Reborn: Life After Redundancy
- Will Boddy
- 10 hours ago
- 15 min read
They say you either “live to work or work to live”.
We are taught from a young age that in order to flourish in the adult world you need to do well in school, and then use those newfound skills and knowledge to contribute to society.
But when you’ve worked at a job, an institution, or simply been in a role for a significant amount of time and the bosses decide to call it, there’s often nothing you can do.
Deals are made at the top well above your pay grade, and are often decided upon in rooms full of people only thinking of dollars and cents, rather than the human beings expected to be in the firing line.
Redundancy has been around for centuries, but has remained relatively covert. It’s not until you are the one staring down job termination and the prospect of being out of work that the concept becomes very apparent, and your life is turned upside down.
This happened to me about seven months ago now, and seems to be occurring more and more here in Australia. But it’s not just affecting our country, but thousands of others all across the globe, specifically in an age where Artificial Intelligence (AI) is on the rise.
My redundancy was in no way a symptom of AI taking over, but merely a business decision that would go on to impact a dozen journalists and editors in a small newsroom.
When it comes to navigating the initial emotions, the subsequent fallout, and job hunting space, I’ve found people can either flourish or flounder.
The R Word
Google’s AI Overview of the word “redundancy” refers to the state of being no longer needed or useful. It’s a harsh definition when you’re referring to real people who are losing their jobs and livelihoods.
To be told the position you’ve held for years or even decades will be wound up is soul crushing. It’s out of your control and leaves you with more questions than answers as to why.
Staff are of course let go on a daily basis. Turnover is a way in which businesses stay fresh and adapt to changing environments, such that a McDonald's employee who isn’t learning the correct way to flip or assemble a burger is fired by management to cut their losses, and so they merely try again with their replacement.
Getting fired is much easier to ingest and accept, mostly due to the fault falling on the individual. Redundancy though often stems from struggles within a company, and is either a cost-cutting method or a way to trim the fat.
I had been in my role as a journalist with the Channel 10 network for four years, writing and presenting news headlines that were broadcast into some of the most far-reaching suburbs of Australia.
I started from the bottom and worked my way up through the ranks, navigating bosses, bureaucracy and bylines. Our news operation was sold and bought in that time, and I saw many great journalists leave not just the office to find greener pastures, but the industry entirely.
I found out this isn’t uncommon in media, with people seeking relocation, moving to upskill, or just wanting a change of pace. I was comfortable where I was doing what I was doing, but naturally, discontent for the employer had set in.
I think we all go through phases of enjoying what we do professionally that eventually manifests into resentment and loathing. It’s that Groundhog Day effect – the endless cycle of working a job you don’t like, whether it stems from the people, the organisation or the role. A select few will do something about it and give their four weeks and move on, others choose to endure.
I enjoyed what I did. Being a journalist and telling people’s stories – be they good or bad – was something I wanted to do long before I started in the role.
To be on television and presenting the news was a dream come true, and as the character Veronica Corningstone from the cult comedy film Anchorman (2004) aptly puts it: “I am a damn good journalist, and this cat show thing is grade-A baloney”.
I became great at what I did because I cared. I cared how I came across visually, I wanted to deliver stories in the best possible way, and have the viewer remember who I was and the effort I put in.
But when the plan to wrap up the whole operation came to the fore, I was totally stunned.
As the Chief of Staff, I found out during a private Teams meeting on a Tuesday afternoon in October, had to ingest that information, go back to my desk and complete the day’s work like nothing had happened, and organise a meeting in the office with the news team and our interstate management for the following day.
It’s not the news anyone wants to hear, and to find out some 24 hours ahead of my colleagues was an added burden to carry.
I’m not ashamed to admit there were tears. Fighting through sobbing to my then-fiancé a few weeks later saying that my life would be over. There’s nothing left anymore. What does the future hold? What the hell is a redundancy anyway?!
The news hit like a ton of bricks and I had become somewhat unhappy in the role anyway, but there were still a lot more questions leftover than answers.
Silver Linings
Being made redundant doesn’t just affect the individual employees. The situation goes on to impact their friends and families, the ecosystems their roles had revolved around for however long they’d held the position, and the company as a whole.
I’ve found you lose a piece of yourself too, but at the same time, my situation left me with this quizzical sense of masochism.
