The "F" Word

A little over three years ago, I repeated my consistent routine of relocating to a different state for a new job opportunity. For those who are currently working in, or are trying to break into the sports industry know this is not an uncommon practice. The amount of miles that my car has tallied feels illegal, and I sometimes cannot believe the wheels are still intact. 

The beauty of working in sports, at least in my mind, is that it can take you anywhere! I grew up in the South, attended college in the Midwest, and am now in the Northeast. My destination in New England marked the seventh state I have lived in since turning 18, which I tabbed as my ice breaker when I met new people in the area. It was a cool enough fact for my awkward self to use as a conversation starter. 

My moving routine was simple; call my parents to see which one of them could drive with me to the new destination and pack my car to the brim where it was a luxury if I could see out the rear window. Realistically, that turned into my parents doing all the heavy lifting of driving the entire trip, while I complained I had no breathing room in the passenger seat. 

However, that particular move across the country was different. It was no longer for a temporary position, it was permanent enough for me to thoroughly apartment hunt and potentially plant roots if I wanted to. 

A real full-time job. 

I will never forget the eagerness and excitement that filled my thoughts on the drive up. That feeling stayed with me when I grabbed the keys to my first apartment in my new city, and then when I reported for my first day on the job. 

Other than the normal first day tasks of dealing with onboarding paperwork, I brought a massive box full of decorations. Posters, bobbleheads, pictures, anything I had acquired over the past few years to make my office feel more like mine. I stayed late that first week putting everything together piece-by-piece, just the way I wanted it. 

Once I finished, I kept the box and sent it to my basement. I figured in the future when I made my next move it would probably come in handy, and save me the money of having to purchase another one. At that point, I knew how to assemble the decorations in the box perfectly enough where nothing would likely break. 

This past February, I made my way to my basement to grab that box and bring it back to my office to pack once again. Not because I got a promotion and was moving to a bigger space, not because I found a new opportunity elsewhere. 

I was fired. 

F.I.R.E.D. Fired.

That has officially become my new “F” word. It is also a word I never thought would apply to my career. 

Since that day, the box remains in the basement with all my trinkets delicately packed. Additionally, I have been overwhelmed with various emotions I did not know would follow, or are even valid to have. 

First, I feel a heavy amount of shame. Shame that I could have done better, maybe even performed certain actions differently. But nevertheless, just shame. 

The second emotion that hit was embarrassment. Pure embarrassment of now having to put “terminated” under the reason for leaving my last position on a job application. Embarrassment for anyone and everyone to know that it was not a decision I made. Embarrassment of people viewing my LinkedIn profile so much that I thought my laptop was going to explode. 

Emotion three is relief. Relief that I no longer work in an environment that is not right for me. 

To my surprise, the fourth emotion that took a bit longer to arrive is happiness. Happiness is knowing that the world is my oyster, and a new beginning is on the horizon. 

Through the last decade, I have written countless stories about athletes who had epic comebacks that led them somewhere they only dreamed of. It took some time to realize that there is no rule that stories like those are only reserved for them. 

Now, the feeling of happiness appears when I think about how this is just one chapter in my story, not the ending. 

I have never really seen anyone talk about getting fired and the different aspects of hardships that follow. So I figured, no matter how much shame or embarrassment I am still feeling, I will. My dramatic self understands that I am not the first person to find myself in this situation, and I know I will not be the last. 

Some days are filled with tears of uncertainty, while others are filled with contentment of what is to come. 

Maybe this will be relatable to someone who is going through a similar situation. 

Maybe someone will call it “inspiring.” 

Or maybe some people will find it ridiculous. 

Regardless of which way people view it, I figured this piece is something I can look back on in the future when I finally land on my feet, and think of how silly it was for me to believe that everything collapsed on that one day in February. 

For those who have stuck with me this long, thank you. Thank you for reading and letting me be vulnerable on the internet! 

Forever a Woman in Baseball. Photo taken by Tayla Buldoc.