There’s no nice way to talk about redundancy.
It doesn’t arrive as a single moment, even when there is a single date attached to it. It arrives in phases: uncertainty, waiting, the conversation itself, the aftermath. For some, it’s sudden. For others, it’s drawn out and quietly exhausting. Either way, it has a way of cutting through confidence, identity, and momentum, particularly in a sector many of us entered because we believed in it. Many of us still believe in it, despite the current state of the sector and our shared experiences of trying to navigate constant change.
A gentle note: this post talks openly about redundancy, job loss, and their emotional impact. Writing about these experiences has been challenging for me at times, and reading about them may bring things up for you too. Please take care of yourself as you read, and feel free to step away or re-engage in whatever way feels right.
What often goes unspoken is the emotional impact that redundancy and job loss has: the need to stay composed, professional, and outwardly “okay” at precisely the moment when certainty and the feeling of confidence and wellbeing collapses. Many people describe a quiet sense of shame, even when they know intellectually that redundancy is structural, not personal. Confidence takes a hit long before a job title disappears, and recovery is rarely linear. The worst thing to be told by HR during the process is “It’s not personal.” When, in reality, that’s exactly what it is and what it feels like.
It’s also important to acknowledge voluntary severance and voluntary redundancy, which many colleagues across higher education have had to consider in recent years. Faced with ongoing cuts, restructures, and repeated rounds of change, some people make the difficult decision to step forward voluntarily; not because they want to leave, but because they are trying to manage risk, protect their wellbeing, or create a degree of certainty in an otherwise unstable situation. These choices are rarely straightforward. They are often made with full awareness that further redundancies may follow, and that staying might simply delay the inevitable. Voluntary routes don’t remove the emotional impact; they shift it earlier.
For some, choosing voluntary severance is a way of regaining a small amount of control; a chance to plan, to leave with dignity, or to reduce the prolonged anxiety of waiting. For others, it brings its own form of grief: leaving work they care about, colleagues they value, and identities they’ve spent years building. None of this is easy or something many of us ever prepare for. But perhaps, with higher education in the current state it’s in, we should. If nothing else, being aware of it might help in the long run.
There’s also a financial reality that rarely gets talked about openly. Finding a new role can take time, often longer than expected, particularly in a sector that is being affected by a tough economic climate like higher education. Based on lived experience, it is not unrealistic for a job search to take six months or more, even for experienced professionals. Where it’s possible, having the equivalent of six months’ salary saved can make the difference between being able to think clearly and being forced into rushed decisions under pressure. Many people don’t have that buffer, especially after previous redundancies, which only goes to amplify stress and anxiety. This isn’t about blame or planning failure; it’s about acknowledging the real conditions people are navigating.
This week’s #LTHEchat is for you if you’ve experienced redundancy, are currently navigating your way through it, have experienced being under threat of redundancy, or are quietly wondering how you’d cope if it came your way.
It’s worth saying explicitly that this conversation sits in a UK higher education context. The structures, protections, and expectations around redundancy vary internationally, but in the UK, it has become an increasingly familiar feature of academic, professional services, and learning technology careers. For many, redundancy is no longer a once-in-a-career disruption, but something encountered multiple times across roles, contracts, and institutions. I know it has been for me (more on this later).
Under UK employment law, redundancy comes with a statutory minimum level of protection, based on length of service and age, and only after a qualifying period of employment. While this provides a baseline of financial support, it is often just that: a minimum. It rarely reflects the real impact of job loss on household finances, mental wellbeing, or longer-term career security, particularly when redundancy happens more than once or later in life.
I won’t go into the specifics of the law, but you can and should read up on it here: https://www.gov.uk/redundancy-your-rights
“You’ll normally be entitled to statutory redundancy pay if you’re an employee and you’ve been working for your current employer for 2 years or more.”
The important bit here is that, if you’ve been in the same role/contract for less than 2 years, you are entitled to nothing beyond your normal contract conditions and notice period.
I cannot stress this enough but, if you are under notice or a restructure, redundancy, or feel in any way that this might happen to you, then you really do need to know your rights!
This chat is about three things:
First: if this is happening to you, this space is for you.
You don’t need to project optimism. You don’t need to have a success story ready. You don’t even need to be actively job hunting yet. Redundancy has a way of isolating people just when connection matters most. This chat is about saying: you’re not alone, and this experience is more common than we often admit in HE.
Second: sharing ways to stay sane and keep going.
Job hunting is not just a practical exercise, it’s an emotional one. It requires optimism to be available on-demand, self-promotion under strain, and repeated exposure to rejection or silence, often while trying to hold together family life, finances, and a sense of self-worth. Updating a CV while processing loss, uncertainty, or anger takes a toll. We’ll talk about routines, boundaries, mindset shifts, and small habits that help maintain momentum without burning out. Not productivity hacks, but survival strategies.
Third: finding your next role, without losing yourself.
Redundancy often forces reflection: What do I actually want? What am I good at that I’ve been underselling? What could I do differently next time? We’ll share practical advice on CVs, applications, networking, and interviews, but also talk about how to make choices that feel aligned, not just reactive.
