That’s insight emerging through the fog.
Let’s not confuse corporate decisions with personal inadequacy.
When someone is told they’re redundant, it’s easy to internalize that word. “Redundant” sounds like something disposable, unneeded. That’s when we untangle the systems at play—budget cuts, restructures, leadership changes—from their sense of self.
I often say: The market is not a mirror. Your layoff doesn’t define your value—it reflects an equation that had nothing to do with your worth.
And then comes the confidence rebuild.
This part? Messy. Nonlinear. Also… creative. I invite clients to experiment without a five-year plan. That might look like:
- Reaching out to someone they admire with no agenda
- Revisiting a long-buried passion or skill
- Volunteering or freelancing in a new domain
- Journaling their way through values and patterns
I once had a client who—after years in healthcare operations—took a free UX design class “just to try something different.” That spark turned into a new career path. But she never would’ve found it if she’d gone straight into résumé-polishing mode.
Sometimes the most powerful thing I can offer isn’t a new direction—it’s permission to meander until clarity arrives. Because clarity isn’t always immediate. But it is trustworthy once it lands.
Of course, the spiral still happens. One recruiter ghosting them can reignite old fears. That’s why I normalize the emotional backslide. The trick is to help them notice it sooner and respond with self-compassion instead of self-doubt.
Coaching someone through job loss isn’t about fixing—it’s about remembering.
Helping them remember who they were before the business card.
Helping them notice what they want to carry forward, and what they’re ready to leave behind.
Helping them realize that, even when a door slams, their story isn’t over.
Sometimes it’s just a chapter break.
And sometimes? The chapter that comes next—the one they didn’t see coming—is the one where they finally write their own rules.
