Just laid off? Here’s how to figure out what’s next
When I was laid off from my dream job, these storytelling practices helped me figure out an even better future.
Liz Morrison
Five years ago, I sat under a tree and cried.
When I was laid off from my dream job, these storytelling practices helped me figure out an even better future.
Liz Morrison
Five years ago, I sat under a tree and cried.
It was Cinco de Mayo 2020, and I woke up to an email: I was being
laid off from my dream job as a global creative lead at Airbnb, one of 25% of the company being let go that morning as the pandemic hit the travel industry hard.
I walked to the park in a daze, fully masked (remember those days?),
found a tree, and broke down. Around me, life went on. Kids laughed.
Dogs barked. Sun filtered through branches like nothing had changed.
But for me, everything had.
Layoffs surged to their highest levels since COVID-19 as of July 2025, so if you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you or someone you love has felt this sting recently, too.
First, I’m sorry that happened to you. I know how disorienting and
painful job loss can be. The grief is real. The uncertainty can feel
overwhelming. And the identity shake-up? That hits different.
Here’s what I also want you to know: This may be the end of one
story, but it’s also the start of a new, more incredible story that you
can write entirely on your own terms.
Whether you’re navigating a career transition or just hearing that
quiet voice whispering “Maybe there’s something more,” I want to share
two storytelling practices that helped me find my way post-layoff.
They’ve since guided hundreds of my Story Coaching clients through their
own turning points, too.
In the weeks after my layoff, I ping-ponged between anxiety (“Apply
to jobs NOW!”) and grief over my lost identity and work community. But
then I realized I was in a “turn-the-page” moment. I would tell this
story again and again. What kind of story did I want it to be?
Psychologist Dan McAdams calls this a “narrative choice.”
How we frame our experiences to build personal meaning. And these
choices have real consequences. People who carry contamination
narratives (stories that start good and end bad) experience higher rates
of anxiety and depression. But people who frame their experiences as
redemption narratives (stories that start bad but end good) report more
confidence, connection to purpose, and better mental health.
In other words, his research shows that shifting our narrative predicts and precedes psychological well-being. Consciously choosing a redemption narrative will set you on the path to feeling better.
After my layoff, I told myself: “This is a story of the time I lost
my job. But it’s going to be a story of the time I find myself.”
Your reflection prompt: After you’ve had your
moment crying under the proverbial tree (we all need it), you have a
choice. You can frame this transition as something that happened to
you—that you’re a victim of circumstances who has to take whatever comes
next. Or you can see this as an unexpected plot twist that becomes the
catalyst for your most intentional and aligned chapter yet. The
narrative you choose will determine every action you take next.

Once I stopped panic-applying to jobs, I took time to ask: What do I really want to do?
I’d spent 15 years telling other people’s stories—from the Obama
campaign and Airbnb to a wild summer working on a Bravo dating show—but
had never explored my own.
So I cataloged my career chapters with names like “My Year of Hope
and Change” and “Post-Airbnb Identity Crisis & Reset.” Patterns
emerged immediately. I loved creating spaces for people to use their
stories to create impact, but I seriously dreaded office politics. I
thrived most when I created and shaped a role myself, but I struggled in
positions with narrow job descriptions or restricted responsibilities.
This clarity gave me the confidence to start my Story Coaching
business instead of returning to a more traditional role. Now I spend my
days doing exactly what lights me up, which is helping individuals and
teams navigate crossroads using their personal stories as a guide, all
without the corporate bureaucracy that always drained me.
When we take a pause to map our experiences, we discover themes and
threads we can’t see when we’re moving too fast. Your career chapters
hold clues about what energizes you, what drains you, and what you’re
uniquely built to do next.
I call this practice Narrative Navigation: Using your past, present,
and possible stories to create a compass that transforms “what now?”
into “this way forward.”
Your reflection prompt: Take some time to
outline your career chapters. Give them creative names, and reflect on
what you liked (or didn’t) about the work, people, and compensation.
What patterns emerge about what you love, what you’ve outgrown, and
where you want to go next?
If you want to dive deeper into this exercise, I’ve created a worksheet that walks you through mapping your career chapters to uncover your unique wisdom and direction.
Five years later, that moment sobbing under the tree launched my
journey as an entrepreneur. The ending I feared became the best
beginning. The layoff forced me to figure out who I was beyond my job
title. Reflecting on my own stories helped me get clear on what I
actually wanted to work toward. Now I get to witness my Story Coaching
clients having similar breakthroughs every day, work that feels
infinitely more meaningful than anything I did in corporate life.
Now it’s your turn. Pause. Reflect. Choose the narrative that serves
you. Trust that everything you’ve lived has prepared you for what’s
coming. When you’re ready, don’t forget to share your story. You never
know who needs to hear it or what doors it might open.
Your next chapter is waiting around the corner . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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