Waiting for the Axe to Fall 😰

Rebecca, a senior executive at Warner Bros., just wants to know the truth of what’s going on with the Paramount merger and when she’s going to be axed. The uncertainty is “killing her.”She’s not alone. Not even close. 2026 is packed with mergers and consolidations across industries: Devon Energy and Coterra. SpaceX and xAI. Engie and UK Power Networks. Tens of thousands of people going to work every day inside organizations mid-transformation, wondering the same thing Rebecca is wondering.Am I going to be okay?And here’s the thing: she’s not being dramatic. The waiting — that particular brand of not-knowing — is one of the most exhausting places a career can put you.What Rebecca is experiencing has a name: anticipatory grief. It’s the grief we feel before a loss that hasn’t fully landed yet — when the change is coming but hasn’t arrived, when the future feels like it’s being written without you chiming in.And the reason it matters — the reason I’m writing about it — is because of what happens when it goes unrecognized.The Thing That Will Trip You Up If You Let ItMost conversations about job uncertainty focus on the practical stuff. Update your resume. Build your network. Stay visible.All good. All useful. But they skip the thing that’s going to trip you up unless you recognize and take care of it now.When anticipatory grief goes unnamed, it tends to seed apathy. A low-grade helplessness. A “why bother” feeling that creeps into the edges of your days and makes it hard to invest in anything — your work, your relationships, your future — because some part of you has already checked out.This is you protecting yourself from a disappointment that hasn’t happened yet.I see this in high performers especially. They keep showing up. But their spark has gotten a little dim. Their tolerance for staff meetings is zero. The projects they nurtured now feel abandoned.Here’s why: they haven’t named what they’re actually afraid of losing.The Scariest of All Roller Coasters that No One Warned You AboutAnticipatory grief is like riding the Kingda Ka at Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey (RIP) — supposedly the scariest roller coaster in the world. You wait for the big drop and it turns out to be a gentle twist. You think you’re entering a flat run and suddenly you’re weightless and upside down. The not-knowing when and how is its own particular torture.And then hope climbs into the car beside you. Maybe you’ll dodge the restructure. Maybe your team won’t be gutted. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear.That hope is real. And it makes the lurches harder, not easier — because every time you exhale, the next one catches you off guard again. The stomach drop. The pounding head. The heart beating like a hummingbird.With “typical” grief, we’re reacting to what happened. With anticipatory grief, we’re responding to something that hasn’t happened yet. And might not.Which makes it especially hard to sit with.The question worth asking — gently, with real compassion for yourself — is this:What are you actually afraid of losing?CASE STUDY: WHAT REBECCA WAS REALLY AFRAID OFWhen I finally sat with Rebecca and asked her that question, here’s what came up, which surprised her because it wasn’t really about anticipating the loss of income or title.What Rebecca was actually afraid of losing was the dream of retiring by 60 and sending her two kids to the colleges of their choice.Her job was the how to a future she’d been building for years.Here’s what happened when she named it out loud.She felt relief.The merger news didn’t change. Her job was still uncertain. But dissecting the fear allowed her to question it: is this truly something I need to be worried about right now? And if it is, what can I do now?Once Rebecca saw that she was truly trying to protect a dream, she got clear. She and her husband made an aggressive savings plan that would account for a greatly reduced salary and still keep them on early retirement track. She also had a conversation with her kids to find out if they were aligned on the college dream. Turns out they didn’t want Ivy League, nor did they have the grades.She couldn’t control the merger. But she could tend to the dream.Here’s what I know to be true: naming your fear doesn’t make it worse. It makes it workable. A spiraling thought that lives in your body at 3 am is a lot harder to respond to than something you’ve put words to on a page.The path to