When Silence Becomes the Answer: How I Decided to Stop Waiting

A follow-up to “When ‘Almost’ Isn’t an Answer”

There is a particular kind of hope that comes from being told you’d be a great asset to a team.

A recruiter found me on LinkedIn. I had seen the posting but hadn’t applied yet, so when she reached out, I said yes and applied. Within a week, I was interviewing with the hiring manager. At the end of that call, I asked if she had any questions or concerns I could address before we hung up. She said no, and then told me she wanted to move me forward to meet her boss.

That second interview happened the following Monday, and it went just as well. I was told my qualifications and transferable skills were what the team needed. I was told the company had a few business approvals to secure before it had the clearance to hire, and that I should have more clarity within a week or two. I was told they didn’t expect to need any more initial interviews. The conversation was about finalizing the hire.

I was also told what to expect if things went quiet: it would simply mean they were still waiting on those approvals.

So I believed them, and I waited.

What Waiting Actually Looked Like

People imagine waiting as passive. It wasn’t.

I checked my phone and email constantly. Some nights I woke up in the middle of the night and refreshed my inbox, just in case something had come through. I ran my interview transcripts through my own analysis to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood anything, then took them to ChatGPT to get a more objective read, because I didn’t trust my own hope. I told my friends about it. I was anxious because I really liked the interview, I really liked the opportunity, and it had all moved so quickly that it felt real.

And I didn’t stop looking. I kept applying, and I kept interviewing. But part of my mind stayed parked on that one call or email I was waiting for.

Three Follow-Ups

In my last post, I wrote that confirmed is not the same as possible. This was a version of that. I’d been given a timeline, which is information a candidate can act on. The problem began when the timeline passed, and nothing replaced it.

When the week or two went by, I wasn’t alarmed. I’d been told what the delay might look like, and I accepted it.

So I followed up with the recruiter. I told her I was still very interested and asked whether the timeline had shifted. A while later, I followed up again, this time acknowledging that I understood things might depend on internal approvals, and that I’d completely understand any delay. I just asked for any update she could share.

I never heard back.

My third message went to the hiring manager through LinkedIn, because I didn’t have her email. I explained why I was writing there, reminded her of our conversation, and said I was still very interested while continuing to explore other opportunities. I felt I had a real chance of at least getting an answer from her, or having her prompt the recruiter to send one.

Weeks later, that message remained unanswered. She may simply be busy or not check LinkedIn often, and I know that. But it means I will never know whether she saw it.

The Part That Isn’t About One Job

Here’s what I don’t think I made clear when I started writing about this: this didn’t happen in isolation.

By early fall I had been applying for jobs for five months, and I’m now closer to seven. When you’ve spent that long sending out résumés, getting rejections, or hearing nothing, something changes. You start to wonder whether you’re good enough. You start to wonder if you’re becoming obsolete, and whether new graduates are better prepared than you are. The doubt creeps in quietly.

At some point I called a close friend and cried. I told her I was tired and didn’t know what else I could do. I said I didn’t understand how I was supposed to get a job when systems weren’t properly reviewing résumés, and when companies that did call me for interviews wouldn’t even have the courtesy to close the door afterward.

That’s why this ghosting hurt more than a single silence should. It was the one that had come the closest.

When I Stopped

After the third message went unanswered, I waited another week or two. Then, not long after, I decided I was done trying to get an answer.

There was no dramatic moment. I was at home. I simply let it go and moved forward.

At some point, I realized that continuing to wait for a job I genuinely wanted, one that offered the opportunity to grow in my field and move my career in the direction I had worked so hard toward, was keeping me stuck between hope and disappointment. Letting go was difficult because I wasn’t just waiting for an answer; I was grieving the possibility of what that opportunity could have meant for my future.

I’ll also be honest about another feeling: it felt like wasted time. Not just the interviews, but the weeks I spent waiting. I wish I’d put less of myself into it.

What I’m Doing Differently Now

The one thing I was missing was a way to reach anyone but the recruiter.

I’ve been a recruiter and a hiring manager, and I respected keeping candidate communication in one channel. I still do. But from now on, I’ll ask every interviewer for their email, with a thank-you note as the natural reason, so that if the process goes quiet, I’m not left with an unanswered LinkedIn message as my only option.

I’ll also decide in advance how many times I’m willing to follow up. Three was my number this time, and it was reasonable, but I want to choose the limit before I’m sitting in the silence, not after.

What the Silence Showed Me

I can’t know how that organization treats its employees. But I do know how its hiring process treated a candidate it had described as a great fit. That experience shaped my view of the communication standards I want from a prospective employer, and it matters when I’m deciding where to give my time and talent.

I care about how I treat everyone I work with, whether stakeholders, peers, or supervisors. Caring doesn’t mean doing the work for someone. It means showing up when you’re needed. That’s the standard I hold myself to, and it’s what I look for in the place I choose to work.

What Closing the Loop Looks Like

I know what the other side can look like, because I’ve been on it.

When I was a recruiter and a hiring manager, I closed the loop with every candidate I interviewed. If someone wasn’t selected, I called or emailed to say the position had been filled or that we’d gone with another candidate. It didn’t matter how. The point was that they wouldn’t be left sitting there, waiting.

Some of those calls were hard. I remember candidates telling me they really needed a job and that this was their last hope. I couldn’t create a position out of nowhere. But when I knew a competitor was hiring for the same role, I’d tell them to check it out. It wasn’t my job. It was just caring about the people who had applied.

One of those candidates cried on the phone with me. I pointed him toward another company, and he got hired there.

About a year and a half later, he knocked on my office door. He was a new hire at the company I was working for. “Do you remember me?” he asked. I didn’t. He reminded me of the call, and he told me that he’d chosen to keep applying with us because of it. I hadn’t had to give him that referral. I could have just said I was sorry. The fact that I had helped him had made a lasting impression.

I didn’t do it for that reason, and it blew my mind anyway. When you can help someone, you help, without expecting anything back. That he came back around was a blessing I never saw coming.

That’s all I’m really asking for in a job search. I’m not asking for the job. I’m asking for an answer, so I can stop waiting and keep going.