Last year, I started The Fed Up after my DOJ office was dismantled by DOGE. Filled with rage and grief and so much shame, I built this community to help me and other impacted federal workers process what we were witnessing and experiencing. To give voice to those of us who felt silenced.

Over the past year, this community has been my resting place. You all have helped me reconnect and reclaim my voice during ongoing uncertainty. I got back to writing. I met so many new people. I designed and facilitated (a few times!) my first workshop. I experimented and played, and it has felt really great.

Although life continues to be one big question mark, I feel more aligned to who I am, what I want, and what I want to say, and that’s because of you all and this community.

For those of you that have been with me since the beginning, you may have noticed The Fed Up has been outwardly slowing down. I have been posting less frequently, I am less active on LinkedIn, and it would make sense if you began to wonder if The Fed Up was quieting down to eventually fade out.

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But what has been happening behind-the-scenes has felt much more energized intentional. I have been contemplating a soft rebrand for awhile now. What started as a place for protest, a space for catharsis, a community for impacted federal workers to say the true thing out loud has since evolved.

I have felt The Fed Up shifting and shedding— mirroring much of what I have seen in myself over these many months.

So The Fed Up is (re)finding its voice— who it is for and what it will offer based on the person I am now, the stories you have shared, and the feedback I have heard. I understand that you too are craving more meaningful connection to yourself, in your relationships, and the world around you, and I believe The Fed Up can be the community to support you in that work.

When The Fed Up relaunches in August, you can expect updated offers for both free and paid subscribers that will help you reclaim your voice through reflection, writing, and honest conversations.

To do this, I have decided to spend June and July focused on planning and prepping for The Fed Up 2.0. But I want your help! I want your voice to help inform this next iteration.

So I’d love to know: what content would make you more likely to engage with The Fed Up this fall— the essays, a live journaling club, workshops on finding your voice? You can click on the button below to answer this question. It should take less than a minute!

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If you are a paid subscriber, I want to thank you specifically. Your early investment in this community has helped me believe in myself and in this concept — it is what has kept The Fed Up alive. I am so grateful. Please check your email :) I've sent each of you a personal note with an invite and a small gift.

See you in August!

Jordan

I sit on a chair across from my twin brother who sits on my couch. We drink our coffee quietly, as he looks around, commenting on the art on my walls.

“I like the moon theme,” he says before taking a sip from his cat-covered coffee cup, a cup I inherited after our grandma died.

It is Mother’s Day weekend, and my family is traveling together for the first time in many years. My wife and I bought our condo in 2022, but this is the first time my brother, Jared, has been able to visit us here.

He’s been through a lot— we’ve all been through a lot over these last six years. I take in this moment. Trying to take pictures with my mind. How he looks. How I feel. What his laugh sounds like. I want to remember it forever. I know how precious it is.

“Jared, I have been wanting to ask you something,” I say. He looks from the wall to me. I nervously shift in my seat.

“I have started writing a novel inspired by our relationship. It is fiction, but it pulls from everything we have been through these last several years.” I look at him, waiting for some sort of reaction. He listens, and I explain that it is a dual-perspective story of twin siblings— each with their own perspective on the different things happening in their lives, each on a quest to save the other.

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I tell him, “I want both people who have experienced psychosis and Serious Mental Illness, and those who love and support them to feel deeply seen when reading this book.” I search his face for some sort of hurt or rejection. I don’t see anything. “I also want to start writing more about mental health and everything we have overcome and survived… How do you feel about that?” I ask as if I am slowly pushing a door open, peering around the corner to see what may be coming.

“Oh, I don’t care.” he says nonchalantly, and what seems to be, sincerely, and then carries on with a different topic. But I am skeptical, so I push him more, bringing him back to my question.

“You don’t care if I use your name? Not to share intimate details about your story, but I do want to use my platform to help destigmatize, educate, and support people and their families who are living with these challenges.”

“No, I don’t care, but I do wish people would talk more about how the environment is a huge factor in creating the conditions for Serious Mental Illness. People always put all the blame on the individual, and they want to give them these really harsh drugs with severe side effects, but they aren’t willing to talk about how the environment around a person really affects their outcomes.”

“I totally agree with you,” I say honestly. He changes the subject, and this time, I let him.

