Looking back now, I’m not really sure why I was so comfortable. I was in about the most precarious position possible without actually being unemployed. I was a contractor, my contract was up and in the process of being renewed and I worked for a financial company. Not exactly a recipe for security in these thin economic times. But for some inexplicable reason I was comfortable. I chose to believe my smarmy recruiter when he said I was “golden” and had nothing to worry about. I chose to believe that, despite the fact that people were losing their jobs to the right and left, above and below me that I would be spared. I don’t even think I’m necessarily an optimist. Maybe more of a denialist. Either way, I was comfortable.

So when the day came of our office Christmas party, my job security was about the farthest thing from my little, secret Santa focused mind. Even as all the “real” employees left for an “all hands HR” meeting, a first in my nearly eight months with the company, there were no red flags in my field of vision. In fact, the only thing in my field of vision was celebrity gossip because I figured that if they all got to sit in a meeting and get paid, then there was no way I was going to actually work.

The real employees filed back in, perhaps they were somber, but that might just be my revisionist memory. No one said anything about the meeting. Perhaps that too should have raised the alarms but, again, I remained unaware. Then the phone calls started. The first was to a woman next to my cube who is prone to histrionics. So when she started sobbing at her desk, callous though it may sound, I really didn’t think much of it. I dimly registered when she rushed from her cubicle and started making hushed, desperate sounding conversation with the people around me. This is a woman whose generally dramatic behavior I had grown accustomed to ignoring though so I didn’t even try to eavesdrop.

It wasn’t until I passed another coworker, a tall, quiet woman with waist length hair who I was friendly with, and noticed her red-rimmed eyes that I paused to evaluate the mood in the office. Something was definitely going on. There were huddles of people all around speaking in rapid whispers. The break room was clogged with people on their cell phones huddled to the wall, hissing their conversations. I found out quickly that both the drama queen and my tall friend had been given their notice. Panic started to set in as I heard snippets from the HR meeting such as, “all contractors will be eliminated by January.”

I sat back down at my desk to get my own phone call. It was my boss and she didn’t know anything specific yet but she knew it wasn’t looking good for me. She promised that she would fight for me if she could and then we pushed on to the real purpose of the call which was my assignments for the week. I calmed, went into autopilot work mode and tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

Towards the end of the day, I still maintained a ridiculous comfort level. I hadn’t allowed any of the negativity to sink in yet. I was gearing up for the holiday party, checking in with people to see what time they would be there, when I realized I was going to be the only contractor going. I was confused by the mass contractor decision to snub our coworkers. They all said the same thing: it would just be too awkward. They didn’t want to attend a Pity Party.

I went to the party, the lone contractor, and understood what my contracting coworkers had meant. It was awkward in a way. The lay offs were all that anyone spoke to me about. The fact that I would soon be unemployed did not seem like party conversation, however, it would have been more awkward if no one had mentioned it at all. Instead of feeling self-conscious as I assume my contractor cohorts thought they would be, I immersed myself in my soon to be ex-coworkers words of encouragement. Everyone had their own brand of Hard Times Wisdom to impart. And, amazingly, it made me feel better. Not resentful, not shameful, not pitiful but optimistic, heartened, and most of all reassured. Everything would be okay.

I came home from the party with a little buzz and broke the news to my husband. I parroted the same reassuring words of my coworkers, assured him we would be fine and I tried to believe what I said. I went to bed feeling alright, almost sanguine. I repeated the assurances to myself thinking I would soon drift off. Except that I didn’t. My eyes didn’t close all night. I just kept running through the same cliché assurances over and over.

It wasn’t until my alarm went off just before dawn after my night of restlessness that I truly saw my situation. I was exhausted and dehydrated from the wine and there were no more buffers between me and the reality. No encouraging coworkers, no wine to take the edge off and no job. The anxiety ground in my head without any smiling, optimistic words to cushion it.

I rolled over to my husband and crushed myself into his back. He continued to snore softly and I tried with all my might to absorb some of his peace. It worked. I felt his even breath and his steady heart beat. I quit fighting all of the battling emotions and decided just to feel them instead. I stopped comparing myself to people who were much worse off and narrowed my scope to include just me, just my world, my circumstances and my bad luck.

The future was uncertain. I was unemployed. I didn’t have much money saved. We could not survive on my husband’s wages alone. Christmas was a week away and I didn’t have my shopping done and now I wouldn’t be able to afford presents. I might have to go back to restaurant serving or nannying if something didn’t come up soon.  I was sad to leave my coworkers who I also couldn’t help resenting a little for keeping their jobs. I dreaded looking for new jobs and having to start all over some place else. My pride hurt at the thought that I would be unemployed. I couldn’t keep suppressing these feelings with well-meaning words. Not right then. Not at five in the morning with my mind raw from lack of sleep and my sense of goodwill all tapped out.

I pushed my face between his shoulder blades and cried on his back. He woke up then and I can only imagine that it's not very pleasant to wake up to someone’s runny nose and leaking eyes sticking to your back. He didn’t say anything though. Not “it’s going to be okay” or “we’ll get through it.” I’m glad he didn’t say those things because I know they’re true but sometimes they aren’t comforting.

It didn’t last long because, for better or worse, I still had to get to work for at least that day. Maybe the next if I was lucky. Maybe even another week. I drudged up the dogged optimism that I had allowed myself to let go of for a few blissful minutes of self-pity. My eyes were a little puffy and my nose a little red but I latched back on to my composure while I sipped my coffee and put on make up. Nobody would appreciate it if I showed up to work depressed; whereas, people would applaud me for being upbeat. People would appreciate it if I was chatty like always, if I was brave during my troubled time. I knew that and I was determined to deliver.

Honestly, though, I’d rather have been a coward with a job.