It was soon after finding out our roles would be made redundant that I had a lot of anger toward the company. Why would they do this? How dare they? What will they do without me? But when I took the redundancy voluntarily and finally came to terms with the whole situation, I did see a number of positives emerge.
I’d become so burnt out and overworked in the weeks prior – continuing over the months leading up to our final day as well – that there was a sense of relief. I would finally be able to distance myself from a company that offered little support to a struggling newsroom in Hobart, Tasmania. I’d get a break from the monotonous daily news cycle, and spend more time focusing on things outside of work, i.e. organising a wedding.
Much to my fiancé's dislike, I was far from present in a lot of the planning stages of our wedding as I was working much longer hours and coming home emotionally and mentally drained, so naturally just agreed with her and said, “up to you”.
A wedding should definitely be consensus-driven, and in the months preceding the big day, I was unable to focus on what really mattered in my personal life.
Unfortunately, many of my colleagues had also checked out.
That phrase, “what are they gonna do, fire us”, was thrown around the office regularly, and as the Chief of Staff, I needed to reassure people that we still had obligations and a job to do.
Some people were tossing up which state they wanted to relocate to, and where they could realistically afford to live and work on their current wage. Many were far more concerned about rising rental costs in Sydney and Melbourne than they were about delivering their daily news. Others had to navigate whether the company would cover the costs of their pet’s interstate move as well.
Call me unrepentant, but there was something cathartic about taking the redundancy and choosing to stay in my home state, rather than subjecting myself to packing everything up and moving to a new city, only to continue doing the same job that had begun to erode my soul.
By the time the redundancy period had begun, I found myself repeating my situation to extended family over Christmas lunch or at the pub with friends – why had I lost my job, what the other journalists and editors in the news team were doing, and what was next.
Often these conversations were difficult because the answer to the latter question still seemed ambiguous to me. What WAS I going to do with myself? The field of journalism had ingrained in me some rather niche skills in an industry that seems to be going more out of fashion by the day.
Unemployed Life
As stated above, there was a lot ahead of me as I entered the unfamiliar territory of the unemployed. I was less than two months out from getting married, and another six weeks after that we were to fly off into the sunset for a European honeymoon.
I’d convinced myself over Christmas that I was done with the media industry, and the love for the news and telling stories had been bled out of me as if the company had stuck a small dagger in my gut. There was a lack of support from upper management toward our team’s situation, to upping news KPI’s using the same resources and timeframes, and also an inability to backfill vacant positions, which inevitably fell to me as the leader to plug those gaps, often working 10+ hours a day for no incentive.
I certainly used the first four weeks to really wind down, put my feet up, and settle into the freedom of being without responsibilities and no more early morning alarm.
The lawns were mowed, windows cleaned, dusting done, and books read. Life was simple.
The wedding rolled around and was the happiest day of my life!
The feeling of standing at that altar pouring my heart out in front of my best friend – and 100 other people in the crowd – is too difficult to properly put into words. Elation, fear, relief.
As the wedding high slowly subsided and my wife went back to work, there were several weeks of unease. Walking around the house trying to decide what chore to do next or whether to start a new tv series became constant internal battles.
Having not given much thought to my future career for a good couple of months had been great, but quickly became impractical.
I went on to create a Seek account, dusted off the resume I hadn’t laid eyes on for nearly half a decade, and even signed up for a recruitment agency. Doing that in my 30s truly felt like rock bottom.
Getting back into work is taking far longer than I anticipated.
Sitting at about the seven-month mark now, self-doubt has set in. Am I doing something wrong? Is there a way to better write this cover letter? Will I ever get another job?
A redundancy is all but out of your control, but the way in which you move forward undoubtedly falls onto you.
LinkedIn can be a great way to stay in touch with what other like-minded members of the working community are doing and feeling, but at the same time is just as harmful as any of the other major social media sites.
You have your “connections” and LinkedIn showing you its equivalent of a “feed”, where people divulge their thoughts into the public domain, but with a more professional lens, rather than what you cooked up for dinner or a relationship status.
The algorithms still be algorithming here, and the more we pay attention to what these relative strangers are saying, LinkedIn still manages to feed into our own self interest.
It reaffirms our viewpoints and goes on to present us with topics, comments and content that we want to hear. I see a lot of people posting about how difficult the job market is, how poor recruiters treat job applicants these days, and what little hope there is for someone like me trying to get back into work.
It’s that phenomenon of confirmation bias which is so deeply rooted in society now that we are presented with what we want to hear online, and can send people down rabbit holes with no way of ascending back to reality.