It was February 2020 when my brother had his first break. I remember lying in bed in my student apartment in Sweden talking to Hannah in the early days of our relationship when I received a message from his friend on Facebook.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but have you heard from Jared? I was supposed to meet him this morning, but he hasn’t shown and I can’t get a hold of him,” she said.

My stomach dropped. Right away I knew something was wrong. Jared has always been a reliable person. He always did what he said he was going to do, was respectful, timely, and communicative.

I called my dad to let him know the message I just received.

We spent the next several hours calling hospitals, making a missing person report, requesting a welfare check. Nothing made sense.

Where could he be?

Several hours later Jared showed up sheepishly— he knew how concerned everyone was. He said on his way to meet his friend, he decided to pull over to take an impromptu several mile hike nearby on his own. He left his phone in the car. He decided not to wear shoes.

We were relieved, but I knew something was not right. I remember talking to my parents, and I think they agreed it was odd behavior for him, but I think they were hoping it was just a thoughtless, impulsive decision. He did seem okay when we talked to him.

But I knew that wasn’t the case. To me, the behavior seemed manic.

This incident is what I mark as the beginning of my family’s Troubles. Soon after this episode, the pandemic hit and Jared was laid off from his great job in the Bay Area. He was forced to move back home to Colorado and live with my parents. The stress was an aggravating factor, and it seemed his symptoms escalated over night. Paranoia and delusions infiltrated every conversation. My family felt totally inept to help him, and we felt abandoned by the systems that were created, in theory, to help him, to support us.

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Over the last six years, we experienced many more incidents that left our family further fractured and at a loss. My parents and I did our best to help Jared while trying to find a way to live our lives even while knowing how much pain my brother was in. Even though there was a gaping hole between us in the shape of Jared. But our hands were tied, and there was very little we could do to help him if he did not want it.

I struggled with knowing what to do with this ambiguous grief– my feelings felt so intractable. I wanted to be hopeful that things could get better, but being hopeful also was excruciating at times.

Hope became a four letter word.

There were many days, weeks, and months where I thought I would never see my brother again– I tried to make peace with that reality, but then things would shift, and he would be resurrected, and I would see glimpses of him, the person he is and that I recognized, and I would become overwhelmed with guilt for ever giving up hope on him, on our family.

I talked very little about what was happening even with my closest friends. The pain, at times, felt too much to touch. Talking didn’t feel like it helped relieve any of my pain, in fact, it felt like it aggravated it, and I was hypersensitive to how people responded to what I shared, feeling further away from them.

But as time went on, I realized that there were so many people and families like mine who were in the shadows, struggling. I began feeling like I was ready to share my story, but I also did not know how to do that. My story intersected with my brother’s, so I wasn’t sure how to share ethically. I considered his own privacy and perspective. I know that he and I likely see many things differently, and I believe as the person who has lived with SMI, his voice and experiences should be included, or at least, given the option to be included.

So for all those reasons I decided not to share my family’s story publicly until now with the blessing from my brother.

If you have been following The Fed Up, you may remember that I briefly wrote about Jared’s hospitalization in November of last year. He had another break that required him to be committed involuntarily to an in-patient hospital for nearly six weeks. The healthcare system had failed us before, so we were reluctant to feel hopeful that anything meaningful would come from this. But my mom, being the woman and mother she is, was a fierce advocate for Jared at every turn to ensure he received the care he needed and, most importantly, deserved.

A lot has happened since then– but today, Jared is doing the best I have seen him in many years. The meaningful recovery he has had feels nothing short of a miracle without negating his hard work and my family’s hard work— years of educating ourselves, advocating and connecting with other families who have also navigated the labyrinth of system barriers.

I share this today because as I expand and iterate on the themes I will touch on with The Fed Up, I hope to write more about mental health to do my part in helping reduce stigma and increase awareness. I felt so alone for so long, and I know that there are so many other people feeling the same way. I hope that these essays will help someone, at the very least, feel seen in their pain.

As part of my own grief process, my dear friend, a psychologist, and I decided to create a support group for caregivers of adult children with SMI. We have already facilitated one group, and we are recruiting members for the fall. Interested prospective participants can complete this interest form.

If you or someone you know is having a mental health crisis or you just need someone to talk to, you can call 988. To learn more visit https www.988lifeline.org.

