On quitting: doubt and certainty

I’ve been radio silent for months, trapped in my own mind as I’ve tried to salvage a miserable work environment. I couldn’t find my light/happiness/contentment/courage/self in the hours that were sandwiched between eight to fifteen hour periods of professional misery.

Slowly the negatively of work crept into all the hours of my day. If I wasn’t at work feeling awful about myself, I was at home, untangling the false beliefs about my value and ability from my identity. I’m exhausted. In these months I’ve lost a sense of who I am, what I love, what I need. The self-doubt, the defensiveness, the apathy, has come to occupy what feels like an entire physical segment of my brain. I feel like my mind has atrophied, that I’ve become simplified and reduced by misusing my brain for work that doesn’t make me feel more connected to the world or to myself.

Quitting a job that pays well, one that sounds okay on paper, seems insane. But two years ago I felt like anything was possible for myself. Now, I’m terrified that if I quit without options, I am not capable of doing better and that every semi-formed plan or aspiration I have will fall through.

But realizing the antimorphoses (is this a word?) that has occurred in the past many months was like waking up from a bad dream. I know with certainty that I can’t stay. I’d rather face the doubts about what comes next than live with false doubts about myself and my professional value.

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