LinkedIn After Dark

It’s 1:12 a.m.

The house is quiet, the lights are off, and I’m in that sacred bedtime state: one sock on, one sock off, phone six inches from my face, brightness turned all the way down like that’s going to stop me from ruining my circadian rhythm.

I should be asleep.

I wanted to be asleep.

But no. I opened LinkedIn.

Why? Because apparently, nothing says “wind down for the night” like checking in on corporate drama, job rejections, and a 37-paragraph post by someone named Greg who just became the Chief Visionary Officer of something called a “synergy accelerator firm.” I don’t know what that is. I don’t think Greg does either.

It started innocently enough: I just wanted to peek. Just a quick look to see if anyone commented on my post about being ghosted after a fifth interview that included a team-building escape room.

Now I’m here, reading someone’s 12-step guide to manifesting abundance while simultaneously being “extremely humbled” to announce their new title.

I’m snacking on emotional baggage and popcorn.

LinkedIn at midnight is unhinged in a different way. It’s like watching a reality show, but instead of roses or immunity idols, people are handing out certifications in project management and mutual trauma.

Then it happens.

I see a post that says:

“I was laid off yesterday, but today I built a business, trademarked three slogans, wrote a book, and got featured in Forbes. No excuses!”

Sir.

I haven’t done laundry in three weeks and my dinner was string cheese and regret.

Still, I keep scrolling. I come across a guy who says, “Just got hired! Never give up!”

I want to be happy for him. I try to be happy for him.

But the little goblin in my soul is whispering, “Oh good, another one gets chosen while you’re out here applying to jobs with titles like ‘entry-level wizard’ and ‘junior culture ninja.’”

At 1:38 a.m. I catch myself composing a message to a recruiter that reads:

“Hi Linda, I hope this message finds you well. Also, have you seen my will to live? I think I left it somewhere between the ATS system and your 47-question personality test.”

I delete it. (Barely.)

But I’m not alone. I know I’m not.

Somewhere out there, a fellow overthinker is scrolling, jobless and hopeful, simultaneously drafting a heartfelt cover letter and stress-eating pita chips.

To you, I say: I see you.

You in your hoodie. You with your half-finished résumé open in one tab and BuzzFeed’s “Which Career Path Are You?” quiz in another.

You wondering if your greatest transferable skill is surviving this hiring circus with your humor intact.

This isn’t just doom-scrolling. It’s research. It’s therapy. It’s digital loitering with emotional depth.

So go ahead. Scroll one more time.

Send that message. Like that post.

Clap for Denise in Denver who just launched her coaching business after getting laid off.

Then maybe, just maybe… close the app.

Say a prayer. Drink some water.

And remember: God works night shift too.

See you on the feed tomorrow. Same time. Same chaos.