Why this conversation matters now
Higher education is changing rapidly. Funding pressures, restructures, and fixed-term roles are now part of many career paths, particularly in learning technology, digital education, and professional services. Redundancy is no longer an exception, it’s becoming a structural feature of the sector.
Yet we still talk about it in hushed tones, as if it signals failure rather than context.
This chat is an invitation to be honest about that reality, to learn from one another, and to remind ourselves that careers are rarely linear, even when LinkedIn profiles make them look that way.
Living through redundancy, or the sustained threat of it, doesn’t happen in isolation. It spills into family life, relationships, sleep, health, and self-belief. Partners carry worry. Children notice tension. Friends don’t always know what to say. Even when nothing has “officially” happened yet, the emotional load is real. Wellbeing isn’t a side issue here; it’s central. For many people, the hardest part isn’t the job search itself but trying to stay present and grounded while life continues around them.
The personal bit – my experience(s)
I’ve experienced redundancy multiple times (five, at the last count) over the course of my career – three in the last seven years and within higher education and digital learning organisations. I won’t list them out here (you can see them on my LinkedIn profile), but they span different organisations, different roles, and very different stages of my life.
What matters more than the specifics is the pattern.
Each experience landed differently, not because the circumstances were wildly different, but because I was. Earlier on, redundancy felt like disruption and shock. Later, it carried heavier emotional and financial consequences, affecting not just me, but my family and the sense of stability we were trying to maintain. The longer you work in the sector, the more you build – responsibilities, commitments, expectations – and the harder that uncertainty hits.
Over time, redundancy doesn’t just interrupt work; it reshapes how you relate to it. You become more cautious. More alert to signals of change. Less willing to assume that stability will follow effort. That shift isn’t cynicism. It’s self-protection.
What has stayed with me most is the cumulative emotional impact. Each redundancy leaves a residue: heightened anxiety, reduced trust, quicker fear responses when organisations talk about “change” or “realignment”. It’s not something you “get over” neatly. It’s something you learn to carry; sometimes well, sometimes not.
I share this not to dwell on the past, or to offer myself as an example, but to be clear about why this conversation matters to me. I know what it feels like to be a competent, capable, committed, passionate and energetic lifelong learner, yet still be exposed to forces beyond your control. I also know how much harder it is to keep going when belief – in yourself, in the system, in the future – has taken a knock.
Lessons learned
What I’ve learned isn’t that redundancy gets easier with experience. In many ways, it’s the opposite.
Each time it happens, the impact accumulates. The emotional weight is heavier. The financial risk is greater. The effect on wellbeing and belief is harder to absorb. Earlier in a career, redundancy can feel like a shock or a disruption; later on, it can feel like something more existential; a challenge to stability, confidence, and the assumption that good work will eventually lead to security.
What changes isn’t resilience so much as context. Different stages of life bring different responsibilities, pressures, and limits on how much uncertainty you can carry. Experience doesn’t cushion the blow, it just means you recognise it more quickly.
I have written about my experiences before, please read if you’d like more insight into the lessons I’ve learned and how I’ve moved beyond the shock, distrust of leaders and the motivations, grieving, wellbeing, etc
Join the conversation
This chat isn’t about fixing redundancy, it’s about acknowledging its reality, sharing what helps, and reminding each other that none of this is faced alone. Whether you’re in the middle of it, on the other side of it, or supporting someone who is, your perspective is welcome.
- Bring your questions.
- Bring your hard-fought lessons.
- Bring your uncertainty, if that’s where you are.
Most educators already aim for this, but the expectations and the stakes are rising.
Questions and Chat
Q1. Redundancy doesn’t always arrive suddenly. For some it’s imposed, for others it’s voluntary severance made under pressure or uncertainty. Where are you currently, or where have you been, on that journey?
Q2. In the early days of redundancy or deciding to take voluntary severance,
what felt hardest, emotionally or practically, and what helped you cope, even in small ways?
Q3. Wellbeing often takes a hit long before work officially ends.
What have you found helps you maintain some sense of balance or stability while living with uncertainty? #LTHEchat
Q4. CVs, applications, and “selling yourself” can feel especially hard at this point.
What’s helped you tell your story honestly, without feeling you have to apologise, explain, or fake optimism?
Q5. When job searches stretch on, motivation can dip. What’s helped you keep going or what do you wish you’d known earlier about sustaining momentum?
Q6. For someone facing redundancy or weighing up voluntary severance right now:
what’s one thing you’d want them to hear from people who’ve been there?
Guest Bio
David Hopkins is a digital learning leader with over 18 years’ experience working across UK higher education, online education, and EdTech organisations. His work has focused on designing and delivering large-scale online and hybrid learning, leading digital learning teams, and supporting institutions through periods of change, including platform implementations, new programme launches, and organisational restructures.
Across his career, David has worked in both established universities and early-stage education start-ups, giving him a practical understanding of how innovation, uncertainty, and risk play out in real roles and real lives. He has experienced redundancy multiple times and writes openly about its professional and personal impact. David is passionate about inclusive leadership, sustainable digital education, and supporting people through transition; whether that’s navigating redundancy, rethinking career direction, or building resilient learning environments.
#LTHEchat 