Real Stories from Our Community

In March 2025, after 32 years in federal service, my career ended abruptly when I accepted the deferred

resignation program just thirty days before my office underwent a reduction in force. What followed

was not a neatly planned pivot, but a lived experience of reinvention—learning to rebuild purpose,

income, and identity one decision at a time.

That unexpected transition led me to expand what had once been a lifelong passion into something

much larger. I launched Jayme Marshall Jewelry, a fine art jewelry manufacturing and retail business

rooted in traditional metalsmithing, meaningful design, and community-based creativity. What began as

a hobby alongside a full-time career became my primary focus—and my livelihood.

Reinvention, I’ve learned, isn’t a single bold leap. It is the daily work of navigating rising material costs,

embracing new skills in marketing and technology, and continuing to show up creatively even when the

path feels uncertain. Studio work can be deeply fulfilling—but it can also be isolating. Connection with

other artists and small business owners has become essential, not optional.

Seeking direction, I reached out to the Maryland Women’s Business Center and applied for their

incubator program. I was honored to be accepted into their nine-month program of business education,

coaching, and collaboration alongside other entrepreneurs. That learning community became a critical

bridge between leaving federal service and stepping fully into the realities of running a small business.

At the same time, I began building deeper connections within the local creative community. I applied to

and was accepted into the Valley Craft Network, now celebrating 45 years of championing professional

craft and collaboration. I also became a member of Countryside Artisans, a collective of working artists

in rural Maryland that organizes self-guided studio tours throughout the year. These ventures connected

me with seasoned artisans, strengthened my business skills, and helped bring customers into my

remote studio and gallery.

I also pursued partnerships with galleries where my work could reach new audiences. Today, my jewelry

is proudly represented at Lockhouse Gallery in Brunswick, MD and Eastside Gallery in Frederick, MD.

These relationships remind me that while the work is made by hand—often in solitude—it is sustained

and inspired through shared experience, mentorship, and mutual support.

My business growth is inseparable from that sense of connection. I have hired and begun training an

apprentice, passing on skills that ensure this craft and livelihood continue forward. Through my gallery, I

also carry and promote the work of other artists, helping increase visibility and opportunity within a

small but vibrant creative ecosystem.

One of the steepest learning curves has been building an online presence from the ground up. Creating

the jaymemarshalldesign.com website and learning how to market effectively in a crowded digital

space has required persistence, patience, and skills far beyond the jewelry bench. As a maker, my

strength has always been in working with my hands—shaping silver, setting stones, and creating

meaningful objects of beauty. But reinvention has also demanded that I become my own storyteller,

web designer, and marketer, often while navigating the emotional and financial uncertainty of starting

over. Growing a small artisan business means constantly balancing creative work with the behind-the-

scenes labor of visibility—educating customers about the value of handmade craft, reaching new

audiences, and building momentum one post, one update, and one connection at a time.

Reinvention is not simply starting over—it is building forward. It is choosing, day by day, to create

something meaningful from uncertainty, to invest in community, and to turn artistry into sustainable

impact. Through Jayme Marshall Jewelry, I am not only shaping metal into objects of beauty, but

shaping a new chapter of purpose—one grounded in craftsmanship, collaboration, and the belief that

small, local creative businesses can strengthen the cultural and economic fabric of our communities.

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story. I was a Health and Human Services (HHS) intern during the mass RIFs within the federal government initiated and implemented by the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). Before the shift in administrations, there were concerns among staff surrounding policies that would decrease American citizens' access to equitable, culturally competent, and quality healthcare. Staff were well aware that their core mission is to enhance the health and well-being of the people; however, the Trump administration would make this a more difficult task. In this story, I want to share my experience as an intern and aspiring mental health professional in our current climate. I would also like to share the emotional toll the current administration's layoffs had on my coworkers. 

I entered my internship excited to learn from and assist people who were passionate about making a difference in this country. I was greeted with warmth and excitement. The environment was truly a dream. As election day moved closer, I could feel the energy shift. Some remembered the hardships they had faced during the previous Trump administration, and others, like myself, were brand new to the federal government during his presidency. When the priorities of the administration change, so does the work. Staff did not want to put hours into programs, initiatives, and grants just for them to be cut entirely. During this time, it truly felt like a waiting game. In my mind, I believed the thickness in the air would subside once we found out who won the election, but I did not know how wrong I was. 

Returning to work after Donald J. Trump was inaugurated was like a hazy fever dream. I had this pit in my stomach and a heaviness I could not explain. The staff meetings mirrored this feeling. Morale was clearly low, but once the executive order was announced to lay off federal employees, it was chaos. The meetings were an outpouring of emotions. Staff wanted to know what would happen to them, if there was a list of employees to be cut, what would happen to their work, and if leadership had any insider details they were concealing from their colleagues. Employees began to wonder if they could trust the leaders who had served them thus far. In all honesty, I do not believe our leadership knew much more than we did. 

