What I learned when I was furloughed

It happened quickly. That morning, I headed to my desk with a steaming cup of coffee. I had a task at hand, a to-do list and a purpose. By that afternoon, I didn’t. I was furloughed. The timeline wasn’t gentle, either: my last day was tomorrow. And there was no end date to return to work.

In the few weeks leading up to this day, we’d been working from home, pulling extra hours, anxiously pivoting our messaging and reinventing strategies and sharing competitor examples. We were in crisis mode. But it all came to a halt pretty quickly amid a tidal wave of change: COVID-19. 

I’m not a workaholic, by any means. I take work-life balance seriously. I carve out time for a personal life. But when I’m working, I put in 150% effort. I care. 

My biggest challenge at work is my ever-present, stubborn and unchanging gut instinct to take everything personally. Early in my career, it was hard: every piece of feedback, even the slightest hint of criticism, left me exhausted, humbled and questioning everything. I tried to implement the well-intentioned advice from mentors and friends (namely, “just don’t take it personally, Em!”) but always found myself back in the plane, flying over reason and into disaster. Pretty soon, I realized I wasn’t going to change—but maybe that’s just who I am.

So, instead of fighting that instinct to take things to heart, I learned to control it. Rather than not taking it personally, I landed the plane in a universe I could handle: it matters enough to me that I do care.

Of all things I spend time on, the majority of my time is spent at work: so at the very least, I figured, it ought to be a little bit personal.

It does matter to me. And that’s okay. 

I shifted from blame and shame to openness and gratitude: every piece of feedback meant something to me. Every obstacle to success mattered enough to reflect on it. Every metric that didn’t hit goal was an opportunity to learn and do better. This kind of sensitivity served me well, and I hit my stride in an environment where others were as intentional, thoughtful and (yes!) personal as I was. 

Then came the furlough. Uncharted territory for we sensitive types. I went through all the stages of grief. Nothing made it easier. 

When something like this happens, it’s easy to see from the outside that it’s just a moment in an otherwise successful and meaningful career. It might even be for the better. But while you’re in it, sometimes it helps to just tell it like it is: this matters to me. And that’s okay. 

I spent the better part of that week feeling confused and a little bit heartbroken. Every update in the news about my company felt like an insult. Later, I learned that any organization is legally forbidden from sending communications to furloughed colleagues—but at the time, I wondered, why do I feel so out of the loop? 

But here’s what they don’t tell you. When you lose colleagues, you gain friends. I was (from a safe social distance) surrounded by the same thoughtful and intentional people who inspired me to see this as a gift of time; an opportunity to create something new. 

So we did. We built websites. Created our own brands (Hi, Fit to Get Well!). We told stories. Shared passion projects. We reinvented resumes, researched opportunities, brainstormed career paths. Every day got a little easier, and admitting that I care about my career, that it matters to me, that I take it to heart—that’s what made it into a meaningful transition. 

I found myself in uncharted territory (again) and turned a slew of side-hustles into something new: self-employment. And even after being called back to work after the months-long furlough, what I learned during it was invaluable: whatever I do next, it’ll be something I take to heart.