Between telling the story and being the story: Voices #2
A public health professional shares the emotional aftermath of job loss and reflects upon the deeper search for purpose, creativity, and alignment in their work.
We continue our new series Voices from the Field: Meeting This Moment in Public Health, in which we lift the voices of public health professionals reflecting on the realities we’re facing today and the lessons learned across the arc of their careers.
Some public health professionals enter the field with a deep sense of mission, answering the call to protect communities and advance health. Others come to public service through more practical routes—bringing creativity, discipline, and a strong work ethic to roles they never anticipated, only to discover unexpected fulfillment in contributing to the public good.
Ashley Strawbridge was laid off one month ago from her job as a management analyst focusing on internal communications at the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA), following almost nine years of federal service. In this deeply personal reflection, Ashley recounts her journey into federal service, the heartbreak of an involuntary layoff, and the clarity that followed: a recognition that even unplanned roles can shape who we become—and that quiet, behind-the-scenes work has real meaning.
If you’d like to follow Ashley’s lead and share your own perspective on public health in these times, I’d love to hear from you. Please get in touch!
Between telling the story and being the story
by Ashley Strawbridge, MA
Just over a month ago, I woke up before sunrise with lingering dread, anticipating news about my professional fate at the FDA. Based on news reports and rumours, we had expected to receive layoff notifications the previous Friday. I rolled over, picked up my phone, and there it was.
In a text thread with my colleagues, a message from my supervisor read: “I received my RIF* notice.” More messages followed as the rest of the team confirmed that they had received the same. My sense of unease deepened. Still lying in bed, I logged on to my work laptop. The anxiety I had been holding in since January, when the talks about the RIFs began, came crashing down. Legs both numb and buzzing with adrenaline, I opened my email - and there it was: “We regret to inform you…”
I never imagined that time would slip through my fingers with the click of a button and the stroke of some ill-equipped keys. I read the email and tried to make sense of the nine attachments. Tears welled up in my eyes, my breath caught in my throat, and all I could say was, “I can't believe this is happening.” I started to reflect on how I ended up here, unemployed yet again.
After earning my Bachelors’ degree, I had dreamed of becoming an entertainment and sports publicist and writer. But despite my best efforts, the path into that field was unclear. After years of spotty work and periods of unemployment, I was in desperate need of a job that would pay the bills, allow me to live comfortably, and give me space for my original passions. That’s when I accepted a placement with a government contracting company as a human resources assistant in the FDA’s Office of Regulatory Affairs.
Although I yearned for a different career, the role was steady, it paid my bills, and allowed me to live comfortably. In less than two years, I advanced into a role as executive assistant to the deputy executive officer of the FDA’s Human Foods Program. Working as a federal contractor was hardly the fairytale career I had once envisioned, but the job gave me fulfillment and purpose. As I grew into the position, I became confident that I was providing valuable support to the federal government - work that helped make vital food safety efforts possible.
After five years as a government contractor, one of my former supervisors recruited me into a role as a management analyst - this time working directly for the FDA rather than through a contracting agency. It was a significant and unexpected step forward in my professional journey, even if it wasn’t the direction that I had originally imagined. I immersed myself in the new role, aiming to excel while also finding ways to weave my passion for communications into my responsibilities. I led and supported strategic internal and external communications efforts, developing constituent updates and online content covering a wide range of topics including food safety, agricultural regulations, export requirements, and more.
Despite my initial hesitation, I had found a job where I could truly thrive. I felt content with my professional growth while still pursuing my passions through my volunteer work. Supporting the mission of public health had become my mission, too.
I soon realized that the devastation I felt upon receiving my RIF notification was not because I wanted to keep my job or because I was losing the career that I had worked so hard to build. It was because I didn't get to leave it on my terms. I was mourning the comfort and the opportunities that this job had provided, not the job itself. While I had eventually found deep satisfaction in supporting the FDA’s public health mission, I realized that I had settled into a role that met my basic needs but rarely engaged the creative parts of me that still fought to be seen.
Since that day one month ago, I've felt a myriad of emotions, and I'm still working through them. Looking ahead, I’m seeking opportunities that will fuel and challenge me, while allowing me to apply my skills as a communications professional - someone who blends the needs of the organization with the needs of its audience. A communications professional who knows that her work thrives in an environment where the full picture can’t be seen without a team that understands both language and people. A communications professional who understands that the success of any organization lies somewhere between telling a story and being the story.
