In October I put in a six week notice to my employer and got down to the business of transitioning out of there and into a new position that I hope is a better fit for me. I could write a novel about what caused me to do that, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Let’s just say I ended on great terms with my supervisor, my co-workers, and those I supervised.
I spent much of the past four years in various unhealthy stages: burning frustration, low-grade panic, hair-on-fire insanity. I suffered a nasty case of insomnia for several months, and I gained a good bit of weight (hey, I’m a stress eater!). My relationship with the VIM and with my family suffered. Short tempered? Heck yes. Did I overreact to various and sundry situations? Maybe. Did I need to just put my big girl pants on and get over it? Perhaps. Was it me and not them? Could be. In the end, I recognized what was happening. I was spiraling. I looked into different types of stress relief. I tried to talk to my supervisor. I tried to use time off wisely (not checking email, etc.) I started seeing a professional life coach. In the end though, I couldn’t pull it together. Looking for another job was sort of scary, because I honestly DIDN’T know if it was me or not. What if I was never going to be happy at ANY job? What if I were suffering from, say, depression, and I didn’t recognize it? What if it were something as simple as menopause? I did try to broach the subject with my doctor, but he just wrote me a prescription and sent me on my way.
But I did get a new job (I still can’t believe they liked me as much as I liked them!). It’s a little closer to home, and I actually knew several of my co-workers already through professional affiliation. So far so good. Actually, so far, REALLY good.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I put in my notice, I gave a six week notice. I worried that that time period was too long, and that I would really regret my decision. New Job Remorse. In the end, though, I didn’t even have a twinge. I did hate to leave the friends I had made – I still miss seeing them everyday – but those last 6 weeks really just sort of confirmed my decision. They were insane. Unspeakable.
On my last day, a Friday, everyone else in my department left at 4pm. Everyone else on my floor was gone by 5:30. I was there until 7:30 tying up last minute items – email forwarding, notes to the person taking over my tasks, leaving gifts for the cleaning lady. The entire building was quiet as I taped up my last box and gathered my stuff for the last time. I had a moment where I wondered if I had stayed so late because I didn’t want to leave – that I was putting it off. As I walked down the steps for the last time and headed toward my car, I knew that wasn’t it. I stayed because I needed to. The job needed to be done. And it was. To the absolute best of my ability. I truly believe I left that department just a little bit better than I found it. As I got into my car and started driving out of the lot, I felt like I might cry, but it wasn’t sadness. It was relief. For the first time in nearly four years I didn’t feel the weight of what I didn’t do or couldn’t do. I wasn’t fretting over the to do list for tomorrow or wondering if I could get through Saturday without checking my work email.
The feeling as I drove away is almost indescribable, and it’s something that I hope I remember the rest of my life. Whether that job was the root cause of so many yucky personal things for me or not, I’ll never know. What I DO know is that I recognized that I wasn’t fulfilling my potential – either at work or in personal relationships or even in just living my life to the fullest, and I finally took steps to make changes. The feeling as I drove away wasn’t relief because I was leaving something unpleasant behind. It was relief that I was finally heading toward something healthy and (hopefully) happy.
