This story is part of a series – A region reshaped: Federal layoffs in Maryland a year later.
GERMANTOWN — One recent morning, student teacher Rachel Bayer started her class by holding up a slab of a tree trunk or as she called it, a “tree cookie.”
She explained how trees grow a ring around their trunks for every year they live, then had one of her second-grade students share how life changed each year he has been alive. In the past year, Bayer’s life has dramatically changed.
A year ago, she worked for the U.S. Forest Service — a place she planned to spend the rest of her career. But after President Donald Trump returned to office, she worried there might be reassignments at the agency.
“It appeared that there were going to be changes that, long term, would be a difficult transition for my family,” she said. So, when an email went out to all federal employees offering a chance to resign and keep their pay and benefits until September, she took it.
“This is probably the best deal I’m going to get, without taking a pretty big risk and trying to stay,” she recalled.
Bayer was not alone. Like her, some federal workers decided to leave because they felt vulnerable. Others were forced out or their positions were eliminated. In the months since, they have had to find new ways to support themselves and their families, often doing gig work or switching careers entirely.
Maryland was one of the hardest hit states. Between January 2025 and January 2026, it lost more than 31,000 federal jobs, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.
“Your life really does … hang in the balance when there is a shutdown or these losses of work when you don’t get a paycheck and your family is reliant upon you,” said Grace Middleton, of Gaithersburg, a wife and mother of two. “It’s really, deeply hurtful.”
The 47-year-old was just nine months into her role as a project manager working in public health communications for the National Cancer Institute when she lost her contracted position in August.
She turned to teaching barre classes to bring in some income. She had enjoyed participating in the fitness classes and thought it would be a good interim job.
“It really was an expansion of the hobby, a way to fill my time and have a routine, but also make a little bit of money to maybe pay for some gas,” she said.
Middleton recently landed a full-time job in communications but still teaches barre classes on the side.
“It just gives me an emotional boost, the working out, but also doing something that’s of service for others to make them feel good about themselves,’’ she said. “It’s filling a different gap in my life.”
On the job hunt
Ambar Zobairi, of Silver Spring, spent more than six years at the United States Agency for International Development working on the elections team, including on missions in Africa, Europe and Asia. She was let go last July.
The 51-year-old with two children in college said she applied for more than 200 positions before she landed a new job at a national civil rights organization. She’s making less money, but said she’s grateful to have income.
“Feeling good about what I’m doing has been more important than the money aspect, honestly,” she said.
Chris Steven, of Waldorf, worked for a company that had a federal contract with the Food and Drug Administration before he was laid off last September. He had worked as a help desk coordinator for a safety reporting program.
When unemployment payments ended, he turned to DoorDash to help pay bills.
“It’s not the greatest amount of money I’ve ever made, but it’s something, which is better than nothing,” Steven said.
For Steven, 38, the financial strain was exacerbated by the Oct. 1 federal government shutdown. His wife is a federal employee, so for a period, they had no income, he said.
He continues to apply for full-time positions and recalled a recent interview where he was told he was overqualified.
“In my mind, it’s so hard not to scream, ‘Just give me a job!’ ” he said. “I don’t care what you have me do. I want to make money.”
‘Protect our people’
Following the mass layoffs, the state began offering resources for Marylanders in need.
Since February 2025, laid-off federal workers have logged into a weekly virtual workshop hosted by the Maryland Department of Labor, where they can get advice and resources for job searches. More than 2,100 people have participated so far, according to the agency.
In October 2025, Gov. Wes Moore announced the launch of the Federal Worker Emergency Loan Program.
“At a time when the federal government is stepping back from its most basic obligations, Maryland is stepping up to protect our people,” Moore said in a news release.
The program allows federal workers who have been laid off since Jan. 1, 2025, to apply for a $700 no-interest loan within six months of their termination. More than 120 Marylanders have used the loan program, according to the Labor Department.
Funding for the program came from the Protect Our Federal Workers Act, which Moore signed in April 2025. The act also expanded the power of the state attorney general to try to protect Maryland residents from federal decisions, and created a fast-track hiring program for former federal workers looking to transition to state jobs.
‘A different type of service’
Bayer, the 46-year-old student teacher, decided to work in the classroom because it’s similar to what she did in the past. Much of her career had been in education. She thought it would be an exciting, new way to change careers.
“Honestly, if I’m going to be frank, there’s usually teaching jobs,” she said.
She said teaching can be rewarding and fulfilling, especially when things don’t go as anticipated.
“Teaching is service,” she said. “It’s just a different type of service.”
Ethan Taylor, 55, was in a similar situation. He worked for the U.S. Department of the Interior in a position funded by USAID. When the Trump administration dismantled USAID, Taylor was worried his position would be eliminated.
“Going in every day, not knowing if it was my last, was just literally eating me alive,” he said.
So, like Bayer, he took the deferred resignation offer.
“I knew I needed to make a decision,” he said. “I wanted it to be on my terms and not the government’s.”
As soon as he left, he started substitute teaching in Montgomery County. Teaching is always something he has enjoyed. He had been an adjunct professor and taught in graduate school and in the Peace Corps.
He got his first full-time teaching job through Montgomery College’s Alternative Certification for Effective Teachers. The program gives prospective teachers an accelerated pathway into the classroom. The state gave the program money to help displaced federal workers land teaching jobs.
Taylor is almost done with his first year teaching Spanish at Quince Orchard High School — something he’s doing while participating in the program. He said it’s exhilarating and exhausting.
“I’m here late and I stay up late, but it makes it all worth it when somebody comes up to me and says, ‘Señor Taylor, I love your class. This is my favorite class,’ ” he said.
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