During this time, we received emails from DOGE demanding reports of our activities and instructing us to cease all projects causing division amongst the American people. You may be wondering what projects under HHS would cause division. I wondered that myself, but as it turns out, anything referencing marginalized populations and addressing their specific needs was considered divisive according to this new administration. How can we work for the American people without actually working for all Americans? This question was constantly gnawing at my coworkers and me. They worried about the people, the state of this country, and their livelihoods. The stress was evident. Then the first wave of RIFs rippled through the department. I was shocked to see how many people were no longer with us. The meetings were painful, and many tears were shed for our coworkers who were cut swiftly and without cause. I pondered for a long time how people who actually care and are passionate about their work could be treated with such cruelty. They work to make healthcare better for everyone, and the government itself turned its back on them. I felt sick. I have always had a heart for service, and I am a lover of people. I was actively working under an administration that does not share my values. 

As a Black woman, I understand the pain of loving people who do not always return that sentiment, but for the first time, I wondered if it was worth it. I was witnessing those I considered to be the best of us betrayed during their service to the American people. However, I had a manager who demonstrated real strength. She continued to lift my spirits every time we spoke. She was amazing. She was the reason I met so many incredible people and also why I shed so many tears when they left. After the first wave, we were expected to work business as usual, but that was difficult for everyone. After the layoffs, the workload of our lost colleagues did not disappear; it just changed hands instead. On top of all the stress, the sadness, and the rumors of another RIF, staff had a heavier workload than usual. I assisted the best I could with boosting employee morale and diligently working on the tasks I was assigned, but my morale was low as well. I could not perform the same tasks or manage the program I had previously, as it did not align with the current administration. The uncertainty was like a crushing weight and created a sense of powerlessness that I was observing. It was infectious. Then, like a miracle, the RIF’d employees started to return. 

The Trump administration's actions were challenged and overturned. Welcoming everyone back was a joyous occasion for the staff. It also instilled a small bit of hope for us. With their return, we experienced a shred of normalcy before the rumored second wave became less hearsay and more of a reality. This time, however, we wanted to be prepared. I received the opportunity to gather resources for other employees to help with stress, financial matters, and other considerations during this time of uncertainty. I was excited to do my part in supporting the teams that had imparted so much knowledge to me. When all the resources were ready to be dispersed, the second wave hit. 

Everyone says they remember where they were when the second tower of the World Trade Center was hit. Some remember where they were when Michael Jackson's death was reported. I was not alive for 9/11, and I was a child when MJ died, but the moment the second RIF occurred replays in my mind even now. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. I had just finished getting ready for the day at my aunt's house when another intern texted me. She said the entire Department of Directors was gone. I froze. I asked what she meant and what was going on. I rushed to get my laptop, and I saw an email from the director. She was gone. I called my supervisor as she was heading to work. I told her about the director, but I was not sure if her entire department was gone, so I just asked her to keep me updated when she arrived at the office. I figured if they had all lost their jobs, she should not learn of her status from an intern. It felt wrong. As I sat in shock, I just waited for news, anything. Finally, I received a response from my supervisor, and she confirmed my fears. The entire department, except one, was gone. My supervisor was cut. The most amazing person I had ever worked with was gone. Everyone looked up to her. I looked up to her, and she was gone. They could not even enter the building. 

The resources I helped put together were supposed to go out that day. I wondered if I had just worked faster, maybe I could have helped them somehow. I felt that sense of powerlessness I loathed. Most of all, I was shocked, angry, and sad. I did not want to call her during such a sensitive moment, but she requested to call me. When she spoke to me, she did not sound sad or angry. She was making sure I was okay and that I could continue my work without her. I broke in that moment. She was having the worst day ever and thinking about me. I cried angrily through gritted teeth. I tried to hide it on the phone, but I knew she could hear the pain in my voice. I expressed my admiration with the words I could muster, but I did not have the vocabulary to truly express how I was feeling in the moment, and I still feel as though my description does not suffice. Honestly, the rest of my internship was a blur, and yet the work continued. I presented my projects and submitted everything to my teams. Thankfully, I speak with my former supervisor to this day, and I am grateful for this relationship. 