Please share this with someone who may need it. Thank you for being here.

With hope,

Jordan

A year ago last week, I learned that my U.S. Department of Justice office would be dismantled. And in a quick succession of events that left me feeling like I had a severe case of whiplash, I decided to take the deferred resignation offer in the hopes that a longer off ramp would give me more time to dust off the dirt and figure out what would come next.

A year later, life looks a lot different than I thought (or hoped) it would.

I had thought by now my wife and I would have sold our condo and moved west to be closer to our families. I thought by now I would know with conviction what I wanted to do with my life, and, more importantly, how I would get there— that I would have had a moment of divinely inspired “Ah-ha, yes that’s it!” type of clarity struck down upon me.

I thought this one-year later blog post would write very differently.

And yet, here we are.

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This past year, I had meditated, journaled, and prayed that clarity would be righ…

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Jordan and Ashley became fast friends after meeting through Substack and discovering they had several things in common: both fired from their federal jobs by DOGE, both with twin brothers, both gay, and both tired of this sh*t.

In this episode:

• Introductions

• How Gay Are You Today?

• “You’re Fired” - a segment where Jordan and Ashley discuss the nastiest bros in the news

• “Good Gay News” - a segment where we celebrate recent wins of the LGBTQ+ community

And while you’re here, help us answer some essential questions:

Sources:

Video Testimony of Former DOGE Employees Can Remain Online, Judge Rules

The Manosphere Official Trailer

Sorry But the Manosphere is the Gayest Thing on the Internet

Mamdani establishes NYC Mayor's Office of LGBTQIA+ Affairs under new executive order

See you for our next crash out!

Get more from Jordan Mathews in the Substack app

Available for iOS and Android

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“So… I’ve decided I’m going to write a play, and I want you to act in it.” That was the line I casually tossed at all my closest friends in D.C. when we reunited after the holidays in January 2025.

They’re used to my unpredictable whims: adopting a dog despite being terrified of them, or launching a country line–dancing class after taking one class during a trip to Arizona. But even by my standards, this idea felt like a leap. I had never written anything in my life, let alone a full play, and I had exactly zero experience in theater. None of my friends had acted a day in theirs, either.

So yes, I fully understood why my announcement landed like it came straight out of left field.

But I was ready for their bewildered stares. I told them I had a story that I wanted to tell, and that creating something together might be the dose of creativity and connection we’d all been craving. What none of us knew at the time was that just a few weeks later, our careers would …

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You know, small potatoes.

So after rambling on and on to her about how pulled and disjointed I was feeling, she said, “I have just the spread for you.”

She showed me the graphic above and asked if it resonated. Although I loved the imagery, I remember having a visceral aversion to it that surprised me.

Feeling lost? Am I lost? I wondered to myself. I felt embarrassed for being perceived. I took pride in being a person who always had direction.

I am coming up on a year from when I decided to leave my federal career after learning my DOJ office would be eliminated. Over these past eleven months, I feel like I have lived 100 lifetimes.

In many ways, I don’t recognize that person anymore— the per…

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I was a Peace Corps volunteer in the Dominican Republic when I first learned about Bad Bunny. It was 2017. I remember my best friend, Jamie, showed me a video of this up and coming new artist— he was a baby-faced man, tall, with long limbs, and at the time, a buzzed head.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of your brother?” she laughed. I laughed, too. Yeah, she was right. He kind of did.

Then, I began listening to Bad Bunny because, well, I did like his music, but honestly, I wanted to fit in. I was living in a new country and trying to adapt to a new culture. Bad Bunny was on everyone’s tongue, and I couldn’t be that one gringa who didn’t know up from down.

Ten years later, my love, appreciation, and admiration for Bad Bunny has only deepened. As his platform has expanded across the globe, instead of using his new found fame to indulge his own ego, he has intentionally decided to use his platform for love— to celebrate and advocate on behalf of his beloved …

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Minnesota is under intense national scrutiny following the deaths of Renée Good and Alex Pretti. This unique moment serves as a critical (and deeply tragic) example of why we cannot outrun breaches of public trust. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem initially labeled Good’s actions “terrorism,” claiming she tried to run over an officer, but even DHS agents disagree. As one agent put it, “There is a video and [Noem] just lied.” The agent went on to support de-escalation in light of increasing danger. Less than three weeks later, Alex Pretti’s death followed with shockingly similar federal responses, using the same “domestic terrorism” framing—only this time, criticism was widely bipartisan, and later Noem backed away from that framing.

