I quit my job without knowing how I’d pay rent.
It was the worst job I’d ever had. Working with murderers and rapists was actually better. How? I can’t exactly say. But it was.
I didn’t make the decision to leave lightly. I looked and looked for other jobs. Ultimately, my body said “enough,” and I quit.
I was beyond freaked out.
But I learned I had supports I didn’t know existed. I learned that when I needed it, there was a net of people I hadn’t trusted before to catch me.
I learned that I’d cultivated relationships that mattered–that they are my biggest asset. Better than money, or gold, or any treasure on earth.
I learned that I don’t ask for help often enough.
I learned that my “go it alone” approach has gifted me the qualities of initiative and self reliance, but it’s prevented me from receiving from others while denying them the same gift I enjoy so much: to give.
I learned I am more sensitive than I would like to admit. And, despite my ability to do the work I’ve done, it has taken a toll on me I cannot ignore.
I learned that I don’t have to do the gritty work anymore, and it’ll still count as good work.
I learned that I have more in common with entrepreneurial minds than I do with most social workers.
Best of all, I’ve learned that I love to write, and that sometimes saying “I quit” is the best thing to do.
What have you or did you “quit” even when you were scared, and what did you learn from it?
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