Despite the emotional rollercoaster, that internship taught me so much. Life can change in an instant. You have to be flexible, and you have to keep moving. The only time you are truly defeated is if you do not get up when you are knocked down. The people at HHS are my hope for this country. Young people like myself who work to create a better future for ourselves and those after us give me hope. Those like my supervisor, who selflessly think of others when they have their own challenges, give me hope. The empathy, integrity, and generosity displayed by my coworkers are the characteristics I want to emulate as I work on a micro and macro level to improve health disparities for underserved communities and create an environment where loving thy neighbor is a reality. I am currently a graduate student in social work. My ultimate goal is to be a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and a Licensed Clinical Addiction Counselor. I am confident in my ability to navigate this work, no matter the setting I am in. I attribute this confidence to my internship, the political climate, my supervisor's guidance, and the resilience of my colleagues at the time. Thank you again for the opportunity to share. – Anonymous

If someone had told me in January 2025 that I would be retiring from Federal service in less than five months, I would have told them, “There is absolutely positively no way! I have a high school senior who recently committed to playing college soccer and two granddaughters who need college funds. There is no way I would risk my family’s livelihood. No one would give up their “good Gov’ment job’!”

Well… After 34 years, starting as an intern and working my way up to a Division Director, that is exactly what happened. The majority of my customer base got RIF’d! As a procurement executive, my customers included the Office of Communications, Public Engagement, DEI and EEOC, and the Office of Administration. By the end of March, about 70% of my customers' Federal staff had been RIF'd, and my team had to terminate the majority of the contracts we were administering. With the threat of RIFs in our office and an offer to take early retirement, I made the decision to pull the trigger and take the early retirement. The money is important of course, but I couldn't risk getting RIF'd and losing insurance for my family.

My last day as a Fed was April 30, 2025, and it has been such a humbling, humbling, humbling experience. I started my own consulting company – Apex Acquisition Group LLC – providing procurement/acquisition support and advice to small business and Government agencies. I can admit that the timing of this retirement decision and starting a Government consulting company was not the best. Since being retired, my wife “promoted" me to “Director of Transportation and Logistics" for her catering business, Yolo Catering Experience, LLC, where my responsibilities include delivering meals to her meal prep customers; pick up, delivery, and setting up tables and chairs for her larger catering events; setting up cupcake displays, and keeping her hydrated. (I even got my bartender's certificate!!). I do get free meals whenever I work, so there are perks. This unpaid position (heavy on unpaid) seems to keep my wife happy, so I guess it’s worth it.

I'll admit that I occasionally regret my decision to retire. I honestly didn't realize how much discretionary funds we had until we didn't have them! What I don’t regret is the freedom I have to be fully present for my family. I am blessed to have my wife and a family who completely support me as I find myself in this new chapter of my life. I have to remember that God always has a bigger plan, turn doubt and fear into planning and action, and trust the process!

I am a proud former federal public health leader who spent 15 years at HHS serving communities across the nation. My work was deeply connected to supporting people, strengthening systems, and advancing programs that made a real difference in people’s lives.

I had just dropped my son off at school when my cell phone rang. A colleague shared that an email had gone out from our Medical Director — he had been RIF’d. It was April Fool’s Day — but it was no joke. Soon after, we realized that everyone in our office had received the dreaded email informing us that our positions were being abolished and thanking us for our service. Within the hour, we were locked out of the system and no longer had access to email.

This experience has been humbling and scary. Overnight, I went from leading meaningful work to navigating uncertainty — like so many others across the DMV and across the country whose lives and livelihoods were reshaped by a single email. And in the process, I realized how much we take for granted in our roles — things like health insurance and life insurance, and the everyday structures that quietly hold our lives together until they’re gone. With faith and the support of family, friends, and community, I began rebuilding. I leaned into creativity, purpose, and possibility — choosing to stay visible, tell the truth about the journey, and keep moving forward.

REAL TALK — The Job Search Is Hard

Finding a job after a RIF — especially in public health here in the DMV — is hard.

I’m still actively looking for full-time work.
Still applying.
Still interviewing.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is this:

Never rely on just one income stream.
Not in this economy. Not in this season.

Diversifying your work — through side ventures, creative projects, consulting, or entrepreneurship — isn’t just smart, it’s stabilizing. It builds resilience, flexibility, and new ways to serve and sustain yourself during transition.

BE OPEN TO POSSIBILITIES

If you’re navigating this journey, here’s what I want you to carry with you:

Stay open to possibilities.

Your next chapter may not look like the last one.
Your gifts may show up in unexpected ways.
Your passions — creative, strategic, and relational — may carve new paths you never imagined.

Openness creates momentum.
Momentum creates opportunity.

TIPS FOR CURRENT FEDERAL EMPLOYEES

For my colleagues still in government:

• Take advantage of trainings, certificates, and leadership programs.
• Keep your resume updated.
• Stay connected to your network.
• Explore your passions outside of work.
• Build skills and ventures that belong to you — so you’re not relying on just one income stream.

Today, my journey is still unfolding — but I’m moving forward with clarity, courage, and hope. To anyone else affected by the RIF: you are not alone, your story matters, and reinvention is possible — one step at a time. We rise by telling the truth about what we’ve been through, by lifting one another up, and by continuing to move forward, together.