Good’s death ignited nationwide protests, while Pretti’s death sparked something much more rare: bi-partisan concern and infighting among groups typically aligned, from the NRA’s defense of lawful car…

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The world has watched in admiration as Minnesotans have organized, protested, and cared for each other in response to the fascist ICE takeover of their cities, resulting in the recent murders of two peaceful protestors and legal observers, Renee Good and Alex Pretti.

Minnesota can teach us a lot about how to continue to show up for each other with love, compassion, and nonviolence in spite of fear.

As an ode to the brave people of Minnesota, I wanted to share the five ways we can all fight fascism right now. (Yes, even you!) I created this guide through consolidating trusted sources, as well as using the information many of you shared with me in response to my inquiry for support.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

***Please note, the below list is not exhaustive. There are so many other wonderful resource guides circulating, but I wanted to do my best to share what I have learned and gathered with my own network. Please also do your due diligence before…

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In this interview, I sit down with Corinne Hart, leadership coach and my dear friend, who shares what “trends” she predicts for the impacted federal worker this upcoming year.

As an ex-USAID fed, women’s leadership expert and now coach, Corinne has worked with over a hundred impacted feds (including me!) in 2025. She has her finger on the pulse on what this population is experiencing and what we can do in 2026 to help us get to where we want to go.

You can learn more and sign up for Corinne’s upcoming beach retreat here. If you are interested in group coaching or other services, you can reach out to Corinne directly at Corinne@hart-and-co.com.

Paid subcribers please enjoy the following reflection guide created by Corinne herself! If you are not yet a paid subscriber but want to become one, you can subscribe by using the button below:

Subscribe now

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The end of 2025 took me to the brink. There were many days in the past six weeks where I wondered how I would emotionally survive the next moment, and in many ways, I am still in that headspace.

Though prone to anxiety, it is rare where I feel depressed, but if I am being honest, I think I probably am a little depressed. I am feeling unmotivated, at times hopeless, questioning the why of it all.

I mean, aren’t we all?

If you are a subscriber to The Fed Up, you may have read my latest email, “2025, what a doozy.” And a doozy, it was.

In that email, I share that I have been struggling. My uncle died in November and shortly after my twin brother experienced a mental health crisis that required him to be hospitalized. Together, my family and I have worked endlessly to navigate system barrier after system barrier, all with the hope of getting him the best wraparound care that he deserves, so he can have his life back, so can get to know who he is again— the beautiful, brilliant, caring, lova…

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I recently learned that 2025 was the year of the snake, or in other words, the year of shedding.

When I learned this, I laughed. Of course it is. I thought. Now everything makes so much more sense.

It seems like everyone I am talking to right now has stories of leaving, losing, or letting go of something or somethings this year, whether it be by choice or not: careers, relationships, identities, bad haircuts… If you know my story, I feel like that’s all I have been doing this year.

If it is no longer aligned to your highest purpose, you are being asked to say hasta la vista, baby. Sayonara sucker. Whether you are ready to or not.

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And as we know, shedding is no simple process. I mean, you can just ask a snake. For them, it takes several days to shed their old skin to reveal their new shiny fit beneath. That takes work and patience! But even though the process of shedding may be uncomfortable, troublesome, gross even???, snakes shed their skin to get …

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It was 3:00 p.m. on Friday, Valentine’s Day, 2025. Tears slid down my face as I sat alone in my home office. The entire staff at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) Office of AIDS Research was on Zoom, listening to one of our colleagues play an original song on piano.

“I wrote this to help get through the hard times in life,” he’d told us before he began. Cameras started switching off. I could only assume other people were tearing up too.

We’d all just said our goodbyes. Trump’s decision to fire all federal probationary employees—everyone who’d been a fed for less than a year (or, for people like me hired on Schedule A, two years)—had come down. Those employees would be officially terminated on February 14.

Nearly a dozen people from our small office were on that list, all energized to help educate the public about, treat, and prevent the spread of HIV. Most came from our policy and communications team—the team responsible for writing reports to Congress, external relations with the …

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Right now, I am living in the space between when one things ends and before something else begins. I feel like I am a plane that’s been diverted, waiting for the air traffic controller to tell me where I am going.

