What Losing a Job Taught Me About Professional Identity

There is something uncomfortable about being asked what you do when you are no longer sure what the answer is.

For a long time, my answer was easy.

I was a journalist. Then I became a content writer. Then a content marketing specialist. Somewhere along the way, I became a B2B writer, working with technology companies and writing about subjects ranging from business software and cybersecurity to artificial intelligence and digital transformation.

I had titles.

I had experience.

I had work to show.

And then, suddenly, I found myself having to think about what comes next.

That experience made me realise how much of our professional identity we attach to employment.

When your job becomes part of who you are

We often introduce ourselves through our work.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer."

"I'm an accountant."

"I'm a journalist."

"I'm a marketing specialist."

The question seems simple, but our answers often carry much more weight than we realise.

Our jobs give us structure. They give us a sense of progress. They give us something to point to when we explain who we are and what we have achieved.

So when that job changes or disappears, it can feel like more than a financial setback.

It can feel personal.

You begin questioning yourself.

Was I good enough?

Did I choose the right career?

Should I have done more?

Am I behind?

What if I don't find something better?

Those questions can become louder than the facts.

A job is something you have. It isn't everything you are.

One of the most important things I have had to learn is that losing a position does not erase the experience gained while holding it.

The projects still happened.

The deadlines were still met.

The articles were still written.

The campaigns were still developed.

The clients were still communicated with.

The skills were still learned.

The person who gained all that experience did not suddenly disappear because a job ended.

That distinction sounds obvious.

It isn't always easy to believe when you're the person going through it.

Looking back at the work differently

One unexpected thing about having to reassess my career is that I started looking at my own work differently.

Previously, I could look at an article and simply think, "I wrote this."

Now I find myself asking different questions.

What did I actually learn from writing it?

What problem was I solving?

Who was the audience?

Could I take a complicated subject and make it understandable?

Could I adapt my writing to different industries and audiences?

Could I research something I didn't initially understand and become knowledgeable enough to explain it to someone else?

Those questions revealed something important.

My value was never only in the job title.

It was in the skills I had accumulated underneath the title.

The career isn't always a straight line

I have a journalism degree.

My career has not followed a traditional journalism path.

There wasn't a perfectly straight line from university to newsroom to senior journalist to editor.

Instead, my career has moved through different forms of communication.

Journalism.

Writing.

Content marketing.

B2B communications.

Digital content.

Research.

Strategy.

And perhaps that isn't a failure to follow the plan.

Perhaps that is the plan.

The world of communications has changed significantly, and the boundaries between journalism, content, marketing, public relations and digital media are not as rigid as they once were.

The ability to write is useful.

But the ability to understand an audience, research a subject, find a story, communicate clearly and adapt to different environments is even more valuable.

Starting again doesn't mean starting from zero

This is probably the lesson I keep coming back to.

There is a big difference between starting again and starting from zero.

Starting again means you are taking everything you have learned and carrying it into whatever comes next.

The experience doesn't disappear.

The mistakes don't disappear.

The skills don't disappear.

Even the difficult seasons don't disappear completely. They become part of how you approach the next opportunity.

And perhaps that is what makes starting again less frightening.

You are not the same person who started the journey the first time.

You know more now.

You have experienced more.

You have failed at things.

You have succeeded at things.

You know what you enjoy.

You know what you don't want.

And, importantly, you have evidence that you can figure things out.

So, what do I do?

I still don't have every answer.

And I think I'm finally becoming comfortable with that.

I know I want to continue working in communications and writing. I know I enjoy taking complex ideas and making them understandable. I know I enjoy storytelling. I know that my journalism background still influences the way I approach information, even when I'm writing for a business audience.

But I also know that my career is still being written.

Perhaps that is the most fitting way for me to look at it.

I am a writer, after all.

And writers understand that the end of one chapter does not mean the end of the story.

Sometimes it simply means you turn the page.