“I am 63 years old with almost 40 quotes behind me. I’m planning a nap soon, retirement is near. But the hardest part is looming. Why me at this age? Reemployment feels almost impossible.” That is how he introduces himself. Joseph, a Barcelona native, is a working man in a city that never stops. At this age, inflation is not new to him; he has faced it before. The oil crisis of the eighties pulled him into the job market and into a sector then known as veteran industry. Spain’s entry into the European market and the ensuing deindustrialization pushed the country to reinvent itself through logistics. He specialized, he overcame the 2008 crisis, yet the epidemic struck and “they kicked me” as he recalls.
José, 63, has been unemployed for the past two years.
He has kept a few short-term contracts as a janitor. “There is an age barrier. A strong resume and all the credentials in the world, but companies don’t call because of age, even if they say otherwise. They don’t value experience. Feeling there are still things to contribute and not getting a chance is one of the most recurring regrets among veterans who lose their jobs late in their careers. Impotence — that is how José defines it. “You won’t understand what unemployment feels like until you’re unemployed. You think it won’t happen to you until it does. At first I felt like a foreigner.”
Stress, suffering, depression, or anxiety are some of the symptoms of not finding work or being in a tough situation. Since the pandemic, mental health services have gained new attention. Insecurity is a trigger and a source of physical discomfort that was not historically linked to it. The Ministry of Labor is preparing a report on this relationship between unemployment and well-being, with results expected later this year.
Lorien, 28, an industrial designer, arrived just a month ago from Venezuela with her husband to pursue an internship as a traumatologist at a renowned hospital in Barcelona. They left everything behind to start a new life in the Catalan capital, and they live with a mattress for four months as they face the cost of living in the city.
Lorien, who has recently moved from Venezuela, cannot find a job.
“Every euro you spend causes real hardship. My wife isn’t paid for the internship, so we both bear the expenses. We don’t have that end-of-the-month spark that says we can breathe easy. It’s a constant cost,” says the young man.
Julian, 29, arrived from Colombia a little less than a year ago to seek opportunities and escape threats of extortion against his wife. Currently, without a work permit, his degree and work experience hold little value. He is a mechatronics engineer, a profession in demand, yet it feels like a contradiction: “After seven years of training I came to a country to do odd jobs, to carry rubble, to bake bread… I don’t have a problem with honest work, but I didn’t come here for this and it hurts,” Julian explains.
In Barcelona, he takes any job that comes his way, waiting to regularize his situation. Many positions are uninsured or lack guarantees of future calls. The conditions take a toll physically and mentally. “I try to see it as temporary. This is a test of resilience,” he says.
José, Lorien, and Julian see the world keep turning, even as they feel stuck. They describe doing nothing as an ongoing, energy-draining effort. Looking for work is a highly demanding pursuit. “You must find a way to help yourself. Designer, waiter, clerk — it doesn’t matter. The struggle goes on and not being called back creates immense stress. My husband shops for groceries. He is in the hospital, but I feel isolated and inactive, and there comes a time when it feels like blood draining away,” Lorien explains.
“When you’re unemployed, the days stretch on forever. Time feels more valuable than ever, and you’re not making the most of it,” Julian says. “To work, to be independent. When you’re not employed, you feel like a burden to others. My cousin greeted us when we arrived, and it seemed like they started avoiding us because of our situation. They have a little girl, and I think they stopped going to the movies because we cannot afford it and they don’t want to trouble us,” Lorien adds.
Merged by a local support group, they found a community that helps the unemployed on Biscaia Street in Barcelona. The group supports people in finding new work and, in the process, shares grief and feelings. They realize that a lack of opportunities, not poor decisions, often drives unemployment. The group acts like an oxygen cylinder when fatigue hits, offering relief and solidarity.
“When someone says there are three million unemployed, the faces should drop in embarrassment. Three million people…” José reflects, stirred by listening to Lorien and Julian who carry many stories. His daughters left their country to seek better lives in distant places; one now works in Switzerland as a driver for a multinational city transport company. It’s not the job he once had, but he keeps moving. “After a year, with what I can save, I’ll go to Blanes for a week to see my daughters instead of going to the beach. I don’t want to become a burden to them.”