Experience NOT Necessary: Restructured by AI

Is It Me, or Does 'Restructure' Mean 'You Cost Too Much Money'?

A month ago, after 28 years as an executive at the same company, I got restructured and forced to "retire". That's corporate for: "AI can do your job, thanks for your loyalty, now please disappear quietly."

In that moment—decades of late nights, business plans, and airports I prioritized over actual life—got boiled down to a single Zoom meeting and a polite "don't let the door hit you."

WTF. Me? Really? Apparently, my experience is no longer necessary.

If you've ever stared at the ceiling at 3 AM, wondering, "Who am I without my job?" — welcome to the club.

Is It Normal to Feel Relief Rather than Panic?

For years, I'd felt this low-level frustration humming in the background — like static you learn to tune out.

I could recite KPIs, hit goals, lead teams—but when was the last time I felt energized instead of just busy?

A quiet voice whispered, "Thank God they did this, because you never would've left on your own."

Expected reaction: Panic, rage, LinkedIn frenzy.
Actual reaction: RELIEF

Turns out I'm not the only one – and yes, it is completely normal! Psychology Today, HBR, and even the American Psychological Association have research on why relief shows up.

Who Am I Without My Job Title?

For almost three decades, "I work at XYZ Company" was my default answer to everything.

That wasn't just my job—it became my identity!

Without it, I found myself asking questions I hadn't considered in years.

• Was that really me? Or just the role I played because it was comfortable?
• When was the last time I asked if my role excited my brain intellectually?
• Who am I now that the business card is gone?

I spent years coaching others to "make a change if you're not happy," while I stayed put. I'd been waiting for something magical to appear instead of making any move myself.

I became a hypocrite.

Here's what hit me weeks later: this was never about losing a job. It's about losing the identity I'd been living in for 28 years.

Who am I today? Honestly? Still figuring that out.

But here's what I'm realizing:
This is an identity exploration, not a crisis.
Big difference!

Which Guru Advice Actually Helps? (Spoiler: None of It)

The minute you lose your job, everyone becomes a life coach:

• "Reinvent yourself in five steps!"
• "Transform your life for $19 a month!"
• "You got this, girlfriend!"

My favorite: "Get therapy! Then get a Job!"

Apparently, there's a blueprint for starting over that works for everyone — except me. I didn't want a five-step plan. I wanted a moment to think.

Every masterclass talks about success stories, but nobody talks about the
messy, unscripted middle—the part where you're still figuring out who the hell you are now.

So while the world pushed "transformation," I decided to just... pause.

Experiments Without a Plan

Not sure why, but I bought an InstaPot!
It sits on my counter like a monument to optimism.

We're still negotiating that promise.

Confession: my specialty is making reservations.
Food samples at Costco count as a meal.
Yes, I go with my sister mostly out of curiosity.

When a recipe starts with "preheat oven,"
I immediately panic—mostly because I need to move my shoes out of there first.

I downloaded a plant app.
Because my sister's usual greeting is,
"JT, you killed this one too?"

She's not wrong.
Five plants. Three months.
100% casualty rate.

And then I started writing.
Not because I had answers — but because writing is how I process.

What Progress Actually Looks Like

My InstaPot? Still wrapped in plastic, waiting for a culinary emergency
that hasn't happened.

My plants? Still dead. Not "revived" or "thriving in indirect sunlight."
Just dead. My sister-in-law is planning an intervention.

But here's the thing: sometimes progress looks like staring at a wrapped
appliance and googling "how to tell if your plant is actually dead" at 3 AM.

And instead of pretending I'm becoming a gourmet chef or plant whisperer,
I'm admitting what nobody posts—small experiments beat grand plans. InstaPot? Plant app? Research calls them "realistic moves" when you're not demanding a fully formed next chapter.

This writing?

It turned into this blog.
My space to figure it out,
one imperfect step at a time.

Maybe the goal isn't to rush into "reinvention."

Maybe it's to pause long enough to notice what's next — without pretending you've got it all figured out.

Maybe it's the breathing room I needed to finally ask:

"Hello, Me? Are You There?"

Your Move?

Your interruption could be a career change, an empty nest, or any era that used to define you – an exploration of your identity and making room for today's you.

If you're also in that in-between — wondering who you are now — what was your life interruption? Let us know in the comments.

I'll be here every Sunday, with my dead plants, unused appliances, and
too many "Is it just me, or..." thoughts.

Because progress doesn't always look pretty.
Sometimes it looks like unboxing an InstaPot and calling that a win.

If anyone's got life hacks for unused appliances and dead plants, send help.

P.S. When your job title was your whole identity for decades — and suddenly it's gone — is relief a red flag or a revelation? For the skeptics and the 3 AM Googlers. You wanted the psychology. I did the homework. The Research Behind... "Who Am I Without My Business Card?"

P.P.S. For women in the Unscripted Middle — between who they were, who they are today, and who they’ll be — if a friend sent this to you, and you thought “that’s me,” pull up a chair by subscribing.

Updated: 20-January-2026