Buckinghamshire New University

I've experienced redundancy five times during my working life. The first two happened when I was younger, with fewer responsibilities and a less certain career direction. The second period of career uncertainty led me, in 2007, to a role as a Learning Technologist in higher education.

Since then, I've built a career in digital and online learning, led institutionally sensitive learning initiatives, international teams, and contributed to changes in how institutions approach teaching and learning. I've also voluntarily changed jobs to progress my career. But redundancy later in life is different. With a family, financial responsibilities and a respected and award-winning professional identity, the uncertainty carries a different weight. Experience doesn't make the emotional consequences any easier.

One phrase I've heard during redundancy, and one I find particularly difficult, is that “it isn't personal”. I understand the organisational reasoning that decisions to lose staff are made about finances, structures, and roles rather than the individuals occupying them, but when you're the one faced with losing your job, income, and security, it couldn't be more personal.

Redundancy takes away your ability to plan with confidence, make decisions about your family's future and feel secure in the career you've spent years developing. When you've invested time, energy, and loyalty in an organisation, being told your role is no longer required can feel like a rejection and betrayal of everything you've worked towards. You've trusted senior leaders to value the people delivering its services and manage the organisation through difficult times, only to find yourself on the receiving end of their ‘mismanagement’.

I recognise that higher education institutions face considerable financial pressures, and that restructuring may sometimes be unavoidable. Having held leadership responsibilities myself, I understand that organisational and individual needs don't always align. What concerns me is how easily the human consequences become secondary to the process, as almost the easy way out.

For some, redundancy can be extremely traumatic. The loss of stability, routine, relationships and belonging can affect mental health and wellbeing long after employment ends. The worry follows you everywhere, makes it difficult to switch off and can leave you empty as you try to reassure your family while struggling to reassure yourself. When redundancy happens repeatedly, the anxiety and loss of confidence can accumulate.

“Resilience shouldn't become a way of transferring responsibility for organisational decisions onto the people experiencing their consequences.”

Perhaps one of the hardest things is starting again. Rebuilding confidence, establishing relationships, and demonstrating your experience in another organisation takes time. Just as you begin to feel settled, another period of uncertainty can undo that security. Even finding another job doesn't automatically remove what you've experienced. An unexpected meeting, a restructure or an organisational announcement can trigger anxiety rooted in earlier events. What others might see as overreacting may be a trauma response to previous uncertainty and loss.

Then there's the job search. I've spent countless hours reviewing vacancies, adapting CVs, preparing applications, and attending interviews. Unanswered applications, ignored emails, and unsuccessful interviews gradually undermine confidence. There's a particular difficulty in knowing you're good at what you do, with years of experience and evidence of your achievements, yet wondering whether anyone else recognises that value.

Behind every application is the reality of everyday life. Watching your savings get closer to empty changes how you think about opportunities. The question shifts from finding the right job to wondering how long you can afford to keep looking before you must just take any job available, even if it’s outside your choosing specialty and industry, even on a vastly reduced salary – is any job is better than no job? Even taking a well needed evening walk feels uncomfortable when you’re away from the screen and job boards. The pressure to find work doesn't operate within normal working hours, and neither does the anxiety accompanying it.

I've been fortunate to have supportive family, colleagues, and professional networks. In January 2026, I facilitated an #LTHEChat discussion on BlueSky about redundancy and resilience, where others shared similar experiences of uncertainty, damaged confidence, and the impact on wellbeing. It reinforced that redundancy isn't simply an employment issue. Its consequences reach into almost every aspect of life.

These experiences have influenced how I approach leadership. Authentic leadership isn't simply about celebrating achievements when everything is going well. It means having uncomfortable conversations, acknowledging uncertainty, and recognising that people bring previous experiences into their current workplace. Someone who has experienced redundancy may respond differently to organisational change, shaped by events their manager knows nothing about. Understanding this requires empathy, consistency, and a willingness to listen.

Supporting wellbeing also requires more than encouraging resilience. There is something uncomfortable about asking individuals to become increasingly resilient while the circumstances creating their uncertainty remain outside their control. Resilience shouldn't become a way of transferring responsibility for organisational decisions onto the people experiencing their consequences.

I don't consider redundancy a positive experience, nor does every setback need to become a story of personal growth. There have been difficult periods, genuine worries and experiences that continue to influence how I respond to change, how I lead and how I think about my professional future.

People are not simply positions within an organisational structure or numbers within a workforce plan. For an institution, redundancy may be a necessary process with a defined beginning and end. For the individual, their family and their colleagues, the consequences can continue long afterwards.

And whatever the organisational rationale, it is personal, and it hurts.