What Unbroken Cost Me

Sixteen years of executive leadership ended in about four minutes.

I am a trauma specialist with thirty years of hands-on experience. For sixteen of those years, I led organizations and worked with refugees, survivors, and people who had lost everything. I taught others how to calm the nervous system, explained Polyvagal Theory to skeptical professionals, and learned how trauma affects both the body and mind.

But when it actually happened, none of that mattered. The day I was let go, I sat at my desk and felt completely blank. All my experience disappeared, and there was nothing between what I knew and what I felt.

People rarely talk about that blank feeling. It’s not panic, grief, or worrying about money. It’s when your whole body just stops. I didn’t cry or call anyone. I just sat there, unable to draw on the training I had used to help others in moments like this. I was overwhelmed. My brain’s alarm system took over, and my thoughts went quiet. That’s what it feels like when your world falls apart.

Afterward, some days I felt numb. On other days, I rushed to apply for jobs I knew I was overqualified for because consulting work doesn’t last forever. I kept telling myself to just keep moving. That’s what you do.

What I didn't do was name it. I didn’t name the state job I stayed in for too long, or the fact that after 25 years, I was told I didn’t have the right qualifications. I kept showing up and working, letting go before I let myself feel what I had lost. I didn’t name the contract I spent nine months fighting to fund for vulnerable families, which ended quietly and left me with grief I never processed. I didn’t call any of it a loss. I just kept moving.

Eventually, after ignoring loss and avoiding grief for too long, the cost of staying too long, settling for too little, and not letting myself grieve finally caught up with me.

That sentence took me a long time to write. It took longer to believe.

One year into Unbroken, I’ve learned something important. The usual career advice, like updating your resume, networking, or practicing your pitch, misses the real problem. When your nervous system is out of balance, you can’t follow these steps. It’s not about motivation or planning; losing a job can make your brain shut down. Still, people keep giving to-do lists and wonder why nothing gets done.

They are teaching swimming techniques to people who are drowning.

Unbroken exists because I needed something like it, but it wasn’t out there. It brings together trauma care approved by the WHO, real career coaching, and practical tools you can use in the middle of the night when your chest feels tight and your mind is stuck on worst-case scenarios. 

For example, when you watch a Name It Video on Unbroken, the words of your experience become real. The quiet that comes right after: no emails, no meetings, and no schedule. The loss lands differently when you feel seen. Or the breathing exercises help your panicked brain understand that we are not in immediate danger and get your prefrontal cortex back online so you can think and problem-solve effectively.

These aren’t just tasks to check off a list. There are ways to help your nervous system recover so you can think clearly and take action. It’s not just another job search app. It’s what you need before you can even start looking for a job.

But if I step back, this anniversary post isn’t really about the app. It’s about you.

To the person who has been laid off and told themselves to just keep moving: I see you. To the professional who stayed too long in a place that took too much: I see you. To the person who looks completely fine from the outside and is quietly falling apart underneath: I see you. To everyone who has ever been discarded and wondered, in the silence which followed, whether they should have seen it coming, and still isn't sure: I see you.

I’m still in that place, myself. Some mornings, I start my day with ten slow breaths, my hand on my chest, reminding myself I’m safe even when things feel uncertain. It’s a small thing, but it helps me calm down when my mind is racing. Maybe it could help you, too.

Remember: you are not defined by what has happened to you. Your situation is not a verdict on who you are. Your response is a normal reaction to loss and deserves real support. That’s why I built this. Not because I had all the answers, but because I needed a way through. If you’re here too, support and hope are out there. You are not alone.

If you feel stuck, taking a gentle first step can help. Maybe today, quietly name one loss to yourself. You don’t have to explain or justify it. Just recognize it for what it is. If you can, reach out to someone you trust and let them know you’re struggling. Even the smallest act of self-kindness matters. Every bit helps as you find your way back.