When we talk about government downsizing—early retirements, delayed resignations, mass reassignments—we often get stuck on the numbers. Budgets balanced. Boxes checked. Statistics neatly arranged.
But behind every statistic is a human being. And the real story is one of confusion, sadness, and a profound sense of abandonment by the very systems designed to offer support and clarity.
I’ve been tracking the experiences people are sharing through my Federal Workforce Transition Survey, and one theme is painfully clear: chaos, not care, is driving this process.
Let me give you an example that recently hit close to home.
A friend preparing to separate under the Voluntary Early Retirement Authority (VERA) and Delayed Resignation Program (DRP) needed documentation from DFAS (Defense Finance and Accounting Service). She submitted her request, expecting clear guidance. Instead, silence.
DFAS had 30 days to respond. Before the deadline, she checked back only to find the ticket closed without a single update or explanation. No email, no guidance, no support.
When she called, the response she got wasn’t just unhelpful—it was incorrect. DFAS wrongly directed her back to her civilian HR office, even though her records were from Air Force service, making her civilian Army HR office unable to assist.
Through hours of digging—scouring obscure websites, cold-calling offices—we finally uncovered the truth: DFAS doesn’t even hold records older than 2004. These must be requested directly from the National Archives (link here). Yet DFAS shares none of this critical information publicly, leaving employees lost in a maze of bureaucratic guesswork.
This isn’t isolated. I have my own unresolved struggle with DFAS over my military buyback. Instead of correctly crediting payments, they deducted more, leaving me owing more money rather than less. My inquiries went unanswered, emails ignored, my case repeatedly closed without resolution. When my HR office intervened with the Army Benefits Center (ABC)—the very place DFAS incorrectly told my friend to contact—the reaction was dismissive: “How did she even get my number?” Three months later, I still wait for real answers.
The pattern here isn’t accidental. It’s transactional. Ticket closed? Problem solved—at least on the balance sheet.
These systems aren’t broken because of incompetence. They’re broken because human connection and genuine assistance have been replaced by transactional procedures that prioritize metrics over people. It leaves employees feeling abandoned, confused, and deeply discouraged.
The emotional cost is significant:
- Fear: “What if I never get the information I need?”
- Sadness: “Why does no one care enough to provide clear answers?”
- Loss of trust: “How can we trust them with our futures if they can’t even help with basic questions?”
Your experience matters. Your voice matters.
That’s why I created the Federal Workforce Transition Survey.
If you’ve been affected—whether you’ve left, are preparing to leave, or remain inside a system marked by chaos—your story can help shine a light on the real human impact. Please share your experience.
We aren’t statistics. We’re people, and we deserve to be heard.
Shana Jespersen 
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