You got let go. But why does it hurt so much?
Being let go is never just professional. It stirs up insecurities, activates old wounds, and touches places we didn't know were so fragile.
Almost all of us have been through this. Either we got laid off. Or we had to lay someone off. Or we watched someone close to us go through it.
And it's almost always the same script: HR sends the email. The boss rehearses what he's going to say. The meeting lasts ten minutes. And on to the next thing. But... does it really work like that?
That "clean and professional" script looks right. But often it's just a way to avoid looking at what's actually breaking. Because a layoff isn't paperwork. It's a cut. And it hurts.
What if that famous "objectivity" is nothing more than a disguise to avoid feeling anything? What if talking little, moving fast, and acting like nothing happened is exactly what leaves the wound open?
Wanted to avoid the drama?
You ended up creating a silent trauma.
Is it really efficient? Every time someone is let go without space, without a word, without meaning, something also breaks in the people who stay. In the team. In the culture. In the trust.
Because a layoff is never just professional. It stirs up insecurities, activates old wounds, touches places we didn't even know were so fragile.
And if we don't think it through, it stays floating. Like a knot nobody untied.
If you got laid off: why does it hurt so much? Rejection. Shame. Anger. Devaluation. A feeling of emptiness.
It's not exaggeration. It's not drama. It's real. It's emotional. And it makes sense.
Two things make the blow hurt more
The wound to the ego
Since childhood we believe (and need to believe) that we matter. That we occupy a place. That we're worth something.
Work often reinforces that idea: it gives us identity, recognition, structure. It makes us feel like somebody.
That's why, when we get laid off, we feel like we're nobody anymore. That something inside us broke.
And no, it's not just the position or the salary. It's the image we had of ourselves. And the idea that everything was under control.
What breaks with the other person
At work we also build bonds. Not just working relationships: affection, routines, loyalties. Sometimes the boss represents more than we think. Sometimes the company becomes a kind of family.
When we get laid off, something breaks that isn't just contractual. Something emotional, symbolic breaks.
It's not just the income that goes away. It's the place where you were recognized, where you knew how to move, where you even felt cared for.
That's why it feels like betrayal. Or abandonment. Even if it's "just" a job.
And if on top of that everything is cold, without explanation or support, the wound becomes harder to close. Because you didn't just lose a position: a bond broke. And that also needs grieving.
When anger demands revenge
After the blow, it's normal to imagine revenge. That they realize it. That they lose. That they suffer like you did.
And yes, that fantasy has its own logic: when something hurts us, we look for someone to blame. And we put it all on the other person. "He was the bad guy." "I'm the good one."
But that way of seeing things doesn't help. It traps us in a place with no way out.
Because nobody is only a victim or only an executioner. And as long as we can't see that we all have good parts and ugly parts, the story doesn't get worked through. It repeats.
Getting out of black-and-white thinking isn't about justifying. It's about being able to integrate. And by integrating, letting go.
Shame: the thing nobody says (but that weighs on you)
Shame of saying it out loud. Of people finding out. Of "having failed."
Sometimes that shame hurts more than the layoff itself. It makes you hide. Or act like nothing happened. Or overcompensate.
But shame of what? Of not being perfect? Of your story not being a straight line?
Shame shows up when we feel we've disappointed someone — or ourselves.
And it feeds on silence.
Grief: what actually helps (even if it hurts)
A layoff is a loss. And like every loss, it needs to be thought through, felt, worked through.
And what exactly is lost? More than it seems.
The position goes away. Yes. But also: the routine, the coworkers you saw every day, the WhatsApp group, the status, however small it was.
All of that builds your identity. And when it falls apart, you have to put yourself back together.
Want to start working through it? Try this:
- Name the pain.
What hurt the most? What part of you was deeply invested there?
- Don't fall into automatic guilt.
Being let go doesn't mean you're not good enough. It isn't always fair. And even if there were mistakes, they don't define you.
- Find someone you can really talk to.
Not everyone can listen. But when you find someone who can, and who doesn't judge, something else opens up. Because what gets said no longer weighs the same. And what gets named starts to loosen its grip.
- Give yourself time.
There's no deadline for "getting over it." There are processes. Yours has its own pace. Stay with it.
They let you go, but they didn't erase you
A layoff is an ending. But it doesn't have to be a blackout. It hurts, yes. Especially when everything happens fast, without words, as if you didn't matter.
But you do matter.
And as long as you can't understand what happened — and what it stirred up in you — closure doesn't come. It stays open. Confusing. Stuck.
Psychoanalysis isn't there to tell you everything passes. It's there to help you think through what happened to you. And that, even if it hurts, sets you free.
Because between being let go and being erased… there's a huge difference.
And what saves you isn't forgetting it. It's being able to think it through.
If this stirred something in you, don't cover it up. Talking, writing, thinking: whatever gets you out of the silence is already a first step.
Now that you know all this, what are you going to do with what it stirred up?
