The Research Behind... "Who Am I Without My Business Card?"

In my blog, Restructured by AI: Why I Felt Relief, Not Panic, I talked about what happens when a long era ends — in my case, 28 years as an executive — and you suddenly realize your whole sense of self has been living in that role.

For you, it might be a job, a marriage, a caregiving chapter, or a house that just got suspiciously quiet because the last kid left. Different details, same 3 AM question:

"If I'm not that anymore... who am I now?"

That's the Unscripted Middle — between who you were, who you are today, and who you'll be. And it turns out, there's actual research on why this moment feels the way it does.

When Your Job (Or Era) Becomes Your Whole Story

Psychology Today has a name for this: work identity — when your job quietly becomes the main way you define yourself. In "Stop Making Work Your Identity," they describe high achievers who treat their roles as their primary sources of self-worth and belonging.

Harvard Business Review goes further in "When You Lose Your Job — and It's Your Whole Identity." They describe people who've been in a role for years or decades and feel genuinely unmoored when it ends, not just because of income, but because they don't know who they are without that job. That's why 28 years doesn't feel like "oh well, onto the next" — it feels more like an eviction from your own life.

Life Interrupted Doesn't Require A Pink Slip

You don't actually need a layoff email for life to interrupt. The British Psychological Society, writing about midlife reinvention, says that any major change — new leadership, health issues, divorce, kids leaving home, parents needing care — can crack the old "I'm the one who..." script. The crisis isn't just "I lost a job"; it's "the story I built my life on doesn't fit anymore."

Harvard Business Review's "Facing Your Mid-Career Crisis" makes a similar point for people who are still employed but quietly miserable or disconnected. They frame it as a transition: the old professional self is dissolving before the new one is ready, which feels like falling apart even when, on paper, nothing is "wrong."

You're not only grieving a job or era.

You're grieving the version of you that made sense inside it.

Why Relief Shows Up Right Next To Panic

Now for the part no one likes to say out loud: relief.

The American Psychological Association, in "The toll of job loss," says that emotional reactions to job loss are complex. People report grief, anxiety, shame — and, in some cases, relief, especially when the job was chronically stressful or a bad fit.

NIH research on "What helps the unemployed to stay healthy?" found that some people experienced a sense of release after leaving highly stressful roles, even while worrying about money and the future. That mix doesn't mean they didn't care; it means the role had been costing them more than they were admitting.

Layer burnout on top, and it tracks. Research on burnout and long-term strain shows that running in overdrive for years takes a physical and emotional toll. When something finally forces a stop, it can feel — at the same time — like ripping off a Band-Aid and taking off a weighted vest.

So if part of you misses the title/structure/purpose and part of you never wants to go back to that version of your life, you're not ungrateful.

You're just not gaslighting yourself.

If You're In The "Who Am I Without This?" Phase

This is what the more credible grown-ups keep circling back to.

1. Call it what it is: an identity exploration, not a crisis — and definitely not you failing at adulthood. HBR's mid-career crisis piece treats this as a normal transition: the old professional self is breaking down so something more accurate can emerge. It feels like chaos because the label and the life are finally admitting they don't match.
2. Separate what ended from what's still here. Across these articles, the same pattern emerges: the role ends; your skills, values, humor, and pattern recognition don't. Writing out "what actually ended" versus "what I still have" sounds simple, but it's one way to stop treating the life interruption — a layoff, an empty nest, a divorce — as a total erasure.
3. Give the in-between some oxygen. Both HBR and BPS point out that rushing straight into the next big thing is a popular way to avoid dealing with identity. Small experiments — a project, a class, a blog, a different daily rhythm that isn't built entirely around other people — are more realistic than demanding a fully formed "next chapter" on day three. One move at a time.
4. Redefine yourself with more than one line. Chief, a network for women executives, has a piece called "You Are More Than Your Job" that makes a simple point: if your entire identity is built on one role, any change to that role feels like losing yourself. Building in more lines — parent, partner, friend, creator, learner, free bird — makes you less fragile when one chapter ends.
5. Know that professionals see this pattern, too. Career coach Kathy Caprino, who writes about midlife career change, says that many people in their 40s and 50s realize the path that once worked for them no longer fits who they are now. In her article on making a successful career change at 40, she talks about leaving a corporate VP role that looked good on paper but felt wrong inside, and doing the messy work of building a new, more honest identity around work.

Your Move?

Maybe your chapter ended with an AI restructuring email. Maybe your kids are off venturing into their own lives, and you're standing in the doorway of an empty bedroom. Either way, you're not the only one in that pause between who you were and who you're becoming.

If you're in the Unscripted Middle — still figuring out who you are after the title ended — that's not confusion. That's intelligence.

Life interrupted you for a reason.
The title, the era, and the role might be over.
You are very much still here.