What Being Made Redundant Twice Actually Taught Me

Shanshan and I were on a bus heading to an exhibition in Tokyo when the Slack message came through: mandatory town hall in 15 minutes. We shared headphones and listened as they announced the second round of redundancies. The email confirming we were both out arrived before we got off the bus. We were still processing it when we joined the queue outside. Both of us. Made redundant. Overseas.

Shanshan had something lined up before we'd even left, which helped. I didn't. During the day I was trying to be present - actually be there - while quietly sitting with how fragile everything had just revealed itself to be. At night I was lying there scrolling job boards, that uncomfortable itch of uncertainty making it hard to fully switch off from what was awaiting back home. We even half-joked about extending the trip since there was no rush to get back anymore. We took our company farewell call near Mt Fuji.

The choice in front of us felt simple but wasn't: spiral, or stay present when presence was the only thing we actually controlled. We chose presence. What came next tested whether we actually meant it.

Why I Took The First Offer (And Why That Was The Mistake)

I couldn't sit with the uncertainty. When we got home, I already had interviews lined up. They were keen. I was eager to lock something down immediately.

That urgency was the mistake.

I had a new offer accepted before we'd even fully unpacked. LinkedIn, quick interviews, letter of offer signed, done. Felt like winning. It wasn't.

The decision was pure fear. We didn't have our daughter yet, but the idea of both of us unemployed at the same time felt unbearable. The company looked solid on paper. What I didn't see coming - or more accurately, what I chose to ignore during those initial interviews - were the red flags. The toxicity. Not everyone, but enough of the key people I'd be working closest with to make it genuinely brutal.

Here's what nobody tells you about fear-based decisions: they look like solutions right up until you're living inside them.

What made it worse was a psychological trap I didn't even recognise at the time. I felt like I owed them something for hiring me so quickly after my redundancy. So even as the environment ground me down daily, I stayed. Leaving felt ungrateful - like I'd be seen as someone who took the opportunity and bailed the moment it got hard. I knew I was capable of more. I knew I was being suppressed. But I'd convinced myself that staying was the honourable thing to do.

It wasn't. It was just fear wearing a different costume. And the role itself reflected that. I'd taken a step backwards just to have something to step into. The title, the scope, the impact - all smaller than where I'd been before. When you're deciding from fear, you're not asking "is this the right move?" You're asking "will this make the fear stop?"