After I was made redundant, the reason given was market conditions. A strategic shift. Nothing personal.

But even when the logic makes sense, it doesn’t quiet the emotional questions.

1. Why me, when others doing the same, or similar roles stayed?

2. What was seen, or not seen, in me?

With no real feedback, no human moment to help it land, the mind starts to fill the silence. And what it fills it with is rarely kind.

Yes, I was told it wasn’t about performance. That it was hard for everyone. That I had “lots of fans.”

But without anything concrete, no clarity, no ownership, those words felt more like performance than care.

Because if I mattered, why was I one of the ones let go?

So I did what most of us do. I built a story in the gap.

Maybe I wasn’t essential. Maybe I got too comfortable. Maybe I missed something obvious.

That story lodged itself quickly. It shaped how I saw myself in conversations, how I second-guessed decisions, and how I hesitated to take up space.

It took time. and a lot of quiet reflection to recognise that the story wasn’t truth. It was just one version.

One meaning I’d constructed in the space where care should have been.

And when I began to question it, gently, something started to loosen.

Reframing didn’t mean pretending it didn’t hurt.

It meant asking:

Maybe it wasn’t personal.

Maybe it was timing, optics, politics, budgets, or things I’ll never fully know.

Maybe the loss is still real, but the meaning I gave it doesn’t have to be the only one.

I still don’t know exactly why I was chosen. But I no longer believe it was because I failed.

And that shift, quiet, internal, and steady, has changed how I carry it.

3 Simple tools for shifting perspective — gently.

1) What Else Might Be True?

When a difficult thought arises, like “I failed,” “They didn’t value me,” “This ruined everything”, try responding with this question “What Else Might Be True?”

Not to replace your original thought, but to soften its edges.

2) Rewrite the Frame

Think of a recent event that’s been sitting heavily with you, a moment of rejection, conflict, or self-doubt.

First, write the story the way you’ve been telling it to yourself. Be honest.

Then, write it again, imagining how a kind friend would tell it. Someone who knows your whole story, not just this moment.

If you want to go deeper, try adding a third version from the perspective of your wiser future self, the one who has made it through.

Notice how the tone shifts. Notice what stays true and what softens in the retelling.

Here’s mine.

Wiser Future Self

3) Ask for a Mirror

If you’re stuck in a harsh narrative, ask someone you trust: What do you see that I might be missing? Sometimes reframing begins when we borrow someone else’s clarity for a moment.

Why reframing works

Cognitive behavioural theory tells us that how we interpret events shapes our emotional reality. Reframing interrupts that loop. It creates psychological distance, allowing us to step outside a fixed thought and consider alternatives.

But reframing isn’t just cognitive. It’s emotional. It creates space for self-compassion, for nuance, and for growth.

Even language matters. Neuroscience shows that naming our emotions, even privately, reduces their intensity. When we reframe, we’re not just changing the story. We’re giving ourselves space to feel it differently.

Tools like journaling, coaching, or even reflective conversation with AI (yes, even ChatGPT) can support this. Sometimes just writing or saying the thought out loud is enough to begin softening its grip.

Not everything painful needs a new story. But many of our inner narratives were written in the dark, in hurt, fear, or confusion.

When we learn to reframe, we’re not erasing those stories. We’re holding them up to the light and asking:

 Is this the only way it could go?

Sometimes that’s all it takes to begin again.

Until next time

You don’t need to rewrite everything.

But you can question what’s been written.

You can let in a little light.

Until then, I’m glad you’re here.

Daniel