Joe, a senior copywriter, has spent more than two years job-hunting and says the ‘bloodbath’ is nothing like it was after the credit crunch
When lay-offs hit my role as a senior copywriter at Virgin Media O2 in August 2023, I knew the job hunt wouldn’t be easy. But two years, a drained bank account and a psychiatric unit later, I never imagined it would be this brutal.
After a year or so of mass layoffs at major tech firms including Meta, Microsoft and Google – amid many others – Virgin Media O2 followed suit, giving 2,000 workers – 12pc of its workforce – the chop.
I lost jobs during the credit crunch and pandemic, but I found a new role with relative ease. This time it has been different. After the recent bloodbath of redundancies, those crises seem to pale compared with the challenges of 2025.
UK unemployment stands at 4.7pc – the highest since 2021, according to the Office for National Statistics. Nearly 90,000 redundancies were made between March and May alone.
Vacancies have plunged. Employers are holding back hiring amid uncertainty. Recruiters say placements fell in June at the fastest rate in nearly two years – down 145,000 from a year ago and still below pre-pandemic levels.
There are now 2.3 unemployed people per job vacancy, up from 1.7 before the pandemic. Five hundred applicants per role is now the norm.
It’s brutal out there. Once you’ve applied, you rarely hear back. Six in 10 jobseekers get no feedback after interviews, HR trade body the CIPD found.
You need to be superhuman to job hunt now without letting it grind you down. I’ve applied for over 5,000 jobs on LinkedIn alone. Hours go into tweaking my CV, writing cover letters and answering irrelevant diversity questions about whether I believe in God and whether I fancy men, women or both. Yet I could count on my fingers the number of interviews I’ve had.
I’ve applied for jobs outside my remit: retail, serving coffee, caring for the elderly. On the odd occasion I’ve received feedback, the rejection is always because there are hundreds of people in front of me with more experience.
Royal Mail turned me down for a cleaning job at a depot because they had a long line of applicants with cleaning experience. A pre-school turned me down for looking after children with autism and gave it to someone with experience. The only way I can think of to get a look-in is to lie on my CV.
The endless effort with no return isn’t a pain you can pinpoint like a toothache. It spreads everywhere – mentally, physically, financially. The turmoil consumes your waking hours. It follows you to bed and seeps into your nightmares.
This June, it became too much. My dad found me on the floor, curled in a ball, crying, self-harming and screaming that I didn’t want to be here any more. I was admitted to a psychiatric unit.
Behind every redundancy is a human being, and the effects go further than most boardrooms acknowledge. Unemployment has become a silent mental health crisis. Long-term unemployment increases suicide risk by around 2.6 times, according to research by the Samaritans and ONS.
Economists estimate that 20-30pc of suicides globally are linked to unemployment. The despair doesn’t always peak straight away. It often intensifies months later, when savings and hope run dry.
‘The effect of endless effort seeps into every aspect of your life. I don’t know where I’d be without my parents’ help,’ says Joe
That’s just the mental toll. Physically, the job loss has hit me hard. I’ve had panic attacks so severe I struggled to breathe. I ground my teeth to the point of wearing a hole in one. I had eczema so bad I bled. My hair fell out and my blood pressure skyrocketed.
Financially, my debt has spiralled. I live in my overdraft and I have to rebuild my life from multiple levels below zero. I don’t know where I’d be without my parents’ help.
All it would take to turn a corner would be a contracting job on the pre-pandemic rates of £350 a day. But recruiters never call and the contracting market has vanished.
A permanent job would also be a start. But with salaries around the £35,000 mark, plus travel expenses from companies demanding a return to the office, it would be a long way back to normal for me.
Given the job hunt and the free time that comes with unemployment, I spend a lot of time on LinkedIn. It isn’t always the most pleasant place to be. The platform is glistening with other people’s success stories, and detractors lurk ready to tear me down for talking openly about my struggles.
“No one will employ you if you post about mental health,” some say.
“I’d steer clear because I wouldn’t want a nutcase on my team.”
“If you really wanted to work, you’d just go and get a job stacking shelves.”
One media outlet dubbed me the “unemployment influencer”. I’ve been invited to speak about my work crisis on BBC Radio 4. Some accuse me of monetising my situation and faking mental health struggles to get more work. How I wish that were true.
But LinkedIn has given me purpose to:
Normalise vulnerability, struggle and sadness – especially among men, who usually bottle it up
Encourage open conversations about mental health
Banish the stigma around psychiatric medication
Do what I can to lower the shocking suicide rate: one every 60 seconds
Help fellow job seekers feel less alone
Oh, and find work as a copywriter.
It seems to be making a difference. Several of my LinkedIn posts about my struggles have gone viral, with one gaining over 11 million impressions. Almost 40,000 people follow me on the website.
I’ve had messages from people whose lives have been touched by suicide. Parents who have lost sons and women who have lost husbands have thanked me for raising awareness.
A message from one man stands out in my mind. This year, he was diagnosed with cancer, separated from his wife, lost his home and his job. He told me it had reached the point where he didn’t want to wake up in the mornings, but my posts had given him a reason to.
I admit I’m desperate. I’m desperate to get my life, finances and mental health back to a place I can control.
Millions are struggling. Yet too many stay silent, afraid of being seen as weak. So it’s time for us to stop shaming struggle. It’s time for us to normalise asking for help.
I’m confident every business still needs me. Nothing sells without words. I’m hoping mine can lift me out of this doldrum.
