Facing Possible Retrenchment: Ways to Find Calm in the Uncertainty
There’s a particular kind of stillness that comes when you hear whispers of retrenchment—when the job you’ve built your days around starts to feel uncertain. Not because anything official has been said, but because something in the air has shifted. Meetings feel heavier. Emails go unanswered. Your usual rhythm begins to fray at the edges. Facing retrenchment uncertainty doesn’t always begin with an announcement—it often starts with these subtle, unsettling changes that quietly stir something in you.
It’s not just about the job—it’s about the stability it gave you, the structure it offered, the sense of who you were when you got up in the morning. And when that begins to wobble, so does everything else.
If you’re reading this and sitting in that space between maybe and what if, this is for you. Not to give you a quick fix. Not to gloss it over with toxic positivity. But to say: I see you.
This post won’t tell you to hustle your way through it or pretend like it doesn’t sting. What it will offer is a quiet place to land. A moment to exhale. A space to name the complexity of what you’re feeling and to begin gently figuring out what comes next, not from a place of panic, but from a place of steadiness.
You don’t have to hold it all together right now. Let this be a pause. Let this be a beginning.
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The Unfolding Landscape of Feelings
There’s no single way to feel when the possibility of retrenchment enters the room. Some moments might be laced with fear—about finances, stability, or simply facing retrenchment uncertainty without a clear path ahead. Others might bring a wave of sadness or even grief for the version of life you thought you’d be living. There may be frustration, too, at the timing, at the lack of clarity, at how little control you seem to have in all of it.
And then, there might be something else you weren’t expecting: a strange sense of relief. A quiet whisper that maybe… something needed to change. That you were tired, even before this.
All of it is valid.
You don’t need to have a tidy narrative about how you feel. You don’t need to search for a silver lining before you’re ready. This isn’t about rushing to find the lesson or spinning this into an opportunity before you’ve had a chance to breathe.
This is about giving yourself permission to feel. To not explain or justify it. To simply be in the complexity of it all.
Some days will feel heavier than others. Some hours might surprise you with their lightness. Both can exist. You’re not doing it wrong if you’re not falling apart. You’re not doing it wrong if you are.
More Than Just a Job: Identity and Worth
I didn’t expect how much the possibility of retrenchment would shake me.
At first, it was just the logistics—what this might mean for my future, the bills, the stability. But underneath all of that was something quieter, harder to name. It wasn’t just about work. It was about who I’d come to believe I was because of work.
So much of our identity can quietly become wrapped up in our roles. We spend years building careers, showing up, getting things done—and somewhere along the way, those roles become part of how we see ourselves. A title. A to-do list. A sense of purpose.
When that feels like it’s slipping, it’s disorienting.
I had to remind myself—sometimes more than once—that I am still me. Still capable. Still valuable. Still here.
And if you’re sitting with that same discomfort right now, I want to gently offer this: it’s okay to question who you are beyond the job. It’s not indulgent or selfish. It’s necessary. It’s part of the re-rooting.
Maybe take a few quiet moments to reflect—no pressure to solve anything, just notice what surfaces:
- What matters to me, whether or not it fits on a resume.
- What do I bring to a room, beyond what I produce?
- Have I left parts of myself behind just to keep up, and do I want them back?
- Who am I, even when the title fades?
You don’t need a polished answer. You’re allowed to be in the in-between. But I hope you remember: your work may shift, but your worth remains. Unhooking your worth from your work can feel like unfamiliar territory. It takes reflection. It takes care.
Finding Your Ground While Facing Retrenchment Uncertainty
There’s something disorienting about waiting. Waiting to know. Waiting for clarity. Waiting to land somewhere solid again. When I found myself in that space—between the knowing and the not-knowing, quietly facing retrenchment uncertainty—I wasn’t looking for ways to “stay productive” or push through. I just wanted to feel like myself again. Even if only in glimpses.
Here are a few things that helped. Not fixes. Not formulas. Just quiet companions that kept me tethered when everything else felt like it might float away.
Reading Out Loud (Even When It Felt Silly)
I started reading poems out loud to myself, first thing in the morning or just before bed. Something about hearing the cadence of someone else’s truth helped me feel less alone in my own. Sometimes it was Mary Oliver. Sometimes, a page from a random poetry journal I picked up secondhand. The softness of poetry gave me language for things I didn’t know how to name.
If you’re looking for something to begin with, try whispering a line like, “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” (Rilke)
Making My Bed Slowly
Not in the Pinterest-perfect way, but as a ritual. I’d smooth the sheets. Fluff the pillow. Tuck the corners. It became my way of saying, “This is mine. This space still belongs to me.” In a world where I couldn’t control outcomes, creating a bit of calm around me felt like reclaiming a tiny kind of peace.
It taught me that tending to a space could also be a way of tending to myself.
Giving My Worries a “Time Slot”
This one surprised me. I set aside 10 minutes a day to worry on purpose. That sounds strange, I know—but hear me out. During that time, I could write, rant, cry, list worst-case scenarios… no judgment, just permission. And once that timer went off, I’d close the notebook or walk away. It didn’t make the worry vanish, but it helped keep it from bleeding into every part of the day.
This gave my fear a container, so it didn’t take up the whole room.
Tracking Moments, Not Progress
Instead of journaling goals or gratitude lists (which sometimes felt like pressure), I just started jotting down moments that made me feel… okay. A sunbeam across the floor. A message from someone I hadn’t spoken to in a while. A deep breath that came easier than the one before. I didn’t analyze them. I just collected them—like proof that life was still unfolding. If you’re seeking something to help you stay grounded amid the unknown, ‘Keep Going’ by Austin Kleon is a quiet, creative companion.
