I never thought I’d be grateful for getting laid off, but life has a funny way of working out sometimes.
It was a Tuesday morning when my boss called me into her office. After 12 years at the Department of Transportation, I knew something was off by the way she couldn’t quite meet my eyes. Budget cuts. Downsizing. Severance package. The words hit me like bricks. I nodded politely, but inside? Total panic mode.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Just stared at the ceiling fan going round and round, much like my thoughts. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I was 43, single, and suddenly unemployed. The government job I thought would carry me to retirement was gone, just like that.
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The Severance Reality Check
The severance package looked decent on paper – about 14 weeks of pay based on my years there, plus they’d cash out my unused vacation time (thank God I never took those trips to Yellowstone). They also mentioned something about COBRA for health insurance, which sounded good until I saw the premiums. Yikes.
My sister keeps telling me I should’ve negotiated better, but honestly, what leverage did I have? The entire department was being gutted. At least I got something, unlike my stint at that startup back in 2010 that folded overnight.
Once the shock wore off, I did what any reasonable person would do – I made a spreadsheet. My severance would cover about 5 months of expenses if I was careful. Not great, not terrible. But then I remembered that down payment fund I’d been building for “someday.” Was now that someday?
Why Not Just Start Over?
I’d been renting the same overpriced one-bedroom in Alexandria for eight years. My commute to DC was brutal, but that’s what government work required. Without that tether, I could literally go anywhere.
My buddy Steve had moved to Asheville last year and wouldn’t shut up about how much further his money stretched there. “You can get a whole house for what you’re paying to rent that shoebox,” he’d said during our last phone call.
So I started looking. Not just Asheville, but a dozen smaller cities where I might actually afford to buy something. Scrolling through Zillow became my new late-night obsession. Three-bedroom homes with actual yards for less than $300K? It felt like looking at real estate from 1995.
The Mortgage Mess
Here’s what no one tells you about buying a house after losing your job: lenders look at you like you’ve got three heads.
“So you’re currently… between positions?” The first mortgage broker I talked to actually used air quotes. I wanted to reach through the Zoom call and strangle him.
I tried explaining that I had a solid work history, excellent credit (792 last I checked), and a government severance package. He just kept saying things like “challenging situation” and “might want to wait until you’re employed again.”
Five more calls with different lenders, five more versions of the same conversation. I was about to give up when my cousin mentioned her friend who specialized in “unique borrower situations.” (More air quotes, but these didn’t annoy me as much.)
Finding My Mortgage Fairy Godmother
Jenn wasn’t like the other lenders. First off, she’d worked with government employees before. Second, she didn’t act like my unemployment was some kind of moral failing.
“Your severance actually counts as income for a certain period,” she explained. “And with your VA eligibility from your Army days, we’ve got options.”
I hadn’t even considered using my VA benefits. Four years of military service before college and my government career, and I’d almost forgotten about the home loan perks.
Jenn laid out three paths:
- VA loan with zero down (but with that funding fee)
- FHA with 3.5% down (higher monthly payments with mortgage insurance)
- Conventional with 20% down (best long-term option if I could swing it)
That third option meant using almost all of my savings, which felt terrifying without a job lined up. But the numbers made sense – lower monthly payments would give me more runway while job hunting.
Making the Leap
I found a 1960s ranch-style home in a small Tennessee city with a surprisingly decent job market. Three bedrooms, huge backyard, and a kitchen that wasn’t completely awful (though that avocado-colored fridge definitely had to go). Listed at $265K, which felt like robbery compared to DC prices.
My offer of $255K was accepted. The inspection turned up some electrical issues that the seller agreed to fix. Things were actually… working out?
Then came the employment verification three days before closing. Pure panic. But Jenn had prepared me – I shared my freelance contract with a former government contractor who’d hired me for some consulting work, my severance documentation, and bank statements showing healthy reserves.
We closed on a rainy Thursday. I signed my name about 87 times and got the keys to a place that was actually mine. I may have cried in the car afterward, but I’ll deny that if anyone asks.
The Plot Twist
Here’s the crazy part – losing that “stable” government job was the push I needed. I’ve since picked up three consulting clients who value my regulatory experience. I’m making about 20% more than my government salary, and I can work from my new home office (aka the blue bedroom until I actually buy office furniture).
My mortgage payment is $1,450 including taxes and insurance – almost $1,000 less than my DC-area rent. My neighbors actually wave and talk to me. I planted a vegetable garden last weekend, something impossible at my old apartment.
Lessons From My Messy Middle
If you’re facing a similar government layoff situation, here’s what I wish someone had told me:
- Your severance package has more power than you think with the right lender
- Don’t be afraid to use VA benefits if you have them – that’s literally why they exist
- Consider contract work in your government specialty – private companies often need your insider knowledge
- Look beyond the usual job hubs – remote work has changed everything
- A bigger down payment can compensate for employment uncertainty
The last six months have been the most stressful of my life. I’ve had moments of pure terror, wondering if I’d made a catastrophic mistake. But sitting on my back deck now, watching the sunset over my own backyard, it’s hard to imagine going back to that cramped apartment and soul-crushing commute.
Sometimes getting pushed off the cliff is exactly what you need to learn you can fly. Or at least land without breaking too many bones.
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About the author: After 12 years in government transportation regulation, Mike now works as an independent regulatory consultant and writes about career transitions and homeownership from his newly-purchased home in Tennessee.