I've been on both sides of the acquisition table more times than I care to count. I've integrated 18+ companies over five years, watched valuations soar from $200M to nearly $1B, and helped craft the very transition plans that determined who stayed and who went home.

I understand the business rationale. Really, I do. Redundancies happen. Synergies require consolidation. Not every role translates to the new organizational structure. These are facts of M&A life, and pretending otherwise doesn't help anyone.

But here's what keeps me up at night: the scripts.

The Carefully Crafted Words

I sit in the boardrooms where these messages are crafted. Every word is chosen carefully, reviewed by legal, polished until it says exactly what the company needs it to say without actually promising anything concrete.

A couple of years ago, the line was "everyone will be an employee of XYZ Corp on day one." We were instructed to repeat it. Over and over. In town halls, in one-on-ones, in every conversation where someone dared to ask about their future.

It was technically true. Day one. What we didn't say - what we were specifically told not to volunteer - was what happened on day 30, day 60, or day 90.

The acquiring company dangles the carrot because they need stability during transition. They need the institutional knowledge, the client relationships, the operational continuity. So they offer just enough hope to keep people from jumping ship before the integration is complete.

Then, when they're ready, they let people go.

The Severance Myth

Another line you'll hear in almost every acquisition: "We take care of the people who don't stay."

It sounds reassuring. Responsible even. Until you see what "taking care of people" actually means in practice.

Two weeks severance. Maybe three if you've been there five years or more. No continuation of insurance benefits - just a COBRA form and good luck affording those premiums on unemployment.

After years of dedication, of late nights and weekend emergencies, of building the very value that made the company attractive for acquisition - two weeks.

It's not just inadequate. It's shameful.

Meanwhile, the executives negotiating the deal are securing golden parachutes, retention bonuses, and consulting agreements that dwarf what an entire department of displaced workers receives combined.

"We take care of our people" apparently has very different definitions depending on which floor your office is on.

The Business Case Is Clear

I get it. I've built the spreadsheets. I've run the numbers on headcount optimization and cost synergies. I've presented to private equity firms who are laser-focused on EBITDA and efficiency ratios. The business case for workforce reduction is often irrefutable.

Keeping duplicate finance teams doesn't make sense. Running parallel IT infrastructures is wasteful. Having two VPs doing essentially the same job is inefficient.

The math works. The business logic is sound. The shareholders benefit.

But the math doesn't account for everything.

Behind Every Number

Behind every layoff headline is a human being trying to figure out their next step.

A parent wondering how to explain to their kids why they suddenly can't afford the things they used to afford.

A single income household calculating how many months of savings they have before real panic sets in.

A person who relocated their entire family for this job, who pulled kids out of schools and away from friends, who believed in the promise of "everyone will be an employee on day one."

Someone who gave years of their life, who showed up early and stayed late, who believed they were building something lasting.

The Missing Conversation

What bothers me most isn't that acquisitions happen - they do, and they will continue to. It's that we've somehow convinced ourselves that being "professional" means stripping all humanity from the process.

We craft careful scripts instead of honest conversations. We dangle hope instead of providing clarity. We hide behind corporate-speak instead of acknowledging the very real fear and uncertainty that people are feeling.

I've watched talented, dedicated professionals spend months in limbo, afraid to make career decisions because they're holding onto that carefully worded promise. Watching the job market pass them by while they wait for a shoe to drop that everyone in the boardroom knows is coming.

What Could Be Different

I don't have perfect answers. The business realities of M&A aren't going to change because I think the process lacks empathy. But I do think we could be more honest.

Instead of "everyone will be an employee on day one," what if we said: "We're committed to a thoughtful transition process. Some roles will continue, some will be restructured, and unfortunately some will be eliminated. We'll provide as much clarity as we can, as soon as we can, so people can make informed decisions about their futures."

It's scarier. It's less reassuring. But it's honest. And it treats people like adults who can handle hard truths.

A Call for Balance

I'm not naive enough to think that empathy alone can drive business decisions. Companies have fiduciary duties, investors have expectations, and sometimes difficult choices are necessary for the long-term health of the organization.

But we can acknowledge the business necessity while also recognizing the human cost. We can be strategic without being manipulative. We can make hard decisions while still treating people with dignity and honesty.

Because here's what I've learned after 30+ years in this business: talent doesn't vanish when you let it go. It just finds a new stage. And the people you're "optimizing away" today are the same people who built the value you just acquired.

They deserve better than carefully crafted scripts and false hope.

The Stories That Stay With You

I remember faces. The IT director who had just bought his first house. The finance manager who was three years from retirement. The operations specialist who was putting two kids through college.

They showed up to work every day not knowing if this was the day they'd be called into a meeting. They watched colleagues disappear, reorganizations announced, and promises quietly forgotten.

Some landed on their feet quickly. Others struggled. A few are still trying to rebuild what they lost.

None of them will ever fully trust another "day one" promise again.

Moving Forward

If you're going through an acquisition right now - whether you're being acquired or doing the acquiring - I want you to remember something: these aren't just headcount numbers on a spreadsheet. They're people with mortgages, car payments, student loans, and families who depend on them.

They deserve honesty, even when that honesty is uncomfortable. They deserve clarity, even when that clarity is incomplete. They deserve to be treated like the professionals they are, not pawns in a carefully choreographed corporate theater.

The business side of M&A isn't going to change. But maybe, just maybe, we can inject a little more humanity into the process.

Because at the end of the day, we're all just people trying to do our best work and take care of the people who depend on us. And that's something worth remembering, even when the spreadsheets say otherwise.

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