The day it happens
What's about to be put in front of you, what to ask, and what not to sign on the spot.
What's about to be put in front of you, what to ask, and what not to sign on the spot.
The day it happened to me, the calendar invite said "quick chat" and the room had three people in it. HR. My manager. Someone from finance I had never met. That is the formation. When you see it, you already know.
You will not feel ready. You do not need to be ready. You need to be slow.
They will read from a script. It will sound rehearsed because it is. There is a legal reason for the wording, and your job in those ten minutes is not to argue, negotiate or perform composure. Your job is to listen, take notes (literally, on paper or in a doc), and ask for everything in writing.
Three things will happen, in some order:
The third one is where men get into trouble. Adrenaline kicks in, you want the meeting to end, and a clean signature feels like control. It is not control. It is the opposite.
Do not sign:
You can acknowledge that the meeting happened. You can accept a USB stick or a printout of the offer. You cannot give away your right to seek advice on what you are owed. Once that deed is signed, the conversation is over.
The line I used: "I appreciate you walking me through this. I will take it home, get advice, and come back to you within the week." Calm. Boring. Effective.
Bring this list in your head. Five questions, in order:
Write the answers down. If they hedge on any of them, that is fine, you write "unanswered" next to it. The point is not to win the conversation. The point is to leave the room with an evidence trail.
Australian employers are not legally required to give you decision time on a deed of release, but most reasonable ones will, and the unreasonable ones will fold the moment you push. Ask for 48 hours minimum. Seven days is better. Reasoning you can use out loud: "I want to get independent legal advice, which is standard." That sentence ends most pushback.
In that window:
Move fast. IT access goes off quicker than you think (sometimes mid-meeting, sometimes that evening).
In order:
What you do not do on day one: post on LinkedIn, email the whole team, draft a letter to the CEO, or accept the first counter-offer if there is one. Adrenaline is a bad project manager.
You will replay the meeting for a week. The smile from HR. The way your manager would not look at you. The fluorescent light. It will feel personal because it is happening to you, but the decision was almost certainly made in a spreadsheet two months ago, by someone you have never met, weighing cost lines against headcount. It is not about your worth. It is about the org chart.
That does not make it hurt less. It does mean you do not need to win an argument that nobody is having with you.
Sit. Breathe. Sign nothing. Come back Monday.
Australian law draws a sharp line between a genuine redundancy (the role itself is no longer needed) and a managed exit dressed up to look like one. The distinction matters for two reasons: tax treatment of your payout, and your legal options if you want to push back.
A genuine redundancy means:
If any of those three is shaky (your role is being backfilled, there is an obvious internal redeployment they did not offer, the consultation was a single 20-minute meeting), you have a Fair Work conversation to have. That is what the workplace lawyer is for.
You do not raise this in the room. You raise it in writing, after advice, within the timeframes (usually 21 days for an unfair dismissal claim, shorter for some general protections claims). Note the dates. The clocks are short.
Five things, in order, before you leave the office for the last time:
A blunt field guide to the first month after the conversation. Sleep, paperwork, the kids, and the part nobody warns you about.
5 minHow to start the talk you've been rehearsing in the shower for six months. A practical guide to the words, the room, the aftermath.
4 minWhen she ends it and you didn't see it coming. The first 72 hours, the stories you'll tell yourself, and what to actually do.
4 minA self-interrogation guide for the man considering ending his marriage. Not advice. Questions. The hard ones, in order.
5 min