Six Months on

Six months ago, I handed in my resignation.

Even writing that sentence now feels strange, because the person who made that decision feels quite far removed from the person writing this today. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made. I genuinely felt as though I was in a no-win situation. Staying wasn't an option anymore. But making myself unemployed didn't exactly feel like a viable alternative either. There was no exciting plan waiting in the wings. No carefully mapped-out next step. I wasn't leaving because I knew exactly what I wanted my future to look like. I was leaving because I needed to survive the present.

And six months later, I think I'm finally ready to talk about what happened next.

The bit before leaving

When I think back to handing in my resignation, strangely, the actual day isn't what I remember most. It was the build-up. The constant battle in my head over what I was going to do was excruciating. I felt as though I was being forced to choose between my family's financial security and my own wellbeing.

There came a point where the thought of going to work brought me to tears every single day. Work started creeping into my weekends. Then that familiar Sunday feeling started arriving every evening. That's when I knew. I'm also incredibly morally led. My values matter enormously to me, and I had found myself in a situation that didn't sit comfortably with them. Looking back, perhaps there wasn't really a decision to make at all.

Once I'd finally made it - and knew I had my family's support - the relief was tangible. The weight that lifted from my shoulders told me everything I needed to know. I'd made the right decision.

I was still terrified of course.

But I'd made it.

What nobody really sees afterwards

Leaving doesn't magically make everything better. And I think that's an important part of this story. Those first few weeks weren't filled with excitement about my new beginning. I didn't immediately start plotting my next career move. Mostly, I refused to sit with what had happened. I tried incredibly hard not to think about it. And I definitely didn't want to think too far ahead about what leaving actually meant for my future.

My biggest worry was money. I'd chosen to walk away from a salary without another job waiting for me, and seeing my family struggle financially brought an enormous amount of guilt with it.

Then came the job search. Anyone who has looked for work recently probably doesn't need me to explain what that was like. There were moments when I absolutely questioned my decision. But every time I wobbled, I remembered what staying had been doing to me. And I knew I couldn't go back.

Time moves differently when you're struggling

Back then, every day felt like a week. There were moments when I genuinely couldn't imagine being where I am now. Yet somehow, here I am.

Then something unexpected happened

I changed. That's perhaps been the biggest surprise of all. My confidence has grown - not just professionally, but in myself. I've started putting myself into situations I would never previously have dreamed of. I've become more willing to try things without knowing exactly where they'll lead. And perhaps strangest of all for someone who has spent most of her life being terrified of change... I think I might actually like it now. 😂

Sometimes I barely recognise myself. Leaving gave me the space to look properly at what I wanted to do, rather than simply what I thought I was supposed to do. And that's when things started happening that I couldn't possibly have predicted six months ago. I dipped my toes into freelance systems work. Someone actually paid me to deep-dive into their systems - a sentence I still can't quite believe I get to write. I put myself forward to speak at a conference about systems because I finally recognised that this is where my skills are. And they said yes. I've started doing pro-bono work for an incredible charity. I can put Macmillan Cancer Support on my CV.

People are reading things I've written. They're downloading resources I've created. People who have never even met me have become some of my biggest cheerleaders. And somewhere amongst all of that, after a lot of thinking and a lot of conversations, I realised something else. I wanted to build my own business. None of this would have happened if I'd stayed.

What has surprised me the most?

Me. I've surprised me the most.

Over the last six months, I've learnt that I'm considerably stronger than I thought I was. I've learnt that I can do things I never expected myself to do. I've also completely changed the way I think about success. I've never been particularly driven by salary or job titles, but now I'm even more certain that success, for me, is about how much you enjoy what you do - and how much of yourself you have to sacrifice to do it. My relationship with work has changed too. For most of my adult life, I've thrown myself completely into my jobs. Work became such a huge part of who I was that finding any kind of balance was incredibly difficult. I don't do that anymore. My full-time job is important. It pays the bills and I care about doing it well. But it doesn't get to be all of me.

The work I choose to do in my own time is about building something for myself. It's about my business. My ideas. My future. And perhaps that's the biggest difference. I'm no longer building the career I think I'm supposed to have. I'm building the one I actually want.

If I could speak to the person I was six months ago

I'd tell her that she made the right decision. I'd tell her that the thing she's worrying about most will not define her. That she is good enough. That the right people will see her worth. I'd tell her to stop blaming herself for ending up in a situation she never wanted to be in. I'd tell her to keep her head high. And I'd tell her to trust herself.

Because six months from now, she won't just have survived it.

She'll have thrived.

She won't recognise herself sometimes. And that will turn out to be a wonderful thing.

Six months on

Six months ago, everything felt as though it might be ending.

Now?

It feels like everything is just beginning. I'm starting my career again at 43 - and, strangely, I find that incredibly liberating. I don't have every step mapped out. I don't know exactly what Tuesday (the business ... Or the person) will become. I don't know what my career will look like a year from now, let alone five. But for the first time, I don't need to.

Because the dream isn't really a particular job title or salary or version of success anymore. It's having a choice. It's getting to decide what I want my future to look like.

And if someone reading this is sitting where I was six months ago - frightened of making a change, questioning themselves, wondering whether they can possibly do the thing their instincts are telling them they need to do - I think this is what I'd want them to know: Trust yourself. Sometimes you don't make a decision because you know where it's going to take you. Sometimes you make it simply because you know you cannot stay where you are.

And sometimes, the decision you make simply to survive becomes the decision that gives you your future back.