It reminded me that presence is its own kind of progress.
The Gift of Journaling (A Different Kind of Prayer)
Writing became one of the ways I spent time with God, especially on the days when I didn’t know what to pray. When I wasn’t sure if I had the right words, or any words at all. To be honest, without needing to be fixed.
Some days, I asked questions I didn’t expect answers to. Other times, I wrote like I was talking to a friend who already knew everything and just wanted me to show up.
Not everything I wrote made sense. Sometimes it was messy or repetitive. But somewhere between the scribbles, I found something sacred—clarity, yes, but also a softness. A sense that God was sitting beside me in the uncertainty, not waiting for me to sort it all out before showing up.
It wasn’t about writing beautifully. It was about being with the truth. And letting that be enough.
None of these things fixed the uncertainty. But they gave me something to hold onto. Something to return to. When we’re in between what was and what’s next, we don’t always need a plan. Sometimes, we just need something that brings us home to ourselves.
Let me know if you’d like to move to the next section: Reimagining What Comes Next (Without Needing All the Answers).
Your Inner Landscape of Capability Remains
One of the hardest parts of facing retrenchment—especially when it’s still just a possibility—is the slow, creeping doubt that starts to blur your sense of self. You find yourself wondering if all the effort, growth, and experience you’ve carried mean anything without the structure to hold it. The job title. The daily rhythm. The email signature that used to anchor your sense of worth.
It’s a quiet unraveling. Not loud or dramatic. Just a slow peeling away of the pieces that once made you feel sure.
But here’s something I had to learn—something I still remind myself of, sometimes daily:
What made you capable didn’t live in the job. It lives in you.
The hours you’ve spent solving problems no one else saw. The strength you’ve gathered from deadlines you thought you couldn’t meet. The care you’ve shown in meetings, in conversations, and in staying late just to make sure things worked. That doesn’t vanish just because the container might change.
This isn’t about clinging to false positivity or rushing to reframe your pain into “growth.” It’s about noticing what’s still here. Still steady. Still yours.
Yes, it’s disorienting to feel like you’re standing at the edge of something unchosen. And no, you don’t need to map out a new life overnight. But if you can begin to trust that who you are—your wisdom, your intuition, your work ethic, your perspective—didn’t get left behind, then maybe you can take the next small step. Not toward reinvention. But toward remembering.
You are not starting from zero, but from experience. From strength gathered in quiet, skills shaped in tension, and values you didn’t trade, even when things were hard.
Navigating the Practicalities with Gentle Strength
There comes a point—somewhere between disbelief and acceptance—when the questions begin to shift. Not just “Why is this happening?” but “What do I do now?”
This isn’t about rushing into action. It’s about tending to the pieces that will eventually help you feel steady again. You don’t have to have it all figured out, but some practical steps—taken gently, in your own time—can begin to soften the sharp edges of uncertainty.
Ask the Questions You Need
If you’re unsure about what this retrenchment process means, ask. Gather the information that will help you make informed choices. You’re allowed to advocate for yourself, even while feeling fragile. Whether you’re negotiating your next steps or simply finding clarity around facing retrenchment uncertainty.
Understand Your Rights and Entitlements
It’s okay if you’re not sure where to begin. Many of us aren’t. Reach out to HR or seek trusted legal or financial guidance to understand what you’re owed and what support you’re eligible for. This isn’t just about paperwork—it’s about protecting your peace of mind. To learn more about your rights during this process, the South African Labour Guide provides trusted and up-to-date information.
Start Looking (If You Feel Ready)
No rule says you have to wait for everything to fall apart before you begin again. If it feels manageable, consider quietly updating your CV, browsing job boards, or reconnecting with your network. Not as a fix, but as a reminder that there are still possibilities ahead. Searching for a new job doesn’t erase the grief or stress of what’s happening. But it can be one thread of hope.
Lean Into Support
You don’t need to carry the weight alone. A few trusted voices who can remind you of who you are outside of this moment—they all count. Let yourself be held, even if it’s just by a conversation over coffee.
Take an Honest Look at Your Finances
This might be the most tender part. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed by it. Start small. Know what’s available to you. Know what can wait. A calm look at your financial picture can be a grounding act of care, not control, just clarity.
Go Gently With Yourself
Some days you’ll feel strong. Others, you won’t. That’s not weakness—it’s being human. You don’t need to respond to every email or update your LinkedIn all in one sitting. Give yourself permission to pace it out. You’re navigating more than logistics—you’re navigating loss, change, and the beginning of something new.
In closing
This shift might feel like it’s rearranging everything. And in some ways, maybe it is. But even in the midst of uncertainty, your life hasn’t paused. It’s still unfolding. Slowly, quietly, often without your permission—and yet still full of possibility.
You are not the title you held. Not the structure you once fit neatly into. You are a whole person, with wisdom shaped by lived experience, and strength that doesn’t always announce itself. This isn’t the end of your story. It might not even be the middle. It’s just one chapter that asks to be met gently and with honesty.
You don’t have to leap into clarity. You don’t have to feel ready. But maybe, when the moment comes, you’ll take one small step—not because you’ve figured everything out, but because you’re learning to trust yourself in new ways.
If you’re navigating this shifting ground, please know: you are not alone. You are not behind. You are not broken. You are simply becoming—again.
And in case no one has said it yet today: I’m proud of you for still showing up.
Let this be your quiet permission slip—to feel, to question, to rest, and to hope again… at your own pace.
