Seventy-Eight Job Applications and the Silence That Follows

There is a particular kind of grief that comes after being let go from work—a grief that deepens with every application submitted into the void. At first, you tell yourself, and you are told, it’s timing. Then perhaps market conditions. Then, most likely, algorithms. By application twenty, you’re still hopeful. By fifty, you’re bargaining with your own confidence—while pushing away intrusive thoughts. By seventy-eight, the silence stops feeling procedural and starts feeling personal.

It might be cliche to say “what no one prepares you for”, but truthfully we are ill-equipped to see how quickly unemployment becomes isolation. Work is more than income; it’s rhythm, relevance, purpose, and contact with the world. When it disappears, so do casual conversations, professional affirmation, personal development, intellectual growth, social skill development, and the subtle reminders that you are needed. Days stretch. Friends and family mean well but don’t quite know what to say. You hesitate to reach out, or let in, because you don’t want to sound pessimistic, hopeless, fearful, desperate—or worse, invisible.

For midlife women, this experience cuts deeper.

Many of us spent our so-called “prime” years raising children, supporting families, caring for elders, and holding communities together while still earning degrees, building careers, and accumulating hard-earned expertise. We developed leadership in kitchens and classrooms, negotiation skills in school meetings, crisis management at 2 a.m., and emotional intelligence in spaces where it was required but never rewarded. We wore multiple hats and performed countless jobs — thanklessly, and selflessly. 

Yet when we re-enter or reassert ourselves in the workforce, those skills are quietly discounted.

We are told—explicitly or implicitly—that our experience is “nonlinear,” that our confidence reads as threat and disruption to the norms, that our perspective might “obstruct work culture.” Social intelligence, ethical clarity, and the ability to challenge ideas without attacking people but advocating for the underdog are treated as liabilities instead of leadership assets. The irony is staggering: organizations and institutions claim to want brave space, innovation, change, and resilience while slowly filtering out the very people most capable of providing it.

This is not just a hiring problem. It’s a cultural one.

When institutions devalue social skills, they don’t just miss out on capable employees—they weaken themselves and the people they serve in and out of the organization. When they avoid candidates who might question assumptions, call out dysfunction, or bring new perspectives, they trade growth for comfort, for control. Fear of being challenged becomes more important than the pursuit of excellence.

And for those on the receiving end, who show up earnestly and fully, the message is corrosive: You are overqualified, underappreciated, and unseen.

But here is the truth that deserves to be said plainly:
The problem is not a lack of talent.
It is a collapse of vision and courage in how leadership potential is recognized.
It is comfort and expected “unconditional” loyalty. It is a one-way street of productivity and unwavering commitment.

Midlife women bring depth, discernment, endurance, and perspective forged through practical responsibility—not theory alone. Organizations that refuse to see this are not being selective; they are being shortsighted.

Those seventy-eight applications are not evidence of my inadequacy or lack of value. They are evidence of a system that is quietly filtering out wisdom, resilience, challenge, and an opportunity for growth—at precisely the moment it claims to need them most.

What is being lost is not just qualified candidates.
What is being lost is our cultural tolerance for maturity, discomfort, complexity, and dissent.