The Day I Got Fired on a Zoom Call — And How It Changed Everything

Published on www.everydaytechvams.com

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It was a Wednesday. A normal one.

I had just made a cup of tea and sat down at my desk. My calendar had a one-on-one with my manager — nothing unusual. I checked my notes, adjusted my shirt, and clicked “Join.”

Within 10 seconds, I knew something was wrong.

My manager wasn’t alone. Someone from HR was on the call, silent and stiff. The manager avoided eye contact. Then came the words that shattered me:

“We appreciate your work, but due to restructuring, today will be your last day.”

I don’t remember the rest of the call. My hands went cold. I heard a buzzing in my ears. When the call ended, I just stared at the screen, frozen.

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Nine Years. Gone. Just Like That.

I had been with that company for nine years. I had given it my time, my loyalty, my weekends, and pieces of my health.
And now, I was logged out of everything — email, systems, chat — as if I never existed.

No farewell email. No exit meeting. No thank you.

I was reduced to a line item in a spreadsheet labeled: “Excess Cost.”

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The First Night: Numbness

I didn’t cry immediately. I just... sat. Staring.
I texted my partner: “I think I just lost my job.”
They called me instantly. I didn’t pick up.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, playing the call over and over in my mind.
I questioned everything.
Was I not good enough? Did I miss a warning sign? Did I do something wrong?

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The Week After: Silence, Shame, and Scrolling

I ignored calls from friends. I avoided family. I didn’t want to talk about it.
Every ping on my phone gave me anxiety. I didn’t want pity or advice — I wanted answers. And I wasn’t getting any.

I stayed in bed most days, scrolling endlessly. Watching other people live their lives on social media while mine had just stopped.

Unemployment wasn’t just about money.
It was about identity.

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Breaking Point

The turning point came when I opened my bank app and saw I had exactly ₹3,182 (around $38) left.

That number hit harder than the firing.

I realized: No one’s coming to save me.
I have to rebuild myself — piece by piece.

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The Rebuild: Small Steps from Rock Bottom

I opened a notebook and made a list. Just five things:

1. Update my resume
2. Apply to 3 jobs a day
3. Try small freelance gigs
4. Walk for 10 minutes
5. Write one paragraph about my feelings

That last one, the writing — turned out to be the most healing.

I started journaling about how I felt. The shame. The anger. The fear.
And as I wrote, I slowly saw myself coming back.

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Realizations That Changed Me Forever

Here’s what I’ve learned through this brutal experience:

• You are not your job. Your value isn’t tied to your salary or your position.
• People will forget your loyalty. But you shouldn’t forget your worth.
• Shame thrives in silence. Talk about your pain. Write it. Share it.
• Rebuilding starts with small steps. A 10-minute walk. One resume sent. One honest paragraph.

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Finding Hope in Unexpected Places

As I healed, I started getting interviews again. Not many, but enough.
One company ghosted me. Another made me an offer that insulted my experience.

But I kept going.

Eventually, I found freelance work. Enough to cover bills. Enough to breathe again.
More importantly, I started to feel like me again.

I wasn’t fully okay. But I wasn’t broken anymore.

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A Message to Anyone Who's Been There

If you’ve ever been:

• Laid off
• Ghosted by an employer
• Burned out and tossed aside
• Lost your identity in a job

Let me tell you this:

You are not alone.
You are not a failure.
You are not finished.

This might be your rock bottom — but it's also your foundation.

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Why I Shared This

I wrote this not just for me — but for anyone who's quietly suffering.
Because I know what it's like to refresh your inbox hoping for good news.
To feel invisible.
To feel like your story doesn’t matter.

But it does.

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What Now?

I’m still rebuilding. Still writing. Still healing.
But today, I own my story — instead of hiding from it.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story too.
Drop it in the comments. Or just let me know you’re out there.

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(You’re not alone. Let’s survive this — together.)