What to Say to Someone Who Has Been Made Redundant
Send the bad message. Today.
Somebody you work with got walked out on Tuesday and you still have not messaged them. It is now Thursday. Every hour you leave it, the message has to be better, and the better it has to be, the less likely you are to send it at all.
Send the bad one. Honestly. The clumsy message on Thursday beats the perfect one that never arrives, and it is not close.
Here is the awkward truth about this whole subject, and it is why every other page about it is useless. There is nothing good to say. Nothing you write undoes it. Nothing you write pays the mortgage. Every piece of advice that pretends otherwise is the reason the standard redundancy message reads like a fridge magnet.
What you can actually do is pick a side, out loud, in writing. That is it. That is the entire job. The rest of this page is sixty-five ways of doing that without sounding like HR.
Three questions before you write anything
1. Whose idea was it?
Trick question. It was not theirs.
That holds even when they volunteered. The company drew up the list, set the number and decided what leaving was worth; volunteering is a choice between two options somebody else wrote. If that is the situation here, there is a section on it further down and the rule does not change for it.
So if there is a joke, it goes at the company. The manager. The letter. The phrase “your role has been placed at risk”, which somebody in an office genuinely sat down and wrote. Never at them. Not once, not even affectionately.
This is the whole rule and everything else on this page is decoration. Redundancy is a wound, and on a wound the knife goes at the third party. Anything that lands on the person reads as pity or as a dig, and both are worse than saying nothing. Anything that lands on the employer reads as solidarity, and solidarity is the only thing you actually have to give.
2. How long ago?
Day one, they want fury and a pint. Week four, they want a job.
Week four does not want your fury. The message that was perfect on Tuesday is exhausting by the end of the month, because by then they have had three weeks of everyone being angry on their behalf and none of it has been useful. Match the week, not the moment you found out.
3. Is this for them, or is it so you feel better?
“Let me know if you need anything” is the second one wearing the first one’s coat.
If you cannot name the specific thing you are offering, you are not offering anything. You are asking a person who has had a bad enough week to do the work of managing your discomfort. “I will do your CV on Sunday” is a thing that can be accepted. So is “beer Thursday, I am paying”. Name the thing, name the day.
Do not offer a silver lining. Not one.
“Everything happens for a reason.” “It might be the push you needed.” “One door closes.”
These are the three things people who have just been made redundant report hating most, and they all do the same job: they make it the redundant person’s responsibility to feel better, so that it stops being uncomfortable for the person saying it.
You are not required to fix this. Nobody appointed you. The pressure to produce something hopeful is coming from you, not from them.
And one more thing, which surprises people. The most useful message is almost never the kindest one. Someone who has just been made redundant is drowning in kind. What they are short of is somebody willing to say the company handled it badly, out loud, in writing, where they can read it again at two in the morning. Being on their side is a stronger drug than being nice to them.
From a colleague, when you are still in the building
This is awkward and pretending it is not makes it worse. You still work there. They do not. Anything you write is read from that position whether you like it or not, so write from it deliberately.
- There’s a collection going round. They didn’t chip in.
- I’ve still got your chair. Nobody sits in it.
- I’m still here. That is not a promotion.
- The handover doc is nine pages. It should be ninety.
- I’ll put it in writing: they got this badly wrong.
- They reassigned your parking space in six days.
- Your inbox is on divert to me. I owe you an apology.
From a mate, outside all of it
You have the easiest job on this page and the most licence. You do not work there, you owe the company nothing, and you are allowed to be as unreasonable about it as they need you to be.
- I’m not going to tell you it’s a blessing. It isn’t.
- Stay angry as long as you want. I’ll keep up.
- Beer on Thursday. You’re not paying.
- I don’t want an update. I want to see you.
- If one more person mentions doors and windows, tell me. I’ll go round.
- You lost a job. Not the house, not the plot, not me.
- Tell me the bit you can’t tell anyone else.
- Say the word and I’ll say something unforgivable about your old boss.
From a partner
Nobody writes this one and it is the hardest card in the house.
The trap is that you are frightened about the money too, and it leaks into every sentence you write. Deal with the money separately. Different conversation, different day, not in the card and not in the message on day one. What goes here is the other thing, the one they are actually worried about, which is whether you think less of them.
- The mortgage is a problem. You are not.
- I married the person, not the salary.
- We’ll work out the money. Not tonight.
- You can be a miserable bastard at breakfast. Fine by me.
- I’ve watched you do harder things than this.
- Take the fortnight. Then we’ll panic together.
- I have never once been proud of you for a job title.
When they volunteered for it
Volunteering for it does not mean they wanted it.
The company will call it a choice, because that is cheaper than calling it what it is. Mostly people take voluntary redundancy because they did the maths on a number now against a worse number in six months, or because they put their hand up so that somebody with a bigger mortgage did not have to. Do not congratulate them on a brave decision. It reads as though you think they won something. And they will hear well, you did ask for it from at least three people this week, so do not be the fourth.
