I am nobody’s scraps

They want me small. I’m 6’2”. Good luck with that.

This job search has been relentless. Every day, I wake up and try to summon enough optimism to apply again, network again, convince myself again that today might be the day something changes. After more than 450 days, that’s the real work—not the applications or the interviews, but the fight to keep believing.

A few weeks ago, I was deep into interviews for a role at a company I respect. The title was a step down from where I’d been for years, and the salary was well below my target, but the work itself was interesting. I told myself it was worth considering. After all, it was with a company I admired, and after so much time out of work, being wanted felt like progress.

I told myself a story I’ve told before—that once they saw what I could do, the title wouldn’t matter. That I could negotiate the pay up, or that maybe the visibility would lead to something better down the road. I wanted off the rollercoaster so badly that I was willing to rationalize my way into a smaller role than I belonged in.

I made it through the interviews and felt hopeful. The hiring manager seemed genuinely interested, and for the first time in a while, I allowed myself to believe this could be it.

Then the recruiter called. The role was closed, they said. Not filled—closed. Priorities shifted. The need went away.

That was disappointing, but not unusual. And because I still wanted to believe something could work out, I said yes when they offered me a chance to interview for a different role—one even further down the org chart, with even less pay. It wasn’t exciting, but I told myself maybe it was a foot in the door. And right now, a foot in the door felt better than nothing at all.

That interview was set for later that day. I was getting ready for it when my inbox pinged. It was the hiring manager from the first role, replying to the thank-you note I’d sent after being told the job was closed. Her note was gracious, polite. And right there, in the middle of a perfectly nice message, she mentioned something that made me stop.

The role wasn’t closed. It was filled.

Someone else had been hired, and no one told me.

If I hadn’t sent that thank-you, I never would have known. I would have walked into that new interview, for the lesser role, still believing the first job simply evaporated. I would have shown up, eager and compliant, and never known the truth.

That’s the part that stung the most—not the rejection itself, but the fact that the truth was intentionally withheld from me. Instead of honesty, I got a version of the story designed to smooth things over, to keep me engaged, to avoid a slightly uncomfortable conversation.

That kind of treatment chips away at your dignity, whether it’s intentional or not.

I’m not new to this process. I’ve led teams, hired people, let people go. I understand how decisions get made, and I know that someone else getting the job isn’t personal. But I also know this: candidates deserve the truth.

We deserve the respect of clarity, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.

And here’s the part I have to own: I allowed myself to be put in this position. I saw the lower title. I heard the too-low salary. I felt the shrinking scope. And I stayed in the process anyway. I stayed because I was tired. Because I’m a single mom now, and financial stability isn’t optional. Because after all these months, the silence started to feel like proof that I should be grateful for anything.

This is what long-term unemployment does. It doesn’t just drain your savings. It drains your sense of self. It makes you smaller in your own mind.

And that’s especially true for midlife professionals—especially moms. We’ve spent years compromising for flexibility, for family, for everyone else’s needs. That pattern is so ingrained that when the job market starts to undervalue us, we’re already primed to agree.

That’s how it happened to me. I took myself down a few notches before anyone else did. I made myself smaller, more affordable, easier to say yes to.

And you know what? This wouldn’t have happened to a man like me.

They wouldn’t have reached out to a man with my résumé for that first role. They wouldn’t have followed up with a more junior position after the first one disappeared. They wouldn’t have assumed he’d smile and say thank you for the scraps.

But a midlife mom, unemployed long enough to smell a little desperate? That’s a different story. They bet I’d take it. And for a while, they were right.

That’s what I’m sitting with today. Not just anger at the recruiter who chose to tell a softer version of the truth. Not just frustration with a hiring process that treats candidates like they need to be handled.

I’m angry at myself—for forgetting, even briefly, what I’m worth.

I know what 30 years of leadership, creativity, transformation, and results are worth. I know what it took to get here. And I nearly gave it away because I was tired of waiting.

I still need a job. I still need income. I still need to qualify for housing. None of that has changed. But what has changed is how I see myself in this process.

I am not lucky to be considered. I am not a bargain waiting to be discovered. And I am absolutely nobody’s scraps.

I know my worth. And I will not pre-discount myself to make someone else’s budget work.

If that means waiting longer, so be it.

I am nobody’s scraps.