I quit my job after ten years.
The decision had been building inside me for a long time. Maybe too long. The situation kept getting worse and worse, and like always, I kept hoping something would change. That there would come a moment when we would all stop, look at what we were doing, and finally start doing things differently. But it never happened.
If you remember my story about fighting windmills - well, this resignation is exactly that. An escape from micromanagement, distrust, and the vicious circle they created themselves, one that just keeps repeating over and over again. They make decisions they don’t even follow themselves, so how can they expect employees to respect them?
So much effort. So much energy. And every single time, you end up hitting a wall.
The hardest part for me was watching people leave. You get used to someone, they become part of your everyday life, and then one day they knock on your door and say: “I can’t do this anymore. This makes no sense.” And eventually, you no longer have the strength to convince them to stay. To give it one more chance. Because deep down, you envy them. Because they have the courage to leave while you’re still staying, still hoping that maybe tomorrow things will get better. And then one day you realize - they won’t.
And they are not bad people. I’ve said that a hundred times already. But they got stuck somewhere in a world that no longer exists. Decisions made ad hoc. No strategy. One thing today, something completely different tomorrow. A family business where even the family members themselves don’t trust each other. And if they can’t trust one another, how could they possibly trust anyone else?
I called him and told him I was leaving. The conversation lasted literally twenty seconds. He swallowed hard because he didn’t expect it. I sent the official email, already prepared. Three minutes later, I received a message: “Leave everything and go. Thank you.” And that was it. Ten years. To a person whose company you helped build.
Later, after he calmed down from his first impulsive reaction, after I wrote to him saying we would meet and do a proper handover like decent human beings, he replied shortly: “Ok.” That evening, the official email arrived. He accepted my resignation. He accepted my 30-day notice period and asked me not to use my vacation days. Of course, I agreed. Because I want to leave properly. I want to do a quality handover. I want to remain human until the very end.
And then he sent an email to my entire team. A thank you note. Saying I had helped build the company. Politically correct. And hidden between those few nice sentences were two lines that actually said everything: that all my authority was being removed and that I would remain for only “a few more days.” Even he didn’t know whether he wanted me to stay for 30 days or disappear immediately.
The only truly beautiful thing in all of this is my team. After I received his message, I went to see my people. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. And I think that was exactly the point of all this, to push me away immediately, cut the connection, show that I no longer had influence. Which is actually funny. Because you can take away someone’s authority, title, access, or signature. But you cannot erase the way people felt around you. I could go all the way to Mars, and people would still remember my energy, my reactions, my support, the moments when I stood beside them. You cannot erase that with one email.
My team… my people… God, what an incredible group of human beings. They cried. Some shouted out of anger. Some were sad. And I cried with them. And in that moment, I realized something important: maybe I’m leaving the company, but I’m not leaving the traces I left in people.
And when you are as emotionally attached to people as I was - to my team, and even to him - it becomes impossible to separate business from personal life. Some people can do it. I can’t. I’m not a robot. Emotions exist. At least for me, there is no perfect line separating the two. And that’s why this is hard.
Recently, I watched The Devil Wears Prada, and there’s that scene where everyone receives their firing notice via a text message. And I remember thinking how terrifying it is that people today are treated as numbers. Resources. Costs. Items in a spreadsheet. And then you realize this situation of mine isn’t that different after all.
And yet, despite everything, for the first time in a very long time, I feel peace. I quit without a safety net. I don’t have another job waiting for me. I don’t have a perfectly mapped-out plan. But somehow, I know I’ll be okay.
Because for the first time in a very long time, I chose myself. And I had almost forgotten what that felt like.
*This is not the end of the story. It is the beginning of a different one.
P.S. If you want to understand why it took me so long - read my story about fighting windmills: https://www.theinnerstructure.com/tilting-at-windmills-in-the-office-a-don-quixote-story/
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