Oh, layoffs. The dreaded buzzword of our generation. At this point, it feels like a rite of passage nobody actually asked for. Almost everyone I know is either looking for a job, has just been laid off, or is consoling someone who has been laid off. According to The Washington Post, 1.1 million jobs have been cut this year — the highest since the pandemic and eerily on par with the 2008-2009 Great Recession. Even worse, since February, close to 600,000 Black women are currently unemployed.
Excuse me? What is going on?
I, unfortunately, am part of that number. And because the universe has a sense of humor, this was my third layoff. So yes, I’m well-versed in the subject. Call me a layoff connoisseur. The Beyoncé of bouncing back if you will.
My first was in 2017. I was 25 with my first New York City “big girl” job, and I was devastated. In my head, a layoff meant “you got fired,” and I spiraled accordingly. I sulked, applied to every job on the internet, and panicked daily, only to land a new role with better pay a few months later (life is funny like that). My second was in 2020, when I worked in experiential marketing, and the world shut down. The layoff happened on my birthday, on Zoom, in front of the entire company — which I do not recommend. But with a literal global pandemic unfolding, I was honestly relieved not to juggle a job on top of the stress of the unknown. My only regret? Going back to work too fast.
But this most recent one — as a director of social media for a media company — hit differently. I felt suspended, like I was floating between who I had been and who I might become next. Unsure of who I was without a job title to hide behind. I wasn’t ready to search for work, but I also didn’t know how to sit still. How could I? I grew up watching two military parents work nonstop. In my house, you worked, and you rested when you died. (I’m being dramatic, but you get it.)
So, after unexpectedly losing my job again, I did something some might call a bit uncharacteristic: I took a trip instead of rushing into my next chapter. Not a “let me multitask and squeeze job applications in between activities” trip. A real escape.
What started as a simple “I need to breathe” moment turned into a full-on course in slowing down, reclaiming confidence, and untying my identity from my job title. Somehow, an island, specifically the Cayman Islands, forced me into a version of rest I didn’t know I needed — or maybe didn’t believe I deserved.
When I landed in Grand Cayman and checked into the Marriott, the first thing I felt was…nothing. And not in a bad way. In a “my nervous system is finally shutting the hell up” way. Lunch on the property, then a long-overdue treatment at Botanika Spa, loosened a tightness I’d been carrying in my shoulders for months. I remember lying there thinking, Is this what being still feels like?
That first evening, sipping cocktails at Pom Pom — a rooftop so beautiful it felt like it was out of a Pinterest board — something shifted. It was the first time in weeks I wasn’t actively thinking about my next step. I wasn’t refreshing LinkedIn. I wasn’t trying to “look okay.” I just…existed.
Dinner that night at Avecita, an incredible six-course chef’s table experience, reminded me how much joy I could feel in the simplest human experiences: good food, warm company, a moment where no one is asking “So what’s next?” It felt like therapy, and so did the food.
And from there, that softening continued.
The next morning, I found myself floating — literally — during a water-based sound bath with Island Soul. I wasn’t fully submerged, but something in me unclenched. It was the most rested I’ve felt without melatonin or a weighted blanket.
After a refreshing lunch at local haunt Island Naturals and an afternoon immersed in the work of artist Carlos V. Garcia, I started feeling curious again. Inspired. It had been so long since I’d let myself be moved by creativity without thinking about content strategy or social angles.
That evening, I found myself laughing — actual, belly-deep laughing — during a cocktail-making class at Anchor & Den. At dinner across the street at Pepper’s, eating jerk pork that tasted like someone’s auntie or uncle made it with intention, I felt something I hadn’t felt since losing my job: grounded.
By the time I boarded the tiny plane to sister island Cayman Brac the next day, I could feel myself softening into the unknown.
Le Soleil D’Or, a boutique inn with a farm restaurant, felt like a different planet — lush, quiet, warm in a way that invited honesty. Our farm tour and lunch on the hill made me think about sustainability in a different way: not just food, but lifestyle. Slowness. Simplicity. Living in rhythm with your environment. The food on the property tasted like home, even though I was miles away from Brooklyn.
