Who Am I Without the Title

On August 1st, 2024, I was fired. I can't say that I didn't know it was coming; they were gunning for me for a while, waiting for me to make a mistake so they could hand me the pink slip. The crazy part about losing my job was that management emailed my coworkers before even telling me, and the one coworker I wasn't particularly close with was the one who reached out to text me. Embarrassing, I know. It was my first time being fired, and I truly felt confused about how I was feeling. On the one hand, I did not like my job; I felt completely unsupported by my management team, and it was pretty far away. On the other hand, I made decent money, and it was my only source of income. So that left me asking... how the f@#* am I going to pay my bills? I was also stuck in an internal conflict over figuring out who I am now that there is no title on my name. In what felt like an instant, the part of me that I thought was stable and solid was suddenly on thin, broken ice.

I remember feeling free and happy to have a Saturday off in what felt like 10 years! I had so much fun that first weekend that I started to think this might have been the best thing that had ever happened to me. After the first weekend of being off, I started that Monday strong and confident as I began my job search. I looked at every job description with optimism. I didn't like my job so much; I felt like there was nothing I couldn't do. I put in about 10 applications a day, every day, hopeful that, with almost 10 years of experience in the game, I couldn't help but land a job! And quickly, too! But boy, did I underestimate the state of the economy at that time. No one was actually hiring. Businesses of all sorts were scaling back hiring, and next month's bills were still on the way. As a slew of rejection emails hurled themselves my way, I started feeling defeated and desperate, and not much good comes from those low vibrational energies. The happy, eager feeling was turning into despair. Not only did I not have money to sustain myself or my child, but I started to feel empty — like I had lost far more than just a job. The emptiness and loneliness that I experienced during unemployment were so unexpected. People I shared many long nights, meals, conversations, and even tears with —they were moving forward with their lives and stopped reaching out about a month after I was fired. I realized the majority of my social life was at work. I was barely driving anywhere, going out, or talking to anyone. And for a social butterfly like me, the emotional pain was hard to bear. For as long as I can remember, I believed my job was my anchor, the soul tie that kept my place in this world relevant. But really, it was the title — and the sense of privilege it gave me — that I was holding on to.

When you think of a doctor, you may think of someone who is health-conscious, intelligent, and makes lots of money. Or for a lawyer, you might believe they are argumentative, persuasive, and make a lot of money. I loved what people saw me as when I said I was a scientist. I like how, without even knowing the actual scope of my work, I was regarded and treated with respect. But shouldn't that be the norm? Sad to say, it isn't for me.

Listen, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs says we all need a little bit of status. I know it might sound bad, but understanding status as a fundamental human need hits differently when you think about it that way. Still, status — or a job title, or any label — isn’t what uniquely makes me me. Worthiness just is. It’s a right we’re born with. But society’s norms and the pressure to fit in can make us question whether we genuinely understand that right. Sometimes we forget that our value isn’t up for debate. The job loss was only just that: a loss of employment. For many of us, our job defines our identity. Since we were children, we've asked ourselves — and been asked —time and time again what we want to be when we grow up. That question gave rise to many ideas and aspirations, driven by interest and what may have been happening around us. For me, it planted a subconscious thought that led me to believe I had to aspire to be somebody, or else.

And now, funny enough, I have my title back—different company, different responsibilities — but same field, same line under my name. The thing is, I don’t see it the same way anymore. I used to think my title was proof that I mattered. That it validated all the long nights, the missed moments, the parts of myself I traded to keep up. But now, I know better.

This title is something I do, not who I am. It pays the bills, challenges my mind, and gives me structure — but it no longer defines me. I don’t introduce myself by what I do first anymore. I talk about who I’m becoming. I talk about what I love, what I’m learning, and how I’m trying to live a life that feels like mine.

Losing that job stripped me of the illusion that my worth depended on being “somebody.” It forced me to build a sense of self that didn’t need validation, performance reviews, or LinkedIn titles. It made me realize that no role, no title, no company could ever hold the fullness of who I am.

So, who am I without the title?

I’m still me — curious, resilient, funny, flawed, growing. The title may look good on paper, but the person behind it… That’s where the real work — and the real worth — lives.