It’s difficult for a child’s undeveloped brain to grapple with this concept, which is one of the reasons why the Australian government implemented its social media ban for people aged under 16 late last year, but adults – even highly intelligent ones from the working class – still fall victim.
It is reassuring at times to see on LinkedIn other people going through the same situation as me. There are plenty of others with years of experience in their relevant fields still being made redundant or laid off due to decisions made at the top level.
I’m constantly reading how several hundred people are now applying for a single job listing on Seek, which makes the chances of progressing to the next stage slim. There’s a chance companies are also utilising AI to scan the applications first that will pick out key words or phrases – coined Applicant Tracking Systems – and that’s all before a real person even comes into contact with the resume.
Another aspect of the job market that I have identified myself a lot more now is the lack of communication from the recruiting business. Having applied for a substantial number of jobs in the seven weeks since getting back from Europe, I have only ever heard back from a quarter or so.
I, and many people online are all too familiar with those automated rejection emails – something along the lines of “thanks you for taking the time to apply”... “huge amount of applicants”... “we have decided not to progress your application”... “much appreciated”.
It’s demoralising, but at least there’s correspondence. I’ve applied for dozens of roles since mid-February as well, and it’s been the LinkedIn community that's taught me to move on if I’ve been ghosted by a recruiter. There’s no need to get worked up about it, it’s just business.
At a time when organisations are very transparent and open about their methods of downsizing or plans to turn more of a profit in Q3, they have absolutely no problem NOT getting back to a would-be employee who has put the time and effort in to apply, and is genuinely excited to work there and contribute.
Ghosting may have become somewhat synonymous with the dating world, but when it comes to people’s livelihoods, their future and the way in which they’d provide, it seems unacceptable to give so much hope to an applicant.
Media is Dead
I would happily generalise that there’s a much smaller job pool in Tasmania when compared to the rest of the country.
Major mainland capitals like Sydney or Melbourne are hubs for critical industries, as well as being the ones that churn out mountains of media content on a daily basis. You’d likely find dozens of newsrooms, newspapers or online magazine offices, as well as countless communications departments, all based in those larger cities.
Companies tend to have their heads of departments situated closer to their main infrastructure, and decision making happens in conference rooms full of staff.
But for the industry here in Hobart, there are the usual suspects such as Channel 7, 9 and the ABC, along with a handful of corporately-owned papers, and social media-based news outlets. Commercial radio also plays a huge part in Tassie's media landscape, as timeslots can be sold to local businesses and their ads played out.
Revenue naturally drives big corporations, and wherever numbers are down, there needs to be some creative accounting done to boost them up. When that avenue is pursued, it falls on the staff coming into the firing line first.
The round of voluntary redundancies I went through were based on location and business. I see the strategic decisions made by the company to bring all the journalists and editors into the pre-existing newsrooms on the mainland so that resources can be better shared, and there’s a much larger support network available.
But when the number one rated radio station in Hobart during the latter stages of last year got pulled off air mid last week (16/6/2026) – along with two other shows based on the mainland – much of the internet was baffled by Southern Cross Austereo’s decision.
SCA attribute the redundancies to “reviews into their local revenue, audience and competitive conditions”, and called last drinks in hopes of inflating its projected near-$200 million revenue next financial year.
It’s not just radio on the chopping block either, as SCA’s parent company Southern Cross Media Group is expected to axe up to 300 jobs by the end of June.
That’s literally next week, and already some very familiar faces from Channel 7 newsrooms on the mainland were shown the door earlier this month. Those 10 staff members have families, responsibilities, goals and ambitions, but it seems their time in the media industry has been cut short.
Several hundred more will go through this, many coming not just from front-facing journalist roles or behind the cameras, but the integral cogs in the company machine, from divisions of sales to salutation. The Nine Network has also let go of a number of staff amid a wave of redundancies in June.
Masthead British television company the BBC is drastically cutting its workforce by anywhere between 1800 and 2000 staff over the next three years as well – that equates to one in 10 employees losing their jobs before it's 2030.
While I bring to light these shocking facts within the media industry, it seems it’s a rocky road out there for many others.
The times really are changing, and it was understandable why masses of workers were laid off back in 2019-20 when COVID hit due to the economy slowing, but there was significant growth once the pandemic had subsided.
