At 37, I Lost Tech Job and Was Nearly Homeless. My Parents Took Me in.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Trevor Gebhardt, a former customer success manager in Ohio. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I never thought I’d be 37, unemployed, and living with my parents in Ohio again.

A year ago, I was working at an AI startup in Los Angeles. I was making good money and had a one-bedroom apartment and a pretty stable routine.

My salary was just enough to pay the bills, rent, and take care of my dog. Then, almost overnight, it all fell apart.

My AI role was eliminated

I’d worked in tech and startups for over 15 years since I was a college kid with a politics degree and no idea what I wanted to do. My first break really came when I helped a car dealership build its online inventory presence back in 2010.

That led to corporate roles, and eventually to startups, where I carved out a niche in customer experience and interface design.

I wasn’t a coder or a founder, but I knew how to build systems that made sense to users — onboarding flows, user journeys, and client support processes. My job was to make tech usable.

My most recent role was at a promising AI startup in the healthcare sector.

They didn’t have a client-facing team yet, so they brought me on to build that out.

I took a pay cut in exchange for equity, hoping it would pay off in the long term.

But then the company decided to stop licensing software and instead acquired its clients. It made sense on paper, but it wiped out the need for my role.

When I asked the CEO what would happen to my position, he reassured me that my role would be retooled.

Three weeks later, in August 2024, I walked into the office and was let go on the spot.

I was stunned — and then reality hit

The layoff came with no warning. No performance issues. No chance to prepare.

I had enough cash to cover rent for three more months. But after that, I was on my own. No income, no severance beyond a final pay period.

At first, I was optimistic. I’d survived a couple of layoffs before. I didn’t even tell my family at first. I figured I’d get another job by October.

But weeks passed. Then months. I was applying to every tech job I could find.

I even tried to get back into restaurant work, where I’d picked up shifts during previous rough patches — but I couldn’t even get hired to wait tables.

In LA, every restaurant job is coveted by a sea of unemployed actors. I didn’t stand a chance.

I started driving for Uber Eats and DoorDash to make ends meet. Then, a traffic ticket I’d forgotten about showed up on my record, and both apps kicked me off their platforms.

So I started living off my credit cards.

By October, I had no money, no job, and no options

The turning point came in mid-September. It was my birthday.

I did the math and realized that come November 1, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent. I couldn’t get a roommate — my place was too small. I couldn’t sublet — or so I thought. I couldn’t even afford to move.

That’s when my mom called, just to check in. I finally told her I’d been laid off.

She was sympathetic and generous — more than I expected. She offered to help with rent. When I declined, she said: “Just come home. I’ll need help around the house anyway. We’ll figure it out.”

And that was that. I found a subletter, packed up my car with my dog, winter clothes, and my Xbox, and started the three-day drive from LA to Ohio.

I remember stopping in the car and thinking, “I cannot believe that my life has unraveled this quickly.”

The shame was overwhelming, but the support was real

There’s no way to sugarcoat it: Moving back in with my parents at 37 felt humiliating.

I had spent years building my life in Los Angeles. I had a career, friends, and a community. I even liked my apartment.

And now, I was sleeping in my childhood bedroom and wondering if I had completely failed.

That said, there have been some positives.

I was able to help my mom recover from surgery. I bonded with my niece and nephew, who live next door and didn’t really know me before.

I spent time with my grandfather, who’s 85 and lives with my parents. My best friend — who also moved back to Ohio — and I reconnected in a big way.

And my dog went from pacing around a one-bedroom apartment to sprinting across three acres of land.

I finally got a job, but I’m earning less than half of what I used to

After nine months, I’ve landed on my feet again — sort of. I got a full-time job at a bank here in Ohio, thanks to a referral from my sister-in-law.

I’m making about $43,000 — less than half of what I made in LA — but it’s literally better than nothing.

My dream is still to get back to LA. I’ve kept my apartment sublet, and I hope to return.

But I’ve also had to confront the possibility that maybe that chapter is closed. I still love California. But I’ve discovered that I can find happiness outside it, too.

I’ve learned that I’m not alone — and that matters more than I realized

The one thing that’s helped the most is knowing I’m not the only one going through this.

Everywhere I turn, someone else is struggling. At a wedding recently, nearly everyone at my table had either just lost a job or only recently found one. The tech industry is a mess right now. It’s not just me.

What separates me from being homeless isn’t grit or planning. It’s family. My therapist helped me see that.

So many people are in the same boat — they’re just lucky enough to have a partner or support system to help carry the weight.

If I didn’t have my parents, I don’t know what would’ve happened.

I still feel embarrassed sometimes. No adult wants to be back under their parents’ roof, but more than anything, I am thankful.

I’m grateful for having a support network, family, and friends who, without question, opened their homes and didn’t judge me, which is what I was really afraid of.