The line in the sand

I’ve noticed something strange happening on LinkedIn.

Every so often, when I’m doing my daily networking—clicking through suggested connections, reaching out to past colleagues, looking for shared contacts—I come across someone I know I used to be connected to. People I’ve worked with directly. People I’ve emailed or texted. People I’ve asked for help.

Only now, we’re not connected anymore.

LinkedIn doesn’t notify you when someone removes you. You just notice. One name at a time. And it leaves you wondering.

I’ve removed connections too, mostly after tough job transitions, sorry to say. I understand the impulse. But when it happens the other way around—when you see someone you know has chosen to quietly disappear—it stays with you. Especially when you’ve asked them for help recently. Especially when they didn’t respond.

And I can’t help but think about a different moment in my life when people walked away.

I had cancer in my twenties. It changed everything.

I was living with my parents during treatment. They didn’t have internet access. There were no smartphones. No social media. No way to broadcast what I was going through or find people going through the same thing. If someone wanted to be there for me, they had to physically show up. If they didn’t, I was alone.

Some people showed up. Others didn’t. Some stepped in for a moment, then backed away when they saw how much I had changed. That experience taught me what it means to have a line drawn in your life—and to watch people decide whether or not to cross it.

Long-term unemployment has drawn a similar line.

The circumstances are different, but the pattern is familiar. Some people disappear. Others step back quietly. A few, I’ve noticed, have removed me from their network entirely. And while I notice it, I don’t internalize it.

Because I know exactly who I am.

This time, I’m not unraveling. I’m not questioning my worth. I’ve spent this stretch actively building—writing, reaching out, forming new relationships, and contributing wherever I can. I’ve met dozens of people going through the same thing, and they’re some of the most capable, insightful, and generous professionals I’ve known.

This hasn’t diminished my confidence—it’s deepened it.

And on the days when I find myself taking stock of who showed up, of who didn’t, I come back to the truth I hold in my bones: I am undeniable, unignorable, inimitable.

That mantra isn’t a pitch. It’s a tether. It’s how I stay rooted in my own value, even when the circumstances are out of my control.

Because this isn’t just about being unemployed. It’s about being visible in a vulnerable season. It’s about being human in public, without the armor of title, income, or status.

Cancer happened in isolation.
Unemployment has happened on LinkedIn.
And the contrast has been unexpectedly profound.

I didn’t expect the most honest, generous community to come from strangers on the internet. But here we are.

Some people have stepped back. But others have stepped forward. And that’s what I’m choosing to carry forward with me—into whatever comes next.