It seems there’s this ebb and flow within the global job market, and many would have you think AI is to blame this time around. Maybe it is, and when the world has fully integrated automation and this robot-like technology, everything will balance itself back out again.
For those being laid off right now though, that rebuild may seem much too far away.
Future Me
I remember several months ago going out to the pub with mates for a few beers that escalated into a small gathering back at someone's place until the early hours of the morning.
I made it home, slinked into bed feeling sorry for myself, and got no sympathy from my wife for several hours.
I thought alcohol could be used to suppress my thoughts of dread and what poor prospects I had for my life without a job.
Hungover and heavyhearted, I broke down on the couch in front of my wife and divulged my fears of never being able to find a job again. Through the tears, I was finally able to say out loud how I was feeling – battling low self worth, an inability to contribute financially, and having an overall lack of purpose.
It feels strange to admit, but when we are employed, we have purpose. We have a reason to show up, a routine to stick to, and look forward to having the weekends off.
My breakdown was only at the halfway mark of this current redundancy period, and having now come back from Europe rich with lifelong memories and culture, I am as poor as I’ve ever been.
Not just poor financially, but low in self esteem, a lack of motivation, and no purpose.
I’ve stopped drinking for health and fitness reasons, but I also can't afford to.
Making the final dregs of my redundancy payout last has now become my sole focus. I can’t go to the gym, petrol has become too expensive, and I’m unable to fulfil hobbies like buying and smoking meat anymore. The things I enjoyed doing and shopping for without hesitation have now been put on the back burner.
I'm now sitting at home scrolling through job ads on Seek or LinkedIn, applying for those that are remotely relevant, but some days, there are none. There could be several “Communications Officer” or “Media Advisor” roles advertised on a Monday morning, but by Thursday afternoon, there’s nothing new in the market to apply for.
There are only so many loads of washing to hang out, the bathroom can only really be cleaned when it needs to be, and sitting on the couch playing video games becomes stagnant.
The laundry list of family friends needing some landscaping done or odd jobs finished has also been crossed off. However, the most rewarding and random role came as a participant in an art installation for Hobart's Dark Mofo event, spending eight days as one of 34 people holding a table structure up with our mouths.
I come full circle to the saying “live to work or work to live” referenced back on the first line of this post, and that you don't realise what you had until it’s gone. It’s that sense of purpose and being relied on at work that helps fill the void, because when you become redundant, that void feels about as wide as a black hole.
It’s best no one ever has to experience the emotion and fallout from losing their jobs at whatever age, but I do find comfort in thinking that, in my early-30s, everything will work out in the end.
Being ghosted by a company you put so much effort into applying for truly cripples your sense of worth, but it pays to stay strong and move on – there's nothing much else for it.
Staying in bed when your significant other goes off to their work can feel guilty, but true love is built on compromise and understanding, and whatever you can do to help in other ways around the house will be appreciated.
It’s somewhat enlightening knowing other people are also going through the same thing. There are many being made redundant through decisions made outside of their control, and hearing affirming stories can ease some of the strain. Keep those support networks close.
For me, not having a job for over half a year is still a concept I can’t get my head around.
I was working two jobs after getting my Masters in Strategic Communications back in 2020 before I was finally able to quit them and got my start in the media industry, where I actually WANTED to work.
But right now, I’d give my pinkie finger and five magic beans just to land something.
My employment agency handler keeps harping on about holding out for that “dream job” and not jumping at the first opportunity that presents itself online. Well, I’ve only had two interviews in seven months, to which I’m still waiting to hear back from, and in my experience, the outcomes are already written.
I am only able to afford rent and the odd trip to the shop for bread and milk, pay for the subscription services and phone credit that pop up every month, and sometimes I’ll offer to buy my wife and I a coffee from the corner store.
As a man, I find it weak and emasculating that I’ve found myself in this position, relying on others to pay my way and continuing to omit myself from public and social settings. I have nothing to offer conversationally because I stare at a computer or my phone screen all day hoping to hear something, or putting my thumbs to work on the PlayStation controller.
It's difficult to plan for the future or see past the next few days because I only have enough money on hand to get me by.
Desperate is putting it mildly, but I’m in no way complaining, nor is it a cry for help – this situation is merely temporary.
I have a lot of life still left to live, and so much to give. I'm okay and have some great people around me, and I know there's someone out there somewhere far worse off than me.
P.S. if anyone knows of any work going, I would love to hear it.
Copyright © Will Boddy, 2026