That night, cooking Sri Lankan dishes in the Manor House kitchen, covered in coconut flakes and laughing with people I’d known for 24 hours, I realized: I hadn’t thought about my layoff all day. Not once. I had never had Sri Lankan food before and was surprised to learn that Caymanians come from all kinds of diverse backgrounds. Cayman is a melting pot of cultures, similar to New York, and Sri Lankan food is now at the top of my list.
The next morning, we did a slow and intentional yoga session that was set outside at Rock Iguana’s Yogi Wall. In between poses you could hear the waves crashing from the ocean, the wind rustling leaves in the salty air, birds chirping back and forth. It was a transformative experience to say the least.
Afterwards, I painted a mandala, a symbolic design in Hinduism and Buddhist culture used for meditation and spiritual practice. The word “mandala” means “circle” and traditionally represents the universe, wholeness, and the relationship between the infinite and the world. Fitting. I fully expected mine to come out looking like a kindergarten project, but somehow, it turned into something beautiful. Maybe that’s what happens when you stop rushing.
We spent the afternoon by the sea at Le Soleil D’Or’s private beach club, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel guilty for relaxing. I didn’t feel like I should be doing more. I didn’t feel like “time off” meant I was falling behind.
By the time we flew back to Grand Cayman and checked into Botanica Cottages, I was fully committed to my Rest Era. My private one-bedroom cottage came fully equipped with everything I needed for a “home away from home” stay. I took time to relax by the pool, sipping prosecco before heading to dinner at Bonny Moon Beach Club. Fire-roasted dishes, soft music, and a beach breeze felt like a final exfoliation of the stress I carried in with me.
The next day, during our bougie Sunday champagne brunch buffet at Ristorante Pappagallo (yes, unlimited champagne, yes, I felt it), I realized I had been grieving the version of myself that existed before the layoff. And somehow, between the mimosas, endless sushi, and the views, I felt myself finally letting her go.
We spent the rest of the afternoon (champagne drunk) at the infamous seven mile beach…my idea of a proper Sunday funday. We sipped pina coladas while chatting with locals swimming in the ocean. They willfully shared stories of growing up in Grand Cayman and the changes they’ve seen throughout the years. It was refreshing to hear their perspectives, and this experience reminded me of my childhood. Floating in the ocean, letting the hours pass by without a care in the world. Peace.
Our final dinner at Bacaro felt like a sendoff — Venetian small plates, easy conversation, and the soft awareness that I was leaving this trip different than when I arrived.
During my six days in the Grand Cayman, I shed layers I didn’t know I was carrying: the burnout, the performative productivity, the pressure to always be “the girl who has it together.” For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t producing anything. I wasn’t strategizing, pitching, or creating content. I wasn’t optimizing my relaxation or trying to “make the most” of my vacation. I was just…there. Present. Softening.
Somewhere between slow mornings with no alarms, the simple rhythm of island life, the sea, and the nights spent eating family-style meals with locals who instantly treated us like cousins, I felt something shift. I began piecing together a new version of myself — one that wasn’t defined by output, busyness, or constant striving. One that valued presence over productivity. One that allowed for rest without guilt.
This trip taught me that travel isn’t just about seeing a new place — it’s about remembering who you are when the noise quiets. It’s about giving yourself permission to stop. To reset. To reimagine. When I came home, nothing in my external world had changed. I was still laid off. I still didn’t know my next step.
But I was different.
I returned grounded, open, and far more trusting of what’s next. Quieter, but clearer. Less desperate to “figure it out,” and more willing to let the next chapter reveal itself. This post-layoff trip didn’t solve my problems. But it gave me the one thing I hadn’t felt in a long time: Possibility.
Sometimes you just need a Caribbean island (or two), a quiet room, a slow morning, a vibrant dinner table full of strangers who feel like family, or a moment floating in warm turquoise water to remind you that beginnings can be just as beautiful as endings.
Things That Surprised Me About the Cayman Islands
- Caymanian people are some of the warmest humans alive. Every conversation felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. It’s also an extremely diverse island with roots from the UK, India, Jamaica, Mexico, and more.
- The water is unreal. Like, “Am I in a desktop screensaver?” unreal.
- The islands are incredibly safe. I felt comfortable the entire time, even when solo.
- The food??? No one told me it would be this good.
- Cayman Brac is an underrated gem. Quiet, stunning, healing.
- Time moves differently there. Not slower — just softer.
- I didn’t realize how badly I needed rest until the island handed it to me.