On Self-Care and Being A COVID-19 Layoff
Note: I wrote this piece before a series of events, cumulating in the murder of George Floyd, sparked an international public reckoning on the insidious nature of racism in society. As a biracial woman who has spent much of my life in majority-white spaces, the past few weeks have been an opportunity to reflect on my own experiences with racism, both racism that I have been confronted with, and racism that I have internalized. I still maintain my dedication to self-care, but I see working for racial justice—whether it be through protest, donations, contacting politicians, or having difficult conversations with friends and family—as part of that practice. I truly believe a more equitable society will lead to the collective well-being of all, and I would ask my fellow face-mask-and-meditate-and-chill aficionados to remember these words from Audre Lorde: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
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My “Individual Check-In” was scheduled for 3:30 pm on Monday, April 13th. Anyone who has faced corporate termination in the digital age is familiar with this surprise 30-minute meeting invitation. Usually, the person hosting the meeting in question will summon the invitee to the HR department, where a “parting of ways” occurs, and papers are hastily signed. White boxes are packed quickly, and the unfortunate invitee, or group of invitees, in the case of a mass layoff, are hustled politely to the nearest exit.
I have known a few people who have faced the surprise 30-minute meeting invitation, and they’ve told me that they immediately sensed the purpose of the meeting. However, when “Individual Check-In” popped up on my calendar, I thought it was an actual check-in with my supervisor. My invitation was not a summoning to HR; it wasn’t a summoning to anywhere. I was a non-essential worker, so I had been working from home for a month due to the COVID-19 crisis, and the meeting was to occur on video chat. Now, I find it ironic and almost funny—almost—that the pandemic occurring outside, nonchalantly reminding everyone of its presence through constant ambulance sirens, served as both the reason for my layoff and the reason I was oblivious to it happening. Before that 3:30 pm call on April 13th, there had been no direct talk of agency layoffs. I was honestly more concerned that I had done something wrong than that I was about to get laid off. I took a break from work for some meditation and deep breathing before the meeting. I had yet to realize this was one of many acts of self-care I would be performing in the coming days and weeks.
When I saw the look on the face of my supervisor on my laptop screen, I knew what was happening. Apologies and encouragement were offered. I had done nothing wrong, I was not the only one, and my last day would be April 15th. I was quiet but gracious. After we hung up (incidentally, that is an odd video chat conversation to try and end), I felt numb. I told my roommate, I reached out to my family and told them, and I shared the news in my various group chats. More apologies and encouragements, more of me being quiet but gracious. The numbness lasted well into the next day when I began work. Trying to work in this new reality was overwhelming, and I cried into my laptop—only time I have cried about getting laid off (I also cried during a documentary about Nora Ephron, but that’s not important). I prioritized passing my work to my remaining teammates, and began to think of my pre-pandemic desire to explore other career paths.
As life changed rapidly in those first two weeks of March, my priority had become safety and survival. I recognized my privilege and was grateful to be a salaried employee with the ability to work safely from home. Still, I found doing my job from home to be difficult, the reality of a possible layoff was looming, and underneath everything, I was not content in my position. In the wake of the layoff, I began to feel relief. It was massively inconvenient, definitely, but a major decision had been made for me by the universe. I returned to meditation, meditating on the concept of gratitude and mentally listing the reasons I had to feel grateful (my severance package, my extension of benefits through June, the fact that my family and I were healthy despite living in the epicenter of a global pandemic) I decided to live in those feelings of gratitude and relief for as long as possible.
I wrapped up on Tax Day early, sent a final message to everyone on my team, and closed my laptop, awaiting a pre-addressed envelope from my now-former employer. It arrived the next day, along with my white box of personal items. I put the computer in the mail with my building ID the following Tuesday. The chapter ended as quickly as it could, considering the circumstances. I kept focusing on those feelings of relief and gratitude, even as the unpleasant realities of filing for unemployment and filling out COBRA paperwork presented themselves. I allowed myself a few days to relax and allow myself to adjust to a new reality. I did not want to be conned into feeling inadequate or lazy by the “Shakespeare wrote King Lear in quarantine” social content, but I knew I needed a plan to support myself moving forward, which is where you find me now, working on that plan. Currently, I am living off of my severance, stimulus money, tax return, and the promise of unemployment insurance. I am taking it one day at a time, working hard and thinking creatively to reach new professional goals, but also prioritizing self-care.
I was nervous about referencing self-care in a piece about my unemployment. The term’s liberal application to forms of Insta-worthy conspicuous consumption (shopping sprees, expensive beauty treatments, etc), made me fear my practice of self-care in my current position might be interpreted as frivolous or irresponsible, and that is unfortunate because difficult times are when self-care is paramount. The term has its origins in 1960’s radical-feminism, specifically in the work of Black feminist author Audre Lorde. In a culture that collectively benefits off of the exploited insecurities of women, and with the means of exploitation insidiously evolving with current events (re: “pandemic body” social content, shudder), the loving act of taking care of oneself is still radical.
I wish rampant consumerism wouldn’t rear its ugly head in everything lovely in the world. But I want to be clear, I am in no way shape or form adverse to treating yourself if you have the means. I love Donna and Tom from Parks and Recreation as much as the next person with the same taste in shows as me, and I have been that conspicuous consumer. Practitioners of self-care can include purchases in their routine. I use candles, incense, bath bombs, face masks, all of the things. However, I think conflating making purchases and doing the work to check in with one’s emotional state and needs is harmful because the practice at its core has nothing to do with money.
That is why I have found beauty in practicing self-care while on a strict budget due to unemployment. My focus is entirely on the non-commercialized aspects of the practice, and much like my journey toward the next step in my career, my self-care practice looks different every day. Sometimes I incorporate a challenge to myself, like trying to meditate every morning before reading the news and checking social media. Meditation is my self-care remedy for anxious and stressful moments, often even five minutes helps my mood. Other days self-care is doing tasks that seem tedious, like cleaning and organizing. Those who know how I live know I love clutter, and getting rid of some of it can have the effect of a good meditation session. And on the more difficult days, it's setting the boundary to not electronically socialize, which I find draining after a certain point, or to take a break from the news cycle. It’s settling down with a good playlist or book or in a hot bath and not pressuring myself to be productive during a time of global crisis.
While my self-care practice may vary in iteration, it does not vary in intention and in routine. I practice self-care to help myself become more grounded and mindful and able to thrive and create. I remind myself of that intention every day when I practice self-care, and while I may not meditate or declutter every day, I have committed to moving my body every day, as lightly or intensely as I feel that particular day. I also make time to journal every day, and out of my journaling this piece was born. I see writing this piece as a form of self-care. There is an inherent weirdness in what happened to me, having my professional reality completely change without leaving my bedroom, and it has been difficult to process. But sharing my experience at this bizarre moment in our collective history has helped me work through that weirdness and perform the act of self-care I find most challenging, leaving the past behind and moving forward.
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Justine Olivia Marks is a brand strategist and writer. She can often be found in a yoga class, lost in her never-ending reading list, or taking photos of New York City. You can find her on Instagram or view her work on justineoliviamarks.com.
