A Companion for the Cannonball Moment of a Job Loss

No one plans for the moment that brings everything to a halt.

It arrived as a layoff notice from HR. All of a sudden, my career’s forward momentum is interrupted, and the story I was telling myself about who I am, who I have been, and where I was headed—no longer fits. It is my cannonball moment.  

Five hundred years ago, a young soldier named Ignatius of Loyola was confidently moving toward a future defined by ambition, recognition, and advancement. Then a cannonball shattered his leg and ended his military career in an instant. What followed was not a clean pivot or a well-planned reinvention. It was forced stillness. Long days of convalescence. Pain. Uncertainty. A life trajectory abruptly broken open.

Most modern professionals will never face a literal cannonball, but many will recognize the experience. Careers today are rarely linear. Industries shift. Roles disappear. Burnout accumulates silently until it can no longer be ignored. The cannonball moment does not always come with drama; sometimes it comes as exhaustion, disillusionment, or the creeping sense that the work you are doing no longer fits the person you have become.

What makes Ignatius’s story timeless and relatable is not the disruption itself, but what he did next. Immobilized and stripped of his former identity, he began paying attention to his inner experience. He noticed patterns. Certain thoughts left him restless and diminished; others brought clarity and energy. Over time, he learned to trust these signals as guides. 

Discernment invites a different response. Job loss is not simply a logistical problem; it is a spiritual rupture. It shakes assumptions, exposes attachments, and stirs questions I may not have chosen to face. In this vulnerable space, the movements of the heart matter more than the movements of the résumé. Ignatian discernment asks us to notice what is happening within—desolation, hope, resistance, unexpected desires—and to let these interior currents speak before we act.

Five hundred days ago, when I lost my job—I felt untethered.

In the days that followed, I didn’t just need a plan—I needed a way to stay present to what was unraveling and what was still holding. My all-of-a-sudden free days on my calendar gave me the opportunity to practice the Daily Examen. And that is what gave me a framework for processing it all. For staying with what was happening rather than rushing past it. It didn’t hand me answers, but it invited attention: where grief lingered, where fear shaped my thinking, where unexpected gratitude surfaced, and where small flickers of hope quietly endured. Day by day, this practice helped me listen more honestly to my interior life. And in that listening, I began to find my footing—not by forcing a next step, but by learning how to discern one, and by slowly recognizing God’s quiet accompaniment along the way.

The Examen does not give me answers to my prayers, but it gives me a faithful way to move through it with honesty and hope. As a spiritual companion and a workplace psychology researcher, I have seen how easily career disruption can unsettle not only our plans, but our sense of meaning, identity, and interior freedom—and I have seen how practices of attentive reflection can help people regain their footing. But the Examen helped me find steadiness when my career story fell apart.

In this moment of transition, there are tons of advice that often emphasize speed: improve your résumé, optimize your profile, network, apply widely, stay visible. While these strategies have their place, they often ignore a crucial truth: without internal clarity, external motion can rush us directly into misalignment. Many people scramble into a new role only to find themselves falling into the same patterns of exhaustion, frustration, or disconnection—just under a different title. The Ignatian spiritual exercises have taught me to take the time to process the moment. Discern prayerfully with gratitude and hope. Find God walking alongside me, every step of the way.

Suscipe by Saint Ignatius of Loyola: 

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory,

my understanding, and my entire will—

all that I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.

To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.

Give me only your love and your grace;

that is enough for me.