With the tumultuous changes in the tech industry, there has been growing debate about whether coding is still worth it in 2025 and beyond. With AI looming and the industry echoing the 2000s dot-com bubble, it’s no surprise that the unexpected is causing immense stress for current and future software developers.
Back in 2023, after months of my company reassuring us that there was nothing to worry about—despite start-ups and big tech alike laying off hundreds or even thousands of employees—over 800 of us received the dreadful news that we were being “let go.”
The old me would have panicked. I was rightfully shocked, but I immediately called my mom. The Presbyterian in her assured me that all would be well. As a believer, my spirit accepted that comfort, but my flesh was still devastated by the news. I felt gaslighted: a few months earlier, I’d asked for a promotion because I’d been told I was already handling tasks above my job title. My direct manager—who was also laid off—had praised my work and insisted there was nothing to worry about. I guess we were all fooled.
Once someone is laid off, the first question you ask yourself is: What do I do next? Naturally, I opened LinkedIn and began applying for jobs. I got a few interviews, but none led anywhere. Still, there was something I couldn’t shake off: my health.
Months before the layoff, I developed pneumonia exacerbated by my lifelong struggle with sickle cell anemia. Although sickle cell has never stopped me from chasing my goals, this episode landed me in the hospital for several weeks—far longer than my usual few days. I endured a painful crisis every day that even strong medications couldn’t alleviate and had to undergo a life-saving exchange transfusion. At 30 years old, I was more frightened than ever.
With sickle cell, you live in uncertainty. One minute everything is fine; the next, your vision is blurred with tears and IV needles are threaded into sites too numerous to count. Despite having such a misunderstood disease, by God’s grace I prevailed. I continued living fully despite my body’s unpredictable challenges. And after the layoff, I finally had the chance to pursue something I couldn’t while employed: a bone marrow transplant.
Before college, I learned about a potential cure: the bone marrow transplant. All I needed was a matched donor, and my sister—my only sibling—seemed the ideal candidate. We waited anxiously for the results to see if I could enter adulthood free from the fear of painful crises. To my family’s—and my—great disappointment, she wasn’t a full match. At that time, medicine could only perform the procedure on full matches, and despite being my sister in every sense, she wasn’t compatible.
Ten years later, my hematology nurse practitioner told me that things had changed: they could now perform the transplant with a half match. I shared the story of when I was 18, and she encouraged me to check again. By then, I’d just landed my first full-time software development job and, despite ongoing complications, had resigned myself to living with sickle cell forever. I couldn’t fathom taking three-plus months off for the procedure—I’d worked so hard to reach that coveted position.
But my NP was right. After the longest weeks of my life, we learned my sister was a half match. We could move forward with the transplant. I felt a rush of excitement—tangled with worry. You’d think I’d leap at the chance to save my organs from further damage, escape future crises, and avoid missed opportunities. Yet I hesitated, comparing myself to my healthier coworkers and former classmates. I deferred my dream of a life free from sickle cell.
Two years later—after the layoff and another brush with mortality—I realized how, even then, I’d delayed asking my company for FMLA. I’d been worried about upcoming organizational changes. When I recognized that misplaced priority, I was angry at myself. I immediately called the bone marrow transplant center and booked my appointment.