My Job Was My Life. Then I Got Fired.
My boss sat across from me in a glass conference room, with me facing the hallway, and he said, “You’re not going to be happy with this.” My chest tightened, and I realized I had forgotten my tissues. I’d got a two out of five — an adult D — on my performance. He said I hadn’t met the mark in my management; I hadn’t executed ideas the way he thought I should have; and I was overall disappointing, especially for someone who had come in with so much buzz (or something to that effect).
It was my first time getting anything but glowing feedback from a manager. I started sobbing hysterically, tears and snot pouring out of me. It was so embarrassing: Anyone who walked by could see me. I couldn’t get myself out of there fast enough.
I was so upset that I couldn’t go back to my desk. Instead, I went to the bathroom and texted a colleague to bring my sweater and purse to a stall so I could leave the building quietly. I then sat outside in a newly built miniature park for a few hours, convulsing with sobs — the kind of cry that is about much more than the one thing you say you are crying about.
