Grief, Unemployment, and Survival Mode

On April 28, 2025, I came home to find my dog, Daisy, in her crate unable to use her back legs.

Two days later, my first mammogram came back abnormal.

The next day, I was told my position was being eliminated due to a reduction in workforce.

That was the beginning of the hardest year of my life.

Daisy Mae, November 18, 2022

For 17.5 years, Daisy was my shadow, my constant, my comfort through every stage of adulthood. I still carry a tremendous amount of guilt for leaving her that day. Within three short hours, my life shifted completely. I was now Daisy's full-time caregiver carrying her everywhere, walking her outside with a sling, managing medications, navigating vet appointments, and making impossible decisions while quietly trying to process the reality that my career and personal life were both unraveling at the same time.

The next few days felt like one hit after another. My first mammogram came back abnormal, and I was told I would need additional diagnostic testing. The following morning, I learned that my position of nearly six years would be eliminated at the end of June due to a reduction in workforce. Everything in my life seemed to be collapsing at once, and I honestly didn’t know how I was supposed to carry all of it without completely falling apart.

On May 22, I dropped Daisy off for a neurology appointment while I prepared for a breast biopsy that same day. I remember walking into the exam room and immediately breaking down, emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed. I was terrified not just for myself, but for Daisy and for the life I felt slipping away around me. Nurses I barely knew comforted me through one of the hardest days of my life.

A few days later, my biopsy came back normal. Unfortunately, Daisy’s prognosis did not. Because of her age and the overwhelming cost of a $5,000 MRI, we never received definitive answers. The neurologist believed she was likely suffering from either Intervertebral Disc Disease (IVDD) or a possible brain lesion.

I searched everywhere for ways to help her, including securing a grant for a Walkin’ Wheels cart for her hind legs. I clung to every possible option, desperate for more time with my Daisy girl. At the time, I genuinely didn’t know how I was supposed to survive losing both my soul dog and my career at once.

Steroids and pain meds gave us three more weeks together. Three weeks of slow walks with a sling, hand-fed meals, all day cuddle sessions and convincing myself love could somehow outrun Daisy’s age. As heartbreaking as those weeks were, I’ll always be grateful I was able to devote that time entirely to my girl.

On June 11, I held Daisy in my arms as her body failed her. She had begun having seizures, and the emergency vet suspected she may have suffered a stroke. I held her through her final breath, and in many ways, the person I had been before that day disappeared too.

After six weeks of being Daisy’s around-the-clock caregiver, my world became unrecognizable. I wasn’t just grieving my soul dog. I was grieving my routine, my sense of purpose, my career, my financial stability, and the version of myself that had existed before everything collapsed.

A few weeks after losing Daisy, my brother decided it was time to sell the house we had shared for four years. I understood the practical reasons, but emotionally, it felt like another loss stacked on top of the others. I hated leaving the last home Daisy knew. I hated losing the little pieces of stability I still had left.

And yet, somehow, life kept demanding performance. I was still expected to show up and function like everything was normal.

Update the resume.

Apply for jobs.

Smile.

Write cover letters.

Show up confidently to interviews.

Complete assignments.

Smile.

Follow up.

Repeat.

Smile.

People don’t talk enough about how surreal job searching feels when your nervous system is deep in survival mode. It felt almost impossible at times. I wasn’t showing up as the best version of myself because, honestly, I was simply trying to survive it all.

There were interviews that turned into several rounds, only to end in rejection emails. That kind of rejection hits differently when your entire sense of stability is already gone.

Then, four months after losing Daisy, something unexpected happened.

I met Penny.

Penelope Joy, December 24, 2025

On October 11, we drove two hours to Buc-ee’s to pick up a puppy who immediately fell asleep in my arms on the ride home. Against all odds, she’s brought a tiny flicker of life back into my life that had become unbearable.

Now, a year later, I’m still rebuilding professionally, emotionally, and personally.

I miss Daisy more every single day. Grief doesn’t disappear just because time passes.

I’m still navigating unemployment. I’m still figuring out what comes next. Some days I still feel stuck between the life I had and the life I’m trying to create.

But I do know this: surviving a year like this required strength I never would have chosen to learn.

Maybe that strength is part of finding my way back to myself.