I Quit
leaving comfort for discomfort and riding the waves of the ebb and flow
I’m nestled on my couch, knees to chest. Staring out of the window periodically, watching the clouds part ways as they reveal the blue sky that they’ve been hiding. I’m wrapped in my yellow blanket that feels like a warm, gentle embrace. I inhale the lingering aroma from the kitchen. Coffee. I can’t ignore the call of a fresh brew, but I must.
Because I’ve been sitting on these words for far too long and that coffee can wait.
Let’s do this.
The Big 1-5-0
It has been 150 days since I took a leap of faith. 150 days since I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants. It feels invigorating. New. Freeing. And scary as shit.
What did I do, exactly? I quit.
I quit my job to pursue my artistic endeavors.
You’re either applauding or cringing and I’d say that whichever response you choose is the correct one.
The Backstory
I spent 12 years working as a Surgical Technologist at one of the best hospitals on the planet. I stood side-by-side with surgeons in the operating room, assisting them with surgeries. I was happy with the career that I had chosen. Until I wasn’t. That unhappiness began early on. At the two-year mark, I was ready to tap out. I was tired of being yelled at. I didn’t enjoy the pressure of constantly having to hurry (hello, room for errors). Witnessing a small child die on the table was gut-wrenching. Not to mention, I missed by husband and children terribly.
This continued for 10 more years and I became more and more dissatisfied with my work-life as things progressively got worse. My husband suggested several times that I leave my job and work on my true passions; writing and drawing. Of course I declined. I couldn’t leave. I was making decent money (not nearly enough for everything that I did and endured, of course). I was paying some of the bills. I was a teammate to my husband and I couldn’t let him win or lose this game of life alone. I refused to forfeit.
The Straw that Broke the Camel’s Back
I’m just going to come right out and say it because there is no way to sugarcoat this.
I heard a surgeon yell and cuss at a 93-year-old patient.
I felt physically ill. My heart broke into a million pieces and sank into the pit of my stomach. In that moment, I knew for sure that working in the operating room was no longer for me. It was no longer a place of care and comfort. It became a place of ego, anger and hurt. This time, I was the angry one.
The Escape Plan
I wish I could tell you that there was a calculated plan. That I had six months of savings as a cushion, just in case. Nope. Not even three. Nor one. I handed in my resignation letter without a clear plan and without extra money. All I knew was that I needed to get out of my job and that I would focus on my artistic endeavors. Irresponsible? Maybe.
My Last Day
December 22, 2023. The long, bittersweet journey was coming to an end. I couldn’t help but look at the clock every five minutes. There were tears, hugs and more tears that I shared with my coworkers. I even shed some happy tears when my husband had flowers and a note delivered to me before the end of my shift.
Walking out of that place for the last time was surreal. It felt like so much weight had been lifted. I didn’t look back. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in and exhaled the past 12 years, nice and slowly. Even though I had no plan, I walked away with happiness written all over my face.
What I’m Doing Now, 150 Days Later
I’m in my head a lot. Wondering if I did the right thing, honestly. Debating going back to work. That’s not the story I want to tell, but it’s true. Barely being able to contribute to my household is hard. Seeing my husband come home after working 12-hour shifts five/six days a week is really hard. Especially when all those hours worked only add up to just getting by. I feel a sense of guilt as he struggles to carry the heavy load of providing for us and our daughters.
What He Tells Me
“You’re just getting started. Keep going. Your art has the potential to bring in way more money than any job ever could. Let me carry the load. You can’t slow down while climbing Mount Everest. Keep going and be patient.”
His encouragement and support gets me through every day.
What I’m Doing When I’m Not in My Head
I’m smiling more. I’m laughing more. I’m spending time with my kids. I’m making dinner. I’m going to the gym. I’m giving myself grace. I’m looking at how far I’ve come. I’m thanking my lucky stars. I’m making beautiful art and putting it out into the world.
I’m living.
What All of This Has Taught Me So Far
Taking a risk is scary. But in the risk there’s growth, happiness and a life lived like never before. The risk is worth it.
I’m worth it.
My Hope for the Future
I hope that my art is seen and felt. I hope that it is taken seriously, appreciated and deemed as worthy. I hope that people will see the value in it and that, one day, my work provides for my family. I hope that leaving my job will prove to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Until then, I’ll just keep going.
- Melissa, The Sleepy Wildflower
Same! I quit my job 46 days ago. I loved my job until a new employee was hired and put over me that treated me in a way that I can’t even really adequately put into words and was compromising my self worth and I couldn’t stand for that. I’m following my dreams, happier than ever before, and yet also feeling the should I go back feels. Grateful to have come across your story and hoping we can continue to root each other on!
Congratulations! And absolutely relateable. I, too, quit. Just around the same time as you last year. For very similar reasons. I’m in your corner, Wildflower!