Restarting at 30

I got married at the end of last year; age 29. It was December at the Sacramento County Clerk Recorder with just our parents, the afternoon sun, and a quiet kind of joy. I wore a simple white dress with a long, ruffly train. He wore a maroon wool suit. I did my own hair and makeup. We celebrated later with our families. My uncle played a Beatles song, my dad gave a funny speech, and we ordered sushi for everyone. It was short, sweet, and in other words, perfect. We were married, and everything felt right.

A few months later, in March, we held our reception in Portugal with friends and extended family. A dream. While on our honeymoon, I found out Trump’s DOGE had broken into my workplace’s building. Two weeks later, I was fired from my job at the United States Institute of Peace, a nonpartisan nonprofit organization.

Losing your job is terrifying. The financial instability, the loss of benefits, the loss of purpose. A season that should have brimmed with possibility instead felt like standing at the edge of something vast and uncertain. I filed for unemployment, updated my résumé and portfolio, and started applying immediately, but in a time when the government industry had been gutted, opportunities were few and far between.

Two months later turned 30 surrounded by friends, most of whom were also unemployed. We laughed, drank, and tried to make light of it all. Still, the air was heavy with questions none of us knew how to answer.

By summer, and with immense gratittude, a friend connected me to a wonderful agency where I freelanced for a few months while working retail on weekends. I was grateful. I was exhausted. Money was tight, time was tighter, and my sense of self kept slipping between hope and fear.

So here I am. 30! Still applying for full-time jobs. Still pitching freelance projects. Still figuring out what comes next.

Some days, I wake up with optimism, like this might be the shake-up I needed to find something truer. Other days, it’s harder to move under the weight of uncertainty.

I don’t yet know what starting over looks like for me. I’m still here. And somehow, I’m just beginning.