Slack This: A GenX Reckoning

They called us slackers. 

Lazy. Apathetic. Unmotivated. 

What they meant was: we didn’t buy the bullshit. 

I’m GenX. A bicentennial baby, I was raised in the fallout of everything boomers broke, told to be quiet about it, and then blamed when the pieces didn’t magically put themselves back together. I’ve spent more than 25 years in the workforce - recruiting, hiring, managing, building, restructuring, and holding the emotional and operational weight of companies that ran on overwork and under-recognition. 

I’ve sat in rooms full of suits nodding at ideas I said ten minutes earlier. I’ve seen men fail upward. I’ve been thanked for “keeping things running” by people who had no idea how much I sacrificed to do it. I’ve worked through chronic illness. Through pregnancies. Through grief. Through marriage and divorce. Through the deaths of both of my parents - one slow and cruel, the other sudden and devastating. Through raising three children while holding a C-suite title. Through autoimmune flares, chronic pain, and the aching fatigue of pretending everything is fine when it absolutely isn’t. 

And yet, somehow, I’m the slacker? 

Boomers Lit the Match 

We were raised by a generation that sold off pensions, waged wars for oil, and deregulated everything in the name of capitalism. They told us to work hard, be grateful, and stop complaining while they bought second homes and sold out our future one tax break at a time. 

They lit the match and told us to clean up the ashes. 

We were latchkey kids before it had a name. Our childhoods were blue boxes of mac and cheese, microwaves, network news trauma, and being told to stop crying because someone else had it worse. 

We learned to file taxes and make dinner before we learned to self-regulate. Empathy came second to efficiency. And when we didn’t show up smiling for the system that had already failed us? They had the audacity to call us cynical. 

We weren’t cynical - we were observant.

We watched everything promised to us get stripped away: 

Affordable housing? Gone. 

Job security? A joke. 

Healthcare? Weaponized. 

Retirement? Maybe if you die early. 

The boomers got golden parachutes. We got unpaid internships and resumes that needed to be both “entry level” and “5 years experience.” And we made it work - without being celebrated, without being seen. 

Slackers My Ass 

Slackers? I’ve worked full-time jobs while raising children and coordinating hospice care for my dying mother. I’ve fought for my place in boardrooms where I was simultaneously the most prepared and the most ignored. I’ve written the policies that kept workplaces humane while being treated like I was there to order lunch and smile. 

Slackers don’t show up every day while grieving. 

Slackers don’t parent alone, work full time, and still take the 3 a.m. calls when someone needs you. 

Slackers don’t survive cancer and navigate chronic illness while managing payroll and strategic planning. 

Slackers don’t carry the emotional load for three generations and still hit deadlines. We weren’t loud about it. That’s our sin, apparently. 

We didn’t turn our struggle into personal brands or TED talks. We just did the work. We weren’t “quiet quitting” - we were quiet surviving. 

There was no mental health day. No flexible hours. No childcare stipend. We showed up anyway, because someone had to. 

No Gold Watch for Us 

I was told if I played by the rules, it would all work out. I did. It didn’t.

Pensions disappeared before I even understood what one was. I have liquidated at least four retirement accounts during recessions or following layoffs. I’ve kept companies afloat during hiring freezes, recessions, and chaos, only to be told “there’s no room in the budget” when I asked for equity. 

I’ve been asked to smile through being dismissed, to take on “just one more thing,” and to be grateful for the crumbs that fell from someone else’s banquet. 

We got no parachute. 

No cushion. 

No grace. 

We got debt. Pressure. Burnout. And the expectation to keep smiling. 

Boomers got watches. 

Millennials got apps. 

We got Advil, caffeine, and the cold comfort of being the default emergency contact.

And Yet I Endure 

I’m still fucking here. 

Still showing up. Still fixing what’s broken. Still mentoring the new hire while rewriting the policy that should have existed twenty years ago. Still absorbing everyone’s chaos, making it make sense, and getting zero credit for the emotional labor it takes to keep an organization from imploding. 

I’m still holding people accountable. Still fighting for pay equity. Still listening, even when no one listens back. 

I’m still here - because if I walk away, it all falls apart. Because I’m the glue, the net, the backup plan, and the safety valve. Because GenX women were trained to be invisible until needed, and then blamed when anything broke. 

I’ve made peace with the fact that no one’s handing me a trophy. I don’t need a trophy. 

But what I won’t do anymore is let anyone reduce me - or any of us - to a tired-ass stereotype of slacking and apathy. 

You don’t get to call us slackers after we held the line through every crisis.

You don’t get to rewrite the story when we’ve been writing it in sweat, tears, and Microsoft Word for three decades. 

Clap back 

So next time someone calls GenX the slacker generation, tell them this: 

I’m still fucking here. 

We didn’t slack. 

We adapted. 

We endured. 

We evolved in silence while everyone else screamed for attention. 

And now we’re done being quiet. 

This generation didn’t disappear. 

We were just busy doing the work - for which, by the way, you're welcome.