Don’t Call It a RIF—Call It a Rethink
I got an email today from a federal worker who said:
“This job hunt has been humbling… had a great network in the federal government but I’m brand new out here lol.”
That line stuck with me.
Because I know exactly what that feels like—to be well-connected, confident in your role, respected in your field… and then suddenly find yourself on the outside, starting from scratch. It’s more than humbling. It’s identity-shaking.
If you’re in that place right now—if you’ve heard the word “RIF” and felt that pit in your stomach—you’re not alone. I see you. I’ve been you. I am you.
We are in this together—as public servants who took an oath to serve our country, and that oath also means serving each other.
What a RIF Really Is
Deep down, for many, a Reduction in Force can feel like betrayal. After years—sometimes decades—of service, of showing up early and staying late, of navigating systems most people wouldn’t survive… it can feel like the rug’s been pulled out.
But here’s what I’ve learned: A RIF is not personal. It’s not a judgment. And it’s not your fault.
It’s policy. It’s timing. It’s budgets and bureaucracy and decisions made in rooms you were never invited into. You didn’t cause it—and you can’t stop it. It’s a change of mission and outside of your control.
Outside of Control
The other night, I went for a walk—something I do to be one with my thoughts when I’m trying to strategize how to solve a problem or to clear my head when life or a full inbox feels like too much.
A car came around the corner so fast I didn’t even have time to react. I slammed my hands on the hood, instinctively trying to stop it—as if I could somehow push it back with sheer will.
But I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t in control.
The driver was. Or wasn’t—because they were likely distracted. Texting maybe. Or just thought pedestrians walking in crosswalks were targets of opportunity.
I was lucky that night. I walked away.
But it reminded me of a lesson I learned years ago: so much of life is out of our control.
Just like that car. Just like a RIF.
You can do everything right—and still get hit.
So what now?
You Rethink. You Rebuild. You Respect.
You stop trying to control the uncontrollable. You turn inward. And you rebuild your future—on your terms this time.
Let me walk you through how I’m doing it—imperfectly, but honestly. I’m rethinking what I want to do with my life. I’m rebuilding in the way I want it to be. I respect my 30 years of public service, and I respect my choice to do something different now.
Step 1: Mind Map What Actually Matters to You
This isn’t about your resume. It’s not about your former title. It’s about you.
What lights you up? What makes you curious again?
On a blank sheet of paper or whiteboard, write in the center: “What am I interested in?”
Here’s mine:
- Finish writing my book Rebel Leaders GSD
- More time with my kids to teach them how to swim like a Rescue Swimmer
- Still figuring out #3 (and maybe that’s okay for now)
Draw yours out. Don’t filter. Don’t judge. Let your brain wander a bit. You might be surprised what comes up when you give yourself permission to dream again. Maybe fainting goats will be on your list too.
Step 2: Pick One and Go Deep
Pick one thing from that mind map and start exploring it—not passively, but with laser focus.
- What would success look like in that area?
- What are the real steps to get there?
- Start with the outcome in mind and reverse-engineer your path.
You don’t need all the answers. You just need your next step. And that next step? It’s within your control.
Step 3: Say Goodbye—For Real
This is the hardest part. You have to let go of what was.
I know what it feels like to cling to your old role, your old team, your old version of stability. To replay the final meeting, the last “good luck” email, the moment your badge stopped working or you turned in your IT equipment.
If you stare in the rearview mirror long enough, it starts to feel like home. But it’s not.
If you keep looking back, you won’t move forward. Trust me—I tried.
Let yourself mourn it. Then release it. Because your future doesn’t live back there.
If You Don’t Know Where to Start…
Start with what my dad told me twenty-one years ago when life knocked me down hard that fateful day.
But his advice stuck with me:
“Be a boxer. For every hit you take in life, give one back in the form of a selfless act.”
So yeah—this moment may have hit you hard. Probably damn hard. But you can still hit back.
Reach out to someone else going through it. Offer to mentor a younger fed or child. Write a post about what you’ve learned so far. Serve in your community or church. Do something good—for someone else.
It’ll do more for you than you think.
Final Thought
A RIF is not the end of your story. It’s not even the worst part.
The worst part is believing you don’t have a future outside of government work.
And that simply isn’t true.
You are more than your GS level.
More than your clearances.
More than the agency logo at the top of your email signature.
You are still you.
And that’s more than enough to build something new.
You’ve got this. And if you don’t believe it yet—borrow my belief until you do.
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