There Are Many True Reasons to Leave a Job
Making the Leap
Seven years ago, I made the leap from traditional employment to running my own business.
From the outside, you might be tempted to make up a story about how brave and confident I was to make this leap. But it definitely didn't feel that way at the time.
Why I Left My Job
There are at least five true stories about why I made the leap—probably even more.
One of those stories is that I knew in my soul that it was time to move on from my job.
After seven years at the same organization, I was losing my mojo for the work—and fast. I could feel it draining out of me.
The thought of going through our cycle of programs once again made throw up in my mouth a little. I was too familiar with our challenges and the 105 different ways we'd tried to address them over the years. I started to hear myself saying things like: "We tried that before, and it didn't work."
Nobody benefits from that kind of stale energy—they needed fresh ideas and creative perspective that can only come from someone new. Moving on was the right thing for the organization, and the right thing for me.
Another true story is that I was burned out.
I had powered through undiagnosed postpartum anxiety for a year and a half of my baby's life, and it was finally catching up with me. I had stepped into a new level of leadership and a new identity as a mom at the same time, and I was crumbling under all that new responsibility. I tried a two-week medical leave, but that was a drop in the bucket compared to what I actually needed. I needed to majorly regroup.
Yet another true story is that after 11 years, my mom's cancer had returned and it wasn't looking good.
The doctors didn't label it with a stage or tell us it was "terminal." Looking back, I'm not even sure that they said the word "cancer;" they talked about "activity" on her scans. We oscillated from trying to read between the lines to backing off from questions we didn't want the answers to.
I was anxious all the time, constantly braced for a phone call. In the face of losing my favorite person in the world, the career that I had built and the work that we were doing felt meaningless. I had to leave to be with my mom.
Another true story is that I wanted to align with an even truer version of myself.
It was becoming clearer to me that my most natural contribution to this world was through coaching. I was in a 9-month leadership development program at the time that met on Tuesday nights after work. While that's not usually my sharpest time of day, those sessions brought me alive. I noticed a shift in myself in that space. I noticed that my classmates were there to get better at their real work—and I was there because leadership development was my real work. I wanted to live in that classroom.
The chasm between my current role and my highest self cracked open, and the gap seemed to grow larger and harder to ignore by the day. I felt out of alignment with myself. And when you have a realization like that, it's hard to un-realize it.
Another true story is that I was super curious about entrepreneurship.
I had coached several 1:1 coaching clients who left their jobs to start their own venture, yet it still seemed like a fantasy to me. It was the kind of thing someone else could make happen, but I couldn't believe that I'd actually be allowed to create my own job and have it support me and my family.
My dad and brother are both business owners, and I wanted to know if I had it in me, too. I knew that running a service-based business means about 50% of my time doing the thing that I love (coaching) and the other 50% running the business. And after managing my organization's operations for years, I thought I might have what it takes to run a business—and enjoy it.
Which story is the truth?
At the time I left, all of these stories felt like a big ball of confusion in my head and my heart.
- Which is the real reason I'm leaving?
- When someone asks why I'm moving on, what do I tell them?
- Am I lying if I don't share it all?
My strategy was avoidance. I missed my goodbye party with the staff and board because I was with my mom in the hospital, meeting with the palliative care team for the first time. I was relieved to not have to explain myself.
This wasn't the way I expected to leave my organization. The "right" way to go would have been a step up and out to a bigger job with a bigger title at a bigger organization for a bigger salary. Everyone would applaud as I processed out the door, waving like the Queen of England. This wasn't like that at all.
I felt shame. I felt embarrassed. I felt a sense of grief and loss—about my mom, but about my job, too. Because even though I didn't want this job anymore, it had become a big part of my identity for a good chunk of my adult life. I felt hopeful but unsure about what was next. I felt a bit like a failure—I couldn't hack it, couldn't sustain it, I wasn't tough enough for organizational life. I had flamed out.
Creating a bridge
I built a bridge for myself: I took on a part-time job at the front desk of a massage therapy office that was so easy and so lovely. It left me space for healing. It held me as I grieved my mom's death, the end of my job, and a miscarriage that seemed needlessly cruel on top of it all. I washed the sheets and folded the towels. It was repetitive and soft. I learned that I could make a meaningful contribution to a place without it taking everything from me.
I leaned into the stability of my husband's salary and benefits as I regrouped. I focused on building my credibility and foundation as a business, knowing that it would take time to grow into something strong.
Making the leap into running my own business took courage, to be sure. But it didn't feel like a big, brave triumph. In some ways, it was very sad. I lost so much that year that taking a risk didn't much matter. Nothing seemed to matter.
On the day that I officially launched the business and "hung up my sign" (made the website live), I sobbed. I was overcome with the grief of launching this very cool thing in a world that didn't have my favorite person in it. I couldn't believe the effort it took to get here—when my tank felt so empty, I managed to pour something out. And I wasn't sure if I should be proud of my ability to power through or startled by it.
Four takeaways from my "leap"
There are four things I hope you take from this:
1. Making a "leap" looks very different from the outside. We're tempted to make up stories about the brave moves other people make in their lives, but we're all just people trying to move through this big and beautiful and heartbreaking world. You're allowed to make moves, too, even if they don't feel big and brave.
2. It's okay to make a move in your career that isn't forward and up. My departure from my organization felt like it wasn't at all the "right" way to navigate my career. But it was the right thing for me at that time.
3. A bridge can make a leap less...leapy. Whether it's leaning into a form of stability, providing yourself with a soft place to land, or temporary employment that will get you through, a bridge is a valid option and important tool for navigating our careers.
4. There are many true stories about leaving a job. If you feel confused about trying to find the "right" one so you can tell people the full truth, you're in good company. The truth is that they're all true, and you get to decide which versions you want to share with which people.
I adore my work and I love my business. I'm in awe that I made this leap, and so grateful to be living my dream—even if it hasn't all been dreamy.
➡️ Your turn: What reason(s) inspired your last career move? If you've made a "leap," what did it feel like to you—big and brave? Or something else? Feel free to email me and let me know.
