My company received the email on a Wednesday afternoon. Our CEO announced that restructuring would take place over the next two days and that the workforce would be cut by 10% worldwide. With 5,000 current employees, the company would be reduced to 4,500 by the end of the week.

They started Thursday morning.

I work as part of the Education team for a bicoastal company and in my department, there were about 50 people in Florida and 10 of us in California. We are responsible for creating training and exams on our products and delivering them to customers, partners, and fellow employees. Thursday morning, anxiety was high as we did our best to remain collected. Extra security patrolled the hallways, and strangers with clipboards moved through the cubicles. I held my breath every time I heard unfamiliar footsteps and everyone on my team, usually jovial, remained quiet throughout the day.

Names started to come in through email, instant messenger and word-of-mouth of people who were laid off. I heard that a friend of mine, someone with whom I played ping pong twice a month and who would sometimes eat lunch with me and my coworkers, was let go less than an hour ago. I remember sinking into my chair, saddened that I had none of his outside contact information.

As the day passed slowly and fearful of my work status, I started to pack. Rumor was that they were giving those laid off 10 minutes to get everything together before being escorted outside by security. I quickly reexamined my status in relation to my team members and quickly realized that I was outranked by everyone on my team. At the time, I was the youngest at age 23 with the least work experience and was still considered a relatively new graduate.

I remember thinking, I’m doomed. I might as well pack now so less people will see me cry as I leave the building.

As I zipped up my bags and started grouping things together, my thoughts became panicked. How will I pay my bills? Will anyone hire me? How will I stand on my own if I can’t provide for myself?

One of my coworkers caught me packing and told me to stop.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice slightly breaking as she looked at me incredulously. “I’m…coping. That’s why I’m packing.”

“Ok,” she said. “If it makes you feel better.”

It didn’t, so I stopped and stared at my computer screen blankly.

Around 4pm, my direct boss informed us that our department would discover who was being let go by lunch time on Friday. Thursday’s layoffs were complete, so we could go home for the day.

I left work feeling more anxious than I did that morning. I just want this whole thing to be over, why prolong the agony? I just want an answer. The worst part was not knowing.

Friday morning came, and I quickly got ready for the day. I dressed in my formal work clothes and left earlier than usual. One of my coworkers arrived the same time as I did, and we walked inside together.

“Look! Our badges still work!” we laughed cynically as we climbed the stairs.

Everyone was at the office by 9am. I checked my email for news and received a short message from a colleague, asking how I was and if I was still there. I replied back, saying that my department would know today who would be let go and that I’d let him know how things went, either from my work email or my personal email.

The majority of us were having trouble working, so we gave up and sat in the hallway of our cubicles, some on the floor, some in our chairs. My bosses didn’t say anything about getting back to work, knowing that we were too worried to focus. I was the most vocal of my worries, asking my coworkers if I could use them as references, questions on where to find new jobs, and what to do about my corporate credit card, 401K and health insurance. My voice was shaky, and I felt sick.

By 11am, the names of those that had been laid off in Florida from our department started to reach us — the head of media development, whose wife had a baby a few months ago, and two people from the technical team, one of whom I had spoken to a few days prior. We looked at each other with raised eyebrows at how much we had relied on them, and one of my coworkers started to cry.

Noon came, but no one got up to have lunch. We stayed seated in our positions, waiting for the unfamiliar footsteps. My boss went to the vending machine and brought us back cookies and chips, encouraging us to eat something. As we shared the snacks and the lunch hour started to end, both my bosses went into an office to wait for a call from our director, who would tell us the results.

I sat frozen and on the verge of tears. The uncertainty of my job status and what I would do after that day made me feel like screaming.

My boss rushed out, told us to all meet in the conference room, then quickly joined our other boss as she went ahead. The rest of us followed at the same quick pace. We sat in a circle and tensely listened to the news.

Layoffs were complete. We were all keeping our jobs.

The entire room seemed to exhale, and I quickly wiped away my tears of relief. No one on the California team was being laid off.

We sat listening to what had happened company-wide and to the names of the six people from our department that were no longer at the company. Our bosses reminded us that we were all valuable employees and that we should continue to be supportive of one another. Then, we were dismissed for the rest of the work day and were told that we would resume work Monday morning.

Monday morning, I counted my blessings as I sat in my cubicle. I was thankful for morning traffic, a large workload, and the absence of unfamiliar footsteps.