Adapted from Fired to Hired: Bouncing Back from Job Loss to Get to Work Right Now.

In 1993, I was a 22-year-old hotshot. Or so I thought.  As a publicist for NBC News in New York, I was making enough money to have a nice life, rent my own apartment—enjoy manicures on weekends.  Not bad for a girl from Miami Beach who had always dreamed of making it in the Big Apple.
I was on a roll. I had been offered a job working as a very junior publicity assistant for Barbara Walters at ABC’s 20/20 while I was still in college. I jumped at the chance. Then NBC recruited me, and soon I was on a first-name basis with some of the biggest stars in broadcasting. Jane Pauley, Maria Shriver, Stone Phillips, and the late Tim Russert.   

It was my responsibility to promote these superstars and their work. I called newspaper reporters across the country as well as the producers of TV shows from ‘Entertainment Tonight’ to ‘Larry King Live’ to sell them on what my stars were doing. And the answer was always yes.

"We’d love to promote Maria’s new special." "Of course we’ll showcase that investigative piece on ‘Dateline.’" "What’s happening Sunday on ‘Meet the Press.’" I was kicking butt.  And unbeknownst to me, my butt was about to get kicked.
One day, an HR woman told me to report to the office of the newly appointed president of the news division. When I walked in, he was sitting in his big leather chair, and he didn’t get up to greet me. Not a good sign.

He told me that anytime someone takes over a company or a division, he wants to put his own mark on things—new protocols, new processes, and a new team.

"Are you firing me?" I interrupted. He said, "You have 30 minutes to leave the building."

I went into spin mode—I told him he was making a terrible mistake. Talk to anyone internally or externally, I said, and you’ll hear that I’m a great asset, that I really know my stuff, and I’m totally devoted to NBC.

He looked at his watch.

Changing gears, I said, "Give me three things to accomplish in three weeks, three months—whatever time frame you want—to prove myself directly to you."

All I wanted, I said, was to stay at NBC News.

He listened, cold, devoid of emotion.

It was clear that I was out. As I stood up to leave his office—trying desperately not to burst into tears—his parting words were, "Tory, it’s a big world out there, and I suggest you go explore it."

I was in shock. My world as I had known it had come to an end.

I walked to my apartment, climbed into my PJs and threw myself a good old-fashioned pity party, catered by Häagen-Dazs. I had lots of sleepless nights filled with self-doubt. I was embarrassed, humiliated and just plain scared. 

In a culture where we ask everyone we meet what they do and where they work, I was terrified of hearing those questions. So I hid at home like a hermit. I cringed at the thought of explaining that I was "in transition" or "between jobs"—phrases that nobody really loves saying.

Not long after, I got an email from Maria Shriver, now California’s first lady but back then a correspondent for NBC News.