Hey {{first_name | buddy}},
Happy new month.
About two weeks ago I started writing you a letter. I titled it The Mediocrity Kills Me — and I was going to pour out everything about being at my absolute wit's end with employee life. I got busy before I could finish it. In the days that followed, amid many late night tears, I talked myself back from the edge. Decided I'd give it another three months. Plan properly. Prepare. I even joined a coaching program designed specifically for people preparing to resign.
Things have not quite gone as planned.
You see, while an internal war raged quietly inside me, I became sensitive and withdrawn at work. The ebullient, charming version of myself — the real me, and they one they'd hired and celebrated — converted to something sober and taciturn. I gave the bare minimum to social interactions and focused entirely on the work. I am here to do work and receive a paycheque. Miss me with anything else.
They noticed. And they didn't like it.
The thing is — beyond work and KPIs — a performance of cheerfulness was more valued than output in that environment. The more I understood this, the more it discomfited me. The less willing I was to offer my personality as a service or deliverable. It started to feel like a disdainful performance and I simply was not interested in serving that.
So they let me go.
Yesterday.
I did a dance. I reached out to my resignation coach and he said “Well, this is a gift—they helped you make a decision you desired but weren’t bold enough to make yourself.”
This photo was taken minutes after being let go
He was right.
So here is what I want to say — and what I want you to say back to me:
Yaay! Congratulations!
For the past three years, I have suffered emotional anguish over the choice to resign to my dream and remain employed for the security it affords. I don’t use the words ‘suffered emotional anguish’ lightly. A great part of my joy is the knowing that I have condescended to a job for the last time.
What makes it different this time?
I have a business. A real one, in motion. I received my first coaching payment not long ago — after months of working pro bono, the work is beginning to convert. It's nowhere near enough to rely on yet. But it's in the works. And I am content — genuinely — to build this and this alone going forward.
Don’t tell my parents.
Actually — tell them. I'm past the season of managing other people's anxiety about my choices. I've learned that I don't need anyone's approval or permission to live my life as I please. The only person whose cooperation I need is my spouse.
So. That is one extraordinary update to share with you.
A few weeks ago I posted a video sharing that I was considering leaving corporate for good. A stranger on TikTok responded with something I've held onto since:
"It won't be easy. But it will work."
That warmed my heart so much. See the screenshot below.
So kind. I feel like I should go thank her again.
Amazing how the words of strangers can nourish us in ways we don't anticipate — and that sentence has lived in me ever since. So if you're reading this and you've been sitting on your own version of this decision: it won't be easy. But it will work.
I also want to ask something of you directly.
If you know someone navigating a difficult career moment — a pivot, a transition, a season of feeling stuck between who they are and what their work reflects — please send them my way. This is literally what I do now. Your referral is one of the most meaningful things you can offer me in this season.
Am I scared?
Not really. I'm bold. I'm dedicated. I have a plan and I have people. And I have you.
It's Geronimo season. The war cry before the leap. I've jumped.
It's either it works — or it works.
Thank you for riding with me.