I'm realizing that this experience of termination is about so much more than just me losing a job - it’s about how the public health workforce is being quietly gutted without acknowledgment. So many of us found ourselves in public health careers by a winding path: not necessarily because we set out to work for the government, but because we showed up when we were needed and believed in the mission. We were adaptable, we learned fast, and we made the work happen. That’s worth something. For me, the job brought stability and a real sense of contribution, even if it wasn’t the career for me. I didn’t expect to grieve the loss this deeply, but I do - not just because of the job itself, but because I didn’t get to leave on my own terms. That lack of choice, that sense of being pushed out without recognition, is hard to shake.
But in this loss, there’s also a sharper understanding. Our work was essential: we filled critical gaps that kept public health programs running, even as our roles were often misunderstood or undervalued. The heartbreak we feel now is real, not because we all had the jobs of our dreams, but because we found meaning in our jobs and made them valuable. Our personal stories matter. And neither our personal worth nor the mission of public health is over just because our federal employment has ended. We still have value, we still have skills, and we still have the drive to serve. So, as I take stock and try to figure out what’s next, I hope that our stories are heard. I hope that our networks hold strong. And I hope that we all find work that uses our talents and honors the impact we’ve already made.
Ashley’s story is a powerful reminder that public health is upheld not only by those who lead programs or respond on the front lines, but also by those who support, communicate, and coordinate the work behind the scenes. Whether mission-driven from the outset or drawn in by circumstance, public health professionals like Ashley help government agencies function and public health programs succeed. Their contributions are often invisible to the public, but they are essential to the system as a whole. As we face growing uncertainty in the public health workforce, with many professionals already laid off, we must do more to acknowledge, support, and retain those who remain—because their work, and their presence, truly matters.
*RIF = Reduction in Force
Ashley Strawbridge MA is a strategic communications professional with over a decade of experience in internal communications, public relations, and stakeholder engagement. She is a proud member of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Incorporated, serving as the public relations chair and corresponding secretary for her local chapter, lending her expertise to uphold the organization's brand with impactful strategies for branding, marketing, and graphic design. Ashley is passionate about using clear, compelling messaging to drive connection, transparency, and positive change.
If you would like to follow Ashley’s example by sharing your perspective on public health right now in our new series Voices from the Field: Meeting This Moment in Public Health, please get in touch!
I’m also still welcoming entries for the series Love Letters to Public Health. Please get in touch if you want to submit a love letter!
Action steps - a note from Katie
Thank you for reading this newsletter for and about the public health workforce. At this tumultuous time, I’m still really not sure where we go from here. But each time that I publish this newsletter and receive positive feedback from readers, my list of ideas for action steps continues to grow. I will start to compile these suggestions here. As we learn more, let’s keep adding to this list:
Do Ashley’s words above inspire you? Would you also like to share your perspective on public health right now? Or write a love letter to public health? Got something to say to or about the public health workforce? Got big feelings about the RIFs or the RTO or the EOs or the BS? I would love to publish your words here as a step towards advocacy and/or venting. Get in touch.
Let’s communicate what public health is and why it matters that so many of us have been forced to leave our jobs. What is your proudest moment in public health? Complete this form to submit your public health story to be used for advocacy.
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Do you have suggestions for how to leverage this newsletter and community to be a supportive resource to public health professionals at this time? Please get in touch.
I believe in lifting the voices of the public health workforce. If you are a public health professional at any stage of your career who would like to publish an informed opinion in my newsletter, please get in touch.
Got more ideas for action steps that should be on this list? You know the drill. Get in touch.
I close by emphasising what I said in a previous newsletter:
“At this time of uncertainty for the public health workforce, let’s remember our commitment to science and evidence and data. We know that validating emotions and baggage has a place too, but we need to be able to identify them and distinguish opinion from fact.
Let’s recommit to kindness and mutual support for the public health workforce and beyond. If leaders are trying to sow divisions among us, the best we can do is to respond with empathy, and by strengthening, connecting, and lifting up one another.
Right now, the best I can offer my fellow public health professionals is a place* to gather and reflect and share and vent and organize and ask questions and offer support to one another. We’re going to need that now more than ever.”
*This is a plug for the Public Health Connections Lounge on LinkedIn, where we seek to build community and conversation among public health professionals. Join us.
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