When the Layoffs Are Over, the Culture Work Is Not
Every year, the end of June arrives with a particular energy inside organizations.
For organizations running a July 1 fiscal year, this is the final week of the books. For public companies and many private ones, Q2 is closing and the real numbers are coming into focus. Not the projections, the actuals. And when the actuals land against what was forecast, the pencils get sharp fast.
This is, quietly, RIF season. Reduction in force season. And this year, it is especially active.
I have been in enough of these seasons, on the inside of organizations, at the leadership table, and now advising from the outside, to know that what happens in the next few weeks will shape organizational culture well into next year. Not because layoffs are new. But because of what leaders do next.
I want to talk to three people:
The leader who is about to make, or just made, a hard call.
The person sitting at their desk today, still employed, trying to figure out how they feel.
And the person who got the call they didn't see coming.
To the Leader
You made a hard business decision. Maybe you had to. Maybe expenses were outpacing revenue. Maybe the board had targets that weren't moving. Maybe Q2 told you something you couldn't ignore. I understand that. Organizations have to make hard calls, and pretending otherwise doesn't serve anyone.
But here’s what I want you to sit with.
The headcount reduction, the benefits savings, the salary expense that disappear from next quarter's P&L…that math is real. But there is another set of numbers that doesn't show up on a spreadsheet, and those are the ones that will determine whether your organization actually recovers.
When roles are eliminated, the impact is never just the number cut. Employees move in spheres: teams, cross-functional partners, people who have built trust with each other over years of hard work. When one person exits, the ground shifts under everyone connected to them.
Multiply your number cut — say, 40 people — by their immediate sphere of colleagues and collaborators, conservatively another 20 people each, and your real organizational impact is closer to 800 people who are shaken to their core.
And that's before the aftershocks. Because after the earthquake, the aftershocks come. In organizations, they last for months.
The people who remain are often left ruminating on future what-ifs, walking on eggshells, or experiencing an exhausting state of high alert that long-term uncertainty brings.
Am I next?
Was there a pattern?
What does this say about how leadership actually sees us? Me?
Your remaining employees will show up. They’ll hit their deadlines. Some, particularly those who feel deeply responsible, may even work harder in the short run, trying to make sure they don't get caught in the next round.
But that is not sustainable, and it is not the same as engaged.
And when the cuts feel random, when people can't make sense of who was let go or why, the wound goes deeper. Because it's not just about the people who left. It's about what the decision communicates to everyone who stayed, as well as whether you, your leadership, and your decision-making is sound and can be trusted.
If your message to the organization amounted to we're financially healthy, but we wanted to cut costs — I want to say this with as much care as I can: that is significantly insufficient. And it will cost you more than the salaries you saved.
The way people exit your organization determines how much trust remains with everyone who watched.
If you want to see what it looks like to support people through this moment in a way that protects the culture you're trying to preserve, I wrote a case study on exactly that. You can find it here. One CHRO I worked with called the approach a "quiet advantage." I think that's exactly right.
To the Person Still at Their Desk
What you're feeling right now has a name: work survivorship. And it is heavier than people acknowledge.
This is not quiet quitting. Quiet quitting got framed as an individual choice: one person, checked out, giving minimum effort. What I'm describing is something different. It's collective. It's involuntary. It’s like yet different, and deeper, than disengagement. And for high performers, being in that space alone is unsettling because that’s not typically you.
Some of you will feel the pull to work harder. To be more visible. To be indispensable. To make sure you're not in the next round. I understand that impulse, especially for high-achievers and people who feel a deep sense of responsibility. But I want to gently name it for what it is: fear in work clothes.
Others are already asking a different question: did my workload just double because of all of this?
If the answer is yes, and if the explanation you received didn't land, you are now doing more with less inside a culture that just showed you something. And that is a legitimate moment to ask yourself, not from a place of bitterness, but from a place of honest self-assessment, is this still where I can do my best work?
You don't have to answer that today. But don't not answer it.
Give yourself some grace right now. The ground shifted. People you worked alongside, collaborated with, leaned on…gone, without warning. That is disorienting for anyone, regardless of title or tenure. The grief is real. The uncertainty is real. And pretending you're fine when you're not doesn't make you more professional. It just delays the reckoning.
To the Person Who Got the Cut Call
First: the identity hit is real. I don't care how often layoffs happen or how normalized the language around them has become. When it is the person in the office next to you, or your own name on the list, it hits differently. There is still a stigma attached to this, even though there shouldn't be.
And underneath the practical scramble of what to do next, there is often something that takes longer to name: a quiet questioning of who you are outside of the role you just lost.
That part matters. Don't skip it.
Now, about what comes next.
If you’re clear about what you want, if the layoff was truly just a logistical interruption and not a signal of anything deeper, if you loved the work and simply need to find it somewhere else, then yes, use every tool available to you. AI can help you clean up your résumé, identify transferable skills, prepare for interviews, and research the market.
But if you are sitting with something bigger than a job search…
…if this moment is stirring questions about the kind of work and work environment that actually fits who you are now, the life you are trying to build, what you want on the other side of all of this, then a skills-matching algorithm is not going to get you there.
A layoff is not always only a job-search problem. Sometimes it is a career crisis and a life inflection point. After years of contribution, identity, and loyalty, being asked what do you do now? is one of the hardest questions a person can face. And answering it well, answering it honestly, takes more than a polished LinkedIn profile.
It takes clarity about who you are, what you actually want, and what kind of life you are trying to build. That work is available to you. It's just different work.
Downsizing will always be difficult. But how organizations support people through it, and how leaders communicate, decide, and lead before, during, and after it, says something lasting about their values.
Remaining employees watch.
Former employees talk.
And in a world where culture and reputation travel fast, the exit is not separate from the employee experience.
This season is hard. For everyone in it. What happens next is still, in many ways, a leadership choice.
Cassandra Shepard is the founder of Shepherd + CO, a boutique strategic advisory firm based in Los Angeles. She partners with organizations navigating strategy and culture, and with leaders navigating what's next. Learn more at cassandrashepard.com.