These were the first and only words spoken during my HR ‘redeployment’ meeting.

At this time, I had dedicated five years to teaching at the college. Before that, I had been a university lecturer and a nurse. As my hearing loss worsened, I began considering alternate career paths. However, circumstances forced my hand sooner than expected.

I believed I was a valued member of the college ‘family.’ I had demonstrated my worth, transitioning from teaching nursing—a field in which I had a master’s degree—to teaching maths, despite my lack of formal training in the subject. I accepted the challenge, and my students succeeded, earning a ‘good’ rating from Ofsted, even though it was the first time I hadn’t been rated ‘outstanding.’

Returning after the summer break, I found my class size had doubled from 22 to over 40. For someone with hearing loss, managing such a large class was overwhelming. I should have sought organisational support, but I didn’t. Why would I? We were a ‘two-tick’ disability-inclusive employer. I was part of the family, or so I thought.

When I approached HR to discuss necessary adjustments to my workload, I was met with a “redeployment” meeting, and then, I was terminated.

That night, I sat at home feeling worthless, powerless, hurt, scared, devalued, like a fraud, and lost. But then, looking into my dog’s eyes, I saw unconditional devotion. I realised my feelings were not just about losing my job but about my fears as a husband, father, and provider.

I got angry. I declared, “No one will do this to me again.”

In that moment, my coaching career was born. I am driven to help others navigate their professional landscapes better than I had.