- You volunteered. Doesn’t mean you wanted to.
- You jumped before you were pushed. Still a fall.
- You did the maths. The maths was grim both ways.
- You put your hand up so somebody else didn’t have to. Noticed.
- Everyone’s going to say you asked for it. I’m not going to.
When they saw it coming
Being right about it in February is worth absolutely nothing in November.
Telling somebody they called it can land as “so why are you upset, then”. Acknowledge it once, briefly, and move on. Knowing it was coming did not make it hurt less. It just meant they dreaded it for longer.
- You called it in March. Small comfort. Take it anyway.
- You were right. Being right is worth nothing. Sorry.
- Six months of rumours and they still managed it badly.
- You had a bag packed. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
- Everyone knew. Nobody said. That’s the annoying bit.
- You stayed to finish the project anyway. Idiot. Lovely idiot.
- Knowing it was coming just meant you dreaded it longer.
When it came out of nowhere
The shock is the injury here, more than the job. They went in with a coffee and came out with a folder, and the part they will replay is not the money. It is the fifteen minutes.
- Nine in the morning, no warning. Unforgivable.
- You went in with a coffee and came out with a folder.
- Fifteen minutes. That was the whole meeting. I checked.
- Nobody reacts well to that. Don’t apologise for how you did.
- They had the letter printed before you sat down.
- There is no version of this where you should have spotted it.
- You were mid-project. They knew. They did it anyway.
When it was the whole team
Being one of twenty-two is a strange comfort. It removes the sting of having been chosen and replaces it with the insult of having been counted.
- Twenty-two of us. One email. Extraordinary.
- The group chat survives. That’s the entire severance package.
- They didn’t pick you. They picked a number.
- Whole floor gone. Someone upstairs got a bonus for that.
- It was a headcount target. You were a row on it.
- We’re all in it. Not a comfort, but it is company.
- Same day, same room, same nine minutes. Solidarity is what’s left.
When you got it too
You can skip every rule on this page. You are not offering sympathy from a safe distance, you are stood next to them, and that changes what you are allowed to say entirely.
- Both of us, same day. At least the pub trip is easy.
- I’m in the same boat, so I’ll skip the sympathy.
- CVs on Tuesday. Bring the laptop they let you keep.
- Two of us unemployed. Twice the outrage, half the shame.
- I got the same letter. Word for word. They didn’t even change the name.
- No pity from me. I’m stood right next to you.
- We’ll both be fine. I’m saying that for me as much as you.
When you were kept and they were not
This is the one nobody admits to searching for.
You feel guilty. They can tell you feel guilty. And the guilt makes your message sound like an apology for continuing to exist, which is somehow worse than saying nothing. Say the awkward thing once, plainly, and it defuses. Pretending the situation is not what it is fools nobody and it makes every sentence after it sound careful.
- I got kept. I don’t feel good about it.
- I’m still here and I don’t know why. That’s not a boast.
- They kept me and lost you. Says everything about their judgement.
- I’m doing your job now. Badly. Least I owe you.
- I’ve got nothing to feel pleased about. Just so you know.
- Still employed. Still on your side. Two separate things.
When you cannot be funny about it
Sometimes the relationship is not a joking one, or the timing is wrong, or you simply do not want to. That is fine. Sincere and short beats funny and strained every time.
- You were good at that job. That’s a fact, not a kindness.
- This says nothing about your worth. It never did.
- I’ll write you a reference that actually says something.
- Whatever you need, name the specific thing. I’m bad at guessing.
- Take a fortnight before you touch a job site.
- You’ll land. I’m not going to pretend I know when.
- I’m not going anywhere and neither is the offer.
- Your CV is my problem now. Send it Sunday.
What to write in a redundancy card
Everything above works in a card, but a card has one difference: somebody else is probably going to read it. If a collection is going round the office, write the line you would be happy to have read out at the desk. The savage version is for a text message.
These are the lines we print, which will give you the idea of the register:
- Redundant. The job was. You never were.
- You gave them everything. They gave you a fortnight’s notice.
- They’ve cut costs. You were the cost.
- Consultation period? Fuck off. They decided months ago.
- Sorry you’ve been made redundant. The company will be fine.
Every one of those aims at the employer. None of them aims at the person holding the card. That is not politeness, it is the only thing that works.
Still need the card itself?
We make more redundancy cards than anyone sensible would. It is the occasion we started with, because it is the one where every other card in the shop is a bunch of flowers with a shrug on it.
Blank inside, so the words above are yours. Printed and posted in the UK.
The cards we print for this
Aimed squarely at the company and the language it used, never at the person holding the lanyard bin. Blank inside, printed and posted in the UK.