You are not your job search.

An epic for everyone feeling left behind.

Ten years ago I wrote an essay with the same title during a brutal stretch of rejection, silence, and self-doubt. Back then, I was trying to make sense of what had happened. I believed if I just understood why, I could fix it. I was wrong.

What I've learned in the decade since isn't comforting. My difficulty wasn't just me—it was the entire system. And that system isn't broken; it's functioning exactly as designed. Filtering. Discarding. Erasing. Only now it's worse, powered by algorithms and anxiety fuled urgency that have made human experience disposable.

This isn't a reflection or a rewrite. It's a battle cry for the burned-out, the tossed aside, and the mad as hell. It's permission to stop blaming yourself for a game that is rigged from the start. This is for everyone who's done everything right and still ended up invisible.

I see you.

You are not a resume.
You are not a failed application.
You are not an algorithm’s reject pile.
You are not the ghosted email, the awkward recruiter screen, or the polite brush-off from someone who can’t see your worth past your LinkedIn headline. The breadcrumb trail of past prestige, trying to buy credibility in a surplus market.
You are not your job search.

I went through this bullshit ten years ago.
And it felt like being erased in real time.
I had built a career. Built companies. Led teams. Spoken on stages. Earned awards. I was successful—right up until I wasn’t.

That’s what no one tells you about success.
It doesn’t make you safe.
It doesn’t make you visible.
It doesn’t make you viable.
It doesn’t even make you interesting to a hiring manager scanning for keywords and culture fit.

The system is rigged.
You're living proof.

You’re not imagining it. You’re not overreacting.
The system is designed to forget you the second you stop fitting their fantasy.
You’ve got decades of experience? They want novelty.
You’ve managed crises, built teams from scratch, led through chaos?
They’d rather take a risk on someone with “startup energy,” a punchy portfolio site, and a “visual résumé”—whatever the fuck that means.
You’re calm, measured, strategic?
They’re looking for someone who crushes prompts and vibes hard on Slack.

You’ve done the work.
But they treat you like you’re out of touch because your career report card doesn’t include the latest micro-tool or trend from two months ago.

They’re not hiring for wisdom.
They’re hiring for optics.
For familiarity. For the illusion of innovation without the risk of difference.

The problem isn’t your age, or your “story.”
The problem is that you’ve seen too much—and that scares them.
You remind them that all their shiny little systems are built on sand.
That experience can’t be templated.
That leadership isn’t a roadmap, and culture isn’t a team offsite.

Let’s be honest: this whole hiring machine?
It’s broken beyond recognition.
A stitched-together mess of over-worked recruiters, ghosted emails, fake urgency, bias masquerading as “gut feel,” and middle managers conditioned to flinch at anything they can’t instantly explain.
It doesn’t know what to do with people like you.
So it discards you.

Not because you’re done.
Because they’re not ready.

They’ll never admit…
They don’t know how to interview.
They don’t know how to listen.
They’ve never been taught how to recognize value outside a perfect-shaped hole.
They are untrained, biased, rushed, and indifferent.
They are powered by keywords, algorithm results, and ghosted by their own HR teams.
And they will not rescue you—no matter how hard you try to play by their rules.

Stop performing.
Stop contorting.
Stop thinking one more résumé tweak is going to crack the code.

This is not your fault.
But it is your reality.

Get angry. Then get free.

Here’s the truth that saved me, eventually:
You don’t owe this system your soul.
You don’t owe it your dignity.
You sure as hell don’t owe it your peace.

What you owe yourself is rest.
What you owe yourself is space to create something that isn’t tied to someone else’s approval.

The best advice I can offer…
Stop applying. Start making.
Not more work. Not more hustle. Not more “content.”

Make something real. Something for yourself.
Bake. Knit. Draw. Build. Write. Paint. Forge. Tinker. Play. Sew. Sketch. Plant. Repair. Cook. Carve. Mix. Animate. Mold. Whittle. Design. Assemble. Photograph. Sculpt. Mix. Weld. Code. Journal. Record. Weave.
Move your body. Touch grass. Watch clouds.

Remember that you’re a whole person with gifts that don’t require validation from a recruiter.

Then go outside.
Be around people. Say hi.
Let the world remind you that it’s bigger than your inbox and more alive than your LinkedIn feed.
You are more than the last job you had—and maybe that was the last job you should have in that industry.
Maybe what comes next isn’t a job at all.
Maybe it’s something you get to name yourself.

Take the yoke off.

If you're exhausted, it's not because you’re not trying hard enough.
It’s because the system wasn’t built for this much humanity.

So take a moment.
Let the weight go.
Let yourself feel what’s real: grief, anger, frustration—but also hope, curiosity, and freedom.

You are not broken.
You are not invisible.
You are not your job search.

You're still here.
You’re still whole.
You are not your job search!

Not today.
Not ever.