BY RACHEL BOUVIER

Act I: Collateral Damage

The letter came by FedEx. Inside: A formal notification that my tenured position as an economics professor had been eliminated—the second time in a matter of months my line had been retrenched, along with fifty colleagues and entire departments. The first had been noisy and public. The second was quiet, efficient, final.

These stories are no longer rare—shrinking enrollment, canceled grants, political attacks, dwindling state support. At the time, I was unprepared. I was also reeling from my father’s death six months earlier. Grief was now compounded by the loss of my career, my livelihood, and—so I thought—an essential piece of my identity.

Looking back, I was angry, hurt, and confused. I felt sure I had no “marketable” skills after a lifetime in academia. But slowly, I began translating classroom skills into ones I thought might matter elsewhere. Communication? Check. Data management and research? Check. Management? I could manage the heck out of a class full of eighteen-year-olds. Other adults, I wasn’t so sure about.

Act II: Consultant, Adjacent to Confidence

A few months later, at my discipline’s annual meeting, I had a drink with a colleague who suggested, I should be a consultant, claiming I had the personality for it. I’m still not sure whether it was a compliment, but the idea stuck.
Becoming a consultant is easy; becoming a successful one is another matter. My first task was convincing people I could solve their problems. I quickly realized that while people believed environmental factors mattered, few wanted to pay for someone to quantify their value.

My break came when a nonprofit board I served on asked me to write a report on the economic value of restoring a native fishery on Maine’s Presumpscot River. I approached the work the way any good academic might: I researched, asked questions, and applied what I learned. I networked, joined a coworking space, built a website, and started a blog and newsletter. I landed more contracts and hired a former student for admin help, then a research assistant and an intern. Almost two years passed. I still taught the occasional class, but teaching was no longer my focus. I was working for myself, planning projects I cared about, and getting paid to do work people actually wanted, rather than writing articles only a handful of specialists would read.

Act III: Plot Twist: An Unexpected Sabbatical

The day before my COBRA benefits were set to expire, I found a lump on my breast. Probably just a cyst, I told myself. Nothing to worry about.

I was wrong.

What followed was a whirlwind: tests, biopsies, surgeries. After witnessing my dad’s death from cancer, I was fortunate—no chemo or radiation, “just” a double mastectomy, reconstruction, and hormone therapy. (Shout out to Obamacare here.)

I slowly recovered, with odd reminders: Old bras didn’t fit, I could no longer use hormonal birth control, and medication catapulted me into early menopause. My husband closed his private practice and joined a local medical group for insurance. But through it all, I (somehow) kept my business going.

Act IV: Return to the Ivory Tower (Sort Of)

Several years later, the provost at my old university asked me to return. I was flattered—I missed teaching—but I remembered the anxiety and sorrow of what came to be called “the troubles”: frantic maneuvering, backstabbing, and awful things people say in times of scarcity. The whole campus had seemed engulfed in a miasma of distrust.

It felt like hearing from an old boyfriend who swore he’d changed. The administration had changed, and many things had improved. But could I trust that things would be different?

I came back as a lecturer with no research expectations, but the old spark was still there. It was wonderful to see my colleagues and work with students again! And so many changes had taken place—my department moved to the main campus, leadership seemed honest, there was new energy. I stayed.

I did have to run the tenure gauntlet again, but it was streamlined and less brutal. One of our first departmental moves was to change the bylaws so that consulting work would count as scholarship. We argued that applied work enhanced our teaching, connected us to the community, and aligned with our mission.

I became chair, and through the pandemic, our department doubled majors and minors, strengthened ties with advising and admissions, and raised its profile. We’re actually hiring now—no small feat in public higher ed!

Act V: How to Survive Your Own CV

Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. You are not your job. This is a hard one for academics to accept. But you can do—and be—other things.
2. Your institution doesn’t love you. Individuals may care deeply, but institutions don’t. Expect fairness – demand it – but find your true family elsewhere.
3. Likewise, institutions don’t hold grudges. People might, but the university itself is impersonal. Don’t take actions personally or let resentment fester.
4. You have marketable skills. Time management, supervising, writing, synthesizing—these matter everywhere. If your institution seems shaky, start taking stock. Reach out to former students, colleagues who left, your alma mater’s career center. You’re not the first academic to pivot, and you won’t be the last.
5. Do a breast self-exam. Even men. I’m serious.
6. Ignore anyone who says you’ll someday see crisis as the best thing that happened. Getting retrenched was gut-wrenching. Cancer was terrifying. But I survived, learned, and rebuilt. That’s enough.

If there’s one lesson from my experience, it’s that adaptability is no longer optional. Don’t waste your time or energy worrying. Start by identifying one concrete step, no matter how small, to prepare yourself, just in case. Then do it again. You’ll find that you are more adaptable than you realize.

Rachel Bouvier is associate professor of economics at the University of Southern Maine. She earned her PhD in economics from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and a master’s degree in resource economics and community development from the University of New Hampshire. In addition, Dr. Bouvier is founder and principal consultant at rbouvier consulting, an economic and sustainability consulting firm. Her research interests focus on the relationship between economic development and environmental quality. She lives in Portland, Maine, with her husband (Joel), daughter (Sylvia), and dog (Willie).