I know (and trust) I soon I will land, but where and when has not yet been determined or revealed.

These liminal spaces can be hard, especially for people like me who love control and live by a plan. But I also know that this period, these thresholds, can be sooooooo ripe for growth and opportunity, if we learn to sit in it, if we learn how to work with it opposed to against it.

I keep saying that this period feels like a test from the Universe. It is asking me to trust myself and my inner knowing, even when the path in front of me is not yet clearly defined.

And I know I am not alone in this feeling. So many people are in periods of shedding— shedding careers, relationships, identities, and wondering what comes next.

In this week’s The …

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You may have heard – we are in a Mercury retrograde traveling through both Scorpio and Sagittarius from November 6th through November 27th.

GASP

But don’t panic. Mercury retrogrades often get a bad rap. And although life can feel a little more challenging and stickier during these astrological positioning, a retrograde, really, is just asking us to slow down, look back, and clean house. And this retrograde specifically is asking us to look back on the stories we tell ourselves and decide if those stories still are true or they need to be rewritten.

It is an invitation to uncover our truth and to find clarity.

Whether you buy into the retrograde hysteria or not (it is okay if you don’t, you are still welcome here!), I think it is always wise to find time to pause-and-reflect. The cooler weather and darker nights can help us do this.

These past seven months since leaving my federal career have felt like more seven years of growth and transformation. I took …

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Entering the race with less than 1% support, was able to build a grassroots campaign that — against all odds — delivered a decisive victory for the mayoral seat of New York City.

Young. Brown. Muslim. A socialist democrat.

Mamdani represented everything the establishment is not– something new, hopeful, and actually progressive: By showing up. By listening. By validating the experiences of everyday New Yorkers. By being a vision holder for something actionable, tangible, accessible, and wholehearted:

“Running to freeze the rent, make buses fast + free, and deliver universal childcare.”

I don’t care where your politics fall on the spectrum. If you have a heart, you can’t engage with this story and not be moved, not find inspiration, not respect what Mamdani and his campaign were able to accomplish, and what they were able to inspire.

In his viral victory speech, Mamdani said,

“The sun may have set over our city this evening, but as Eugene Debs once said: “I can see the dawn of a better day…

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To support The Fed Up’s mission to help you connect with and use your voice during this season of shedding, each week I will share a brief reflection and journaling prompt to guide you back to your own inner compass—your true north.

Today, I reflect on hope-

If this video resonated, please consider restacking and sharing. If you are not yet a member of of The Fed Up community, I welcome you warmly and gratefully! You can subscribe free of paid.

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Journal Prompt:

Take 5- 10 minutes to reflect and write on this question. If open, please consider sharing some of your reflections in the comments.

Think about a time where you felt abundantly hopeful.

• How did it feel in your body and in your mind?

• What did it motivate you to do? What felt possible?

• How is hope showing up for you today? What is one thing you can do to nurture it?

Thank you for being here.

With hope,
Jordan

When I left the federal government through the Deferred Resignation Program in April 2025, I decided to treat the DRP not as a tragedy, but as a weird opportunity to give me some “runway” to start my own business as an independent accessibility consultant.

I was not unfamiliar with small business. I worked in the small business office of New York City’s government before graduate school, and at Labor, I led many of my agency’s initiatives supporting small businesses and disabled entrepreneurs. Through my time at Labor, I had the good fortune to support thousands of business owners across the country. I had seen, from a policy vantage point, many examples of what a business startup looked like and how independent consulting worked. Over the course of ten years, I had interacted directly or indirectly with thousands of businesses. I had met dozens of fellow autistic people who had started businesses - and were thriving.

Even then, I had expected my work life to wholly change as I moved fr…

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So I created this video to outline the five steps I use to help me write cohesive, emotionally resonate blogs that leave an impact. But remember, it is a guide not a mandate. So take what’s helpful and leave the rest!

Thank you for being a paid subscriber!

Your feedback is sooooo valuable to me. I would love to learn more about the type of content you like and what you want to see more of here at The Fed Up.

If you have a minute, please consider taking the paid subscriber survey by clicking on button below:

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