One Year Later: The Announcement I Never Made

A year ago, my life changed.  Until now, I have never publicly shared it to this extent. 

There are a few people who know me as the woman behind Cresha’s Cozy Cravings. Some know that I bake sourdough bread, cookies, cinnamon rolls and other treats. Some know I left my federal government career.

What most people don’t know is why, even though most people probably could guess if they saw how so many people in the world starting with the highest office seemed to declare a war on those of us who dedicated many years of our lives to civil service.

The truth is that I never made an announcement because I was still trying to process everything that happened.  After over twenty years of federal service, I resigned from my position.  It wasn’t because I had some exciting entrepreneurial plan.  It wasn’t because I wanted to leave.  I left because, given the circumstances I was facing at the time, I didn’t feel like I had another choice.

What followed has been one of the most difficult years of my life. Last year I became one of the hundreds of thousands of Black women whose unemployment situation changed unexpectedly.  Behind every statistic is a real person…

A real family.

Real bills.

Real fears.

Real uncertainty.

I was one of those women, and I wasn’t the only one in my household implacted as my husband resigned after twenty-one years of federal service.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, our family went from having the stability of two long-term federal careers to facing a future we could no longer predict.  Thankfully my husband was able to secure a position with a contractor, and I am deeply grateful for that opportunity and the stability it brought back into our home. 

It doesn’t erase what this past year has been, because while people often focus on job loss, what I experienced was the loss of much more than employment.

I lost certainty.

I lost routine.

I lost confidence.

I lost the identity that I had spent over two decades building.

For most of my adult life, I knew exactly how to answer the question, “What do you do?” My career wasn’t just a paycheck.  It was part of who I believed I was.  When that chapter ended, I found myself asking questions I never expected to ask.  “Who am I without this career?” “What value do I bring if I’m no longer earning the income I once did?” “How do I contribute when I feel like I no longer have the same resources, opportunities or security?” “How do I rebuild when I didn’t choose to tear everything down?”

Those questions have followed me for the last year.  So have the anger, the grief, the disappointment, the self-doubt, the fear.  There are days when people see a smiling photo beside a loaf of bread and assume everything is going well.  The reality is much more complicated.  This year has forced me to confront things I never truly understood before.

I’ve learned how differently the world feels when financial security disappears. I’ve learned how stressful it is to navigate health concerns when every doctor’s appointment, every test, every prescription, and every specialist visit carries a financial calculation attached to it. I’ve learned how quickly you begin weighing your own needs against the needs of your family.  I’ve learned how exhausting it is to wonder whether you can afford answers when something feels wrong with your health.  I’ve learned how vulnerable a person can feel when they no longer have the safety nets they once took for granted.  I’ve learned how easy it is to begin questioning your own worth when so much of society ties value to productivity, employment, income and achievement. 

I’ve learned that adversity reveals people. Some people who promised they would check in never did.  Some people quietly disappeared.  Others showed up in ways I never expected.  I’ve learned that support often comes from places you never saw coming.

Through all of this, my husband and I have still had two young children depending on us every single day.  Children don’t stop needing stability because their parents are struggling.  The bills don’t stop arriving. The groceries still need to be purchased. The school events still happen. The illnesses still come. The laundry still piles up.  Life keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.  

There were days when I felt completely overwhelmed by uncertainty and still had to show up as a mother.  Days when didn’t know what the future looked like but still had little eyes looking to me for reassurance.  Days when I felt broken but still had people counting on me to be strong.

Somewhere in the midst of this all, I started Cresha’s Cozy Cravings. The micro bakery wasn’t born out of confidence.  It was born out of hope.  Hope that I could create something meaningful. Hope that I could still contribute. Hope that I could build something with my own hands.  Hope that there was still a future waiting for me even if it looked nothing like the one I had planned.  It has brought me joy and challenges. Building a business while grieving the loss of a career is hard. Creating something new while mourning what was lost is hard.  

Some days I feel hopeful. Some days I feel discouraged. Some days I feel proud. Some days I question everything. If I’m being honest, there are still days when the uncertainty feels overwhelming.  But this post isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s not a success story. It’s not a motivational speech. It’s simply the truth.

A year ago, I lost a career that had been part of my identity for over twenty years. I watched the future I thought I knew suddenly change. I faced uncertainty, financial challenges, health concerns, fear, grief, countless questions about what comes next, and somehow, despite all of that, I am still here….still standing, still parenting, still rebuilding, still learning, still hoping, still believing there is purpose in this season, even when I can’t always see it. I still need to take a break because I feel like I have not sat down since it happened. That is a trauma response. I guess I have tried not to think about it too much because I don’t want the internal spiral that I feel to become external.

One year later, I don’t have the perfect ending to share, but I do have this:

I have survived, and sometimes, survival is its own kind of victory.

Thank you to the few people in my corner who have stayed consistent, who have prayed for and with me, who have encouraged me, who have given me a dollar or two, cause “Y’all know I don’t have a job.”  Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!