Living Through Company Cuts: A Healing Journey from Every Side

In the corporate world, the phrase “company cuts” can feel cold, almost sterile—just business, just numbers. But for those of us who’ve lived through them, those cuts aren’t just numbers. Their names. Their stories. They’re families, friendships, and futures that shift in an instant.

I wanted to write this because I’ve experienced company cuts from nearly every angle. I’ve been the wife watching my husband survive four rounds of layoffs after 20 years of loyalty. I’ve been the longtime employee grieving the sudden loss of trusted coworkers and mentors. I’ve sat on HR teams helping companies prepare for changes that would affect families I deeply cared about. I’ve also been the one who remained, watching colleagues walk away, while wondering why I still had a seat.

In today’s world, more and more people are facing these difficult, uncertain moments. I see your fear, your anger, your confusion—and I want to share how we survived, and how you can, too. This is our story. These are the steps that helped us hold on to faith, hope, communication, clarity, and perseverance through the storm.

There is always sunshine at the end of every storm

A Wife and Mother Watching the Cuts Close In

My husband has worked for the same company for over 20 years. We’ve survived four rounds of layoffs—each one like standing on a trembling cliff, unsure if the ground beneath us would hold. Every time we got the news that he still had his job, there was relief, yes. But also guilt. Exhaustion. Anxiety.

What got us through:

Faith: We started each morning with prayer. Some days were silent. Sometimes, we would just cry together. But we always began with faith. That gave us strength when we couldn’t find it ourselves.

Hope: We reminded each other that even if the worst happened, we’d still have each other. We talked about what we could build next. Hope gave us vision beyond fear.

Communication: We checked in constantly. With each other. With our kids. We didn’t pretend everything was fine—but we kept the conversation honest, gentle, and open. That openness kept us connected instead of isolated.

Clarity: We sat down and made lists. We looked at our savings. We trimmed our budget. We asked: What can we let go of to protect what matters most? Practical steps helped reduce panic.

Perseverance: We kept showing up. He went to work every day like it mattered—because it did. I kept our routines steady at home. We chose to move forward together, even when we were scared.

What I’ve learned: You don’t need certainty to feel safe—you just need to know you’re not facing it alone.

Take the time to reflect find your quiet spot and really look at life

The Employee Who Lost Her People

I spent over ten years at a company I loved. I had a rhythm—a work family. I knew who I was there. And then the cuts came. One by one, I watched my coworkers disappear from the Zoom screen. My boss—the person who had mentored me—was gone. Suddenly, the world I’d built felt hollow.

How I got through:

Let yourself grieve: It’s a loss. Don’t minimize it. I cried in my car. I journaled at night. I allowed myself to feel angry and abandoned. And that gave me space to start healing.

Lean on connection: I reached out. To coworkers. To friends. We created a group chat. We checked on each other. I learned that healing doesn’t happen alone—it happens in community.

Return to routines: I made myself get dressed each morning. I took walks. I cooked dinner instead of ordering takeout. Familiar routines helped restore a sense of control.

Reframe the story: Their decision didn’t define my value. I repeated to myself, 'You are still worthy.' You are still strong. You are more than this title.

Find purpose again: Eventually, I started volunteering at a shelter once a week. Helping others reminded me of the light I still carried, even when I felt empty.

You may lose a job, but you don’t lose your gifts. They’re still yours to give.

The HR Heartache: Planning the Unthinkable

Working in HR during cuts was one of the hardest experiences of my career. I wasn’t delivering the news directly, but I was in the rooms where it was planned. I helped build the lists. I saw the names. And I knew the families, birthdays, and backstories behind each one.

How I stayed grounded:

Lead with heart: Even when I couldn’t change the outcome, I could still advocate for people. I pushed for clear communication, transition support, and dignity in the process.

Humanize the data: Every spreadsheet row was a life. I reminded my team of that in every meeting. I said their names out loud.

Support quietly: Afterward, I’d text some of those employees. I offered LinkedIn help, resume edits, and references. Just because it was “business” didn’t mean I had to stop caring.

Protect my peace: I journaled. I meditated. I got outside. I prayed for the people impacted. Carrying their stories took a toll, and I had to refill my own cup to keep supporting others.

Even behind the scenes, we can lead with grace. Quiet compassion changes everything.

Look at the small things

The Survivor’s Guilt: Still Employed, Still Hurting

After a major round of cuts, I kept my job. But walking back into work felt like stepping onto a ghost ship. The silence was louder than the loss. I missed the laughter. I missed the people. I felt guilt gnawing at me: Why me? Why not them?

How I moved forward:

Name the guilt: I stopped pretending. I said it out loud to a friend: I feel guilty for having a paycheck when others don’t. That helped ease the weight.

Reach out: I messaged the people who were laid off. I asked how they were doing. I offered to share job leads or write referrals. That action gave my guilt somewhere to go.

Make space for healing: I cried at my desk. I lit a candle at home in memory of the coworkers I lost. I gave myself grace to feel the complexity of being “lucky.”

Rebuild community: I started checking in more with those still on the team. I helped organize a virtual coffee chat. Slowly, I started rebuilding a new sense of connection.

Celebrate what’s left: I didn’t want to—but I had to. I looked for the good. The coworkers are still here. The moments of joy. The gift of still showing up.

Survival doesn’t mean you're untouched. It means you still have something to offer. Don’t waste your voice.