Forged Through Faith: How Losing My Job Set Me Free
In April of 2025, I was laid off after 22 and a half years with Wells Fargo.
That sentence still feels strange to write.
Over those years, I held multiple roles, moved across teams, relocated through three states, and eventually became a mainframe engineer. My wife and I met in a call center in Billings, Montana, then moved to Minneapolis, later Denver, and finally settled in Nixa, Missouri, looking for a slower pace of life while raising our kids.
For most people, “mainframe engineer” sounds like something from a museum. But mainframes still power massive financial systems, and I spent twelve years becoming very good at that work. The job paid well. The path was clear. And for a long time, it felt secure.
But while I was climbing the ladder, the company was changing. The culture became more corporate, more distant. We stopped being “team members” and became “employees.” I adapted—as you do—but somewhere along the way, the work became something I did for a paycheck, not because I loved it.
In 2018, I became a full-time remote employee. By 2020, I was given an ultimatum to relocate or lose my job. COVID delayed that decision, but it didn’t erase the writing on the wall. By then, I had accepted that I was just another replaceable part in a very large machine.
Then, in April, I felt a quiet nudge from God to prepare. I didn’t know why, but I listened. I organized finances, returned equipment, and made sure our household was in order—still fully expecting to stay employed.
A few weeks later, on a Tuesday morning (right after payday, which is never a good sign), my manager asked for a quick call. That same morning, a tornado touched down near our home in Nixa. Between the storm outside and the one on my screen, I already knew how the call would end.
Five minutes later, my position was eliminated.
What surprised me most wasn’t the job loss—it was the anxiety that followed. Not just financial anxiety, but identity anxiety. Replaying decisions. Wondering what I could’ve done differently. It felt like rejection, even though it was “just business.”
What also surprised me was my wife’s calm. While I was still processing, she reminded me of something simple and grounding: we’re going to be okay. And she was right.
I gave myself two months to slow down and think—an opportunity I might never get again. During that time, I asked some honest questions. Did I really want to return to tech? To mainframes? To another screen?
The answer kept coming back the same way.
I had started Brazilian Jiu Jitsu years earlier just to get out of the house. I lived at home. I worked at home. Jiu Jitsu gave me movement, discipline, and community. When I took career assessments, they all pointed toward hands-on work and community-focused roles.
So I prayed. I fasted. I asked for direction.
The idea of opening a contrast therapy center had been on my mind, but the answer I felt was clear: yes—but not yet. First, I needed to build a community.
That’s where Forged Jiu Jitsu was born.
Forging requires heat and pressure. It’s uncomfortable, but it creates something stronger. That process mirrored my own—being forged through career change, anxiety, faith, and growth. What started as a job loss became the foundation for a healthier, more meaningful future.
Do I still feel moments of uncertainty? Absolutely. But what outweighs the anxiety now is serenity—and genuine excitement for what’s ahead. I’m grateful for the path that led here, even the parts I never would have chosen.
Sometimes losing the thing you planned on is exactly what makes room for the life you were meant to build.
Forged Jiu Jitsu exists to build strength, discipline, and community—on and off the mats. If you’re in Ozark, Nixa, Springfield, or the surrounding area and looking for a community rooted in growth, respect, and purpose, we’d love to meet you.
