I got a text this week from a former colleague. A real producer — the kind who can wrangle crew, a crying cast member, and a handful of network notes all with grace and positivity.

She wasn't texting just to catch up. She was texting because she was struggling. And she wanted to know if I'd been there too.

And the true answer is yes I grieved my producer career for months. This was my identity for nearly 10 years. I lived and breathed producer life and reality TV. I was one of the first ones in and last out and in my free time, I would research other shows. I wanted to know what was working and what wasn’t. And then when the calls and emails stopped, I had a real hard time. So I said to her what I say to my kids, “It’s ok to not be ok.” Grief is real and part of the process.

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There's a whole genre of "career pivot" content that skips straight to the highlight reel. The brand deal. The speaking gig. The grateful LinkedIn post. I've written some of that myself.

But what you don’t see most people post about: the Tuesday afternoon you look back over your resume again and again and wonder what else you could write or did I miss a show I worked on? Or double checking your email and then spam just to make sure you didn’t miss a show that was staffing up.

Then there is the guilt of telling people what I used to do. The way my identity had been so fused with my job title and losing that felt like a loss of self. And then the dreaded, “so what are you working on now?” And not having an answer.

Grief is the right word. Because something real did end. And if you built something meaningful — a career, a reputation, a craft you were proud of — you're supposed to feel it when it ends. That weight is proportional to how much it mattered.

Here's the thing nobody tells you: panic and grief hit at the same time, but they are not the same problem. And trying to solve one with the answer to the other is what makes the middle of a pivot feel unsurvivable.

Panic is about the future. Money. Identity. "What am I now?" It's urgent. It screams. It wants a plan — NOW, NOW, NOW!

Grief is about the past. What you had. Who you were. What you built. It's quieter, but it sits heavier.

Don't try to solve your grief with a business plan. Let grief be a part and then once you feel ready, you can move onto your new career.

1 Sadness is information, not weakness.

If it mattered, you're supposed to feel it when it ends. That's not falling apart — that's being human. Sit in it and feel the pain before moving on.

2 Find an Outlet

If you like to write, write down some of your favorite memories from your career. You can keep them private or share them online, LinkedIN is a good source for this. But find a creative outlet to help you through the healing process.

3 The skills didn't disappear. They relocated.

Everything you learned — hitting deadlines in chaos, reading a room, telling a story that keeps people watching — that's not gone. It just doesn't have a show order attached to it anymore. You're not starting over. You're starting from somewhere. All of those years and skills can be used for the next opportunity.

Keep creating,

Devin the Dad Former TV Producer. Current Chaos Coordinator.

P.S. The real pivot isn't from "producer" to whatever comes next.
It's from I am what I do — to I do a lot of things, and I'm still me.

P.P.S. If this one hit, forward it to someone who's been sleeping on their own experience. Or reply and tell me what your "old skill" is — I read every one.