I lived bitch: A year in review
October 30, 2025
Last year on Halloween afternoon, I joined a video call with my boss to discuss the logistics of my planned return to work from maternity leave the following week. Or at least that’s what I thought we would be doing. Instead, a woman from HR joined us as my boss told me, “We’re going to have a difficult conversation today.” And then I was fired.
You have to understand I’d never lost a job before. Well, one time a freelance client tried to fire me after I had already quit, which hardly counts. But I’ve always been an overachiever. I set the grading curve my entire academic career. They voted me “biggest nerd” in the high school yearbook. I’ve worked since I was 17, and I’ve always worked my ass off – even when I pierced ears at Claire’s or made omelets in the dining hall.
I grew up running barefoot through cornfields on the wrong side of Piqua fucking Ohio and now I can see the Golden Gate Bridge from my house (okay fine, my landlord’s house). I worked my ass off to get here. Things like this do not happen to me, I thought.
Map view of Piqua fucking Ohio via the City of Piqua
But then, of course, a thing like that happened to me.
At one point I turned off my camera and microphone and left the room as the HR lady did her spiel. My in-laws were visiting, sitting in the next room with my husband as I emerged from the office in a daze and announced, “I’m getting fired. Right now.” Then I walked back in and sat down, and turned the microphone and camera back on. The HR lady read a line from her script thanking me for my contributions to the company. I burst out laughing, which is when I realized I was also crying.
Then the call ended and I was alone.
I took a deep breath. I shook it off.
I had to get ready to take my son trick-or-treating for the very first time. We’d figure it out tomorrow.
I’ve been hiking a lot lately, and by “lately” I mean the last 10 years or so, with the exception of my first pregnancy, which had me basically couchbound for nine months. My brain chemistry has given me a form of intense anxiety not even medication can control. The only cure I’ve found is walking straight uphill as fast as I can, ideally two to three times a week at least.
Angels Landing, Zion National Park, 2015
I do all my best thinking out there. Not on purpose, really, I just find it meditative––the rhythm of my feet, the wind in the trees, the thousand shades of green. I’m not trying to prove anything or beat anyone. I’m just trying to get where I’m going.
“Put one foot in front of the other” is what I say to myself when the trail gets steep, when I’m exhausted, when everything feels impossible. It’s also what I said to myself when I got fired. I wasn’t sure how or what or where, but I needed to keep moving forward, no matter how slowly. Because eventually I always get where I’m going, even when it seems impossible.
I started applying for jobs and immediately ran into a problem: I didn’t want to do any of the positions I was qualified for. I’d worked in social media since 2012 and had long been kicking around the idea of changing careers, but it never seemed to be the right time and besides, what else would I even do?
Except deep down, I knew what I’d do. I’d always known. I’d wanted to be a writer since I was a kid. It’s just that like many writers, I struggle with crippling self-doubt. I’m my own harshest critic. I’ve got the angel living on my shoulder telling me I’m Amy fucking Brown, and I’ve got the devil on my shoulder telling me “You will never create anything of value. Everything you’ve ever written is trash.” And besides, I thought, I’m not a real writer. I’ve met real writers. I just write tweets.
After my therapist gently helped me get a grip, I decided I’d commit. No time like the present, right? I’d take the months of November and December when no real hiring or work gets done anyway, and I’d put myself out there as a writer. But I didn’t just want to throw my resume into some applicant tracking system. I’ve never really felt a resume adequately captures my whole deal anyway.
So I built this website, the one you’re on right now, something I’d been meaning to do for awhile but never could find the time for. I didn’t do it all at once. One day I registered the domain. The next day I built the home page. Then the about page. I wrote some blogs. I focused half of my anxious energy into tweaking the icons, my word choice, the footers. Anything. I focused the other half of my anxious energy on job applications.
The thing is, applying and interviewing for jobs is itself a full time job. I had to have childcare if I wanted to get anything done. But also, having two kids in daycare costs more than our rent.
I owe a lot to my husband for being completely on board, supporting what most people would have considered an objectively insane life decision at the worst possible time. We crunched some numbers. We ate into a little bit of our savings, which––especially as millennials––we’re lucky to have in the first place. We bet on me.
Then in December, I got an email from a recruiter.
Someone (I’d later find out it was a creative director who heard me on a podcast in 2020 and followed me on LinkedIn) saw my website and thought I might be a good fit for a job as a writer at a company I’d applied to at least a dozen times with no response, a job I wasn’t sure I was even qualified to interview for. I had to hype myself up to even return the email. No, it’s not a prank. Yes, they got the right Amy Brown.
The recruiter wanted to see my portfolio, which I’d last updated in 2021. It wasn’t built to demonstrate my writing skills, and upon further digging I realized I didn’t even have the source file for it on my computer anymore. So I did what any desperate person with a foot in the door at their dream job would do: built an entire new portfolio from scratch in 24 hours. I sent it off with a hope and a prayer. I thought it probably sucked, but at least I wasn’t empty-handed.
I guess it didn’t suck, because they just kept asking to talk to me until I was at their headquarters, giving a presentation and interviewing with copywriters and creative directors, all of whom wanted to know more than anything: “Are you sure you want a writing job?” After all, I’d spent almost 15 years doing something else. But sitting there, faced with the question, I’d never been more sure of anything in my life.
I didn’t get the job, but I did get perspective. I walked into a room that I’d been trying to get inside for years, and when I said “I’m a writer” nobody said “No you’re not.” I told them who I am, who I’ve always been, and they said, “Sure.” In the end, it turned out the hardest person to convince was myself.
Friday is Halloween again. Last year the baby was still basically a burrito. She slept through trick-or-treating, strapped to my chest in her pumpkin hat. This year she can not only walk, but yell “I’M GON WALK” at me while she does it. Things have changed. Things are always changing.
My kids at the park, October 2025
I am still the same person I was a year ago, but also I’m not. Two things can be true at the same time. Am I better off now? Yes. Was it legal? Technically, since they didn’t say, “We’re firing you for having a baby.” But that doesn’t make it right or fair. Some days I still get mad about it, but I don’t question whether I deserved it anymore. I didn’t deserve it.
For a long time, losing my job was the worst thing I could imagine happening to me, a referendum on my entire worth as a person. But not anymore. I gave birth without pain medication. I ran into a swarm of angry yellow jackets to save my kid. 2024 taught me I’m tough as fuck. This too shall pass.
It’s like Kacey Musgraves says: If you’re ever gonna find a silver lining, it’s gotta be a cloudy day.
In conclusion:
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