The Courage to Walk Away
Lessons about things that are no longer for you
I graduated as an idealist. If there had been a bachelor’s degree in that, I probably would have taken it, would probably have been fit for it. Those days leading up to my graduation were filled with thoughts on how I could change the world, on what I could do to set an example for future generations, on the good changes I could implement in the companies where I would be working.
If you’ve worked a corporate job, or just about any job, you know that changing a company’s culture, much less changing the world, is not as easy as it sounds. Towards the latter days in my last company, I reflected on how far I had come — from idealist to realist…and sometimes even cynic.
Talking about my previous job isn’t always easy. It comes with a lot of things I’m only realising just now. Signs that I should have paid more careful attention to before. Words that were said to me that I thought were meant to be helpful but were only actually meant to insult.
Before, I used to take those words as a challenge to do better. ‘Be careful with Alyssa,’ I learned that someone had told my immediate supervisor, ‘she tends to lose event venues.’ After hearing that, I resolved to never lose an event venue until the day I resigned…and I didn’t.
But eventually, those words and whispers took a more malicious meaning. Life in the company disposed of my rose-coloured glasses and forced me to accept the realities that came with my work: that clients would always demand so much of you and that some of your colleagues would push you down just to rise up.
In the end, after struggling with it for several years, I decided to walk away.
Learning to say no.
I’m not a people pleaser, but I hate saying no. Hear me out — people pleasers do the things they do because they want to please others and so that others would always see them in a good light. I couldn’t care much about what people thought of me, but I hated being in conflict with others and I wanted to help people if I had it within my capacity to do so.
That got me into trouble for several years. I missed trips out of the country with my choral group. I had to say no to some family reunions and dinners. The worse was during my grandmother’s funeral. It was the same day as a major event. ‘We can’t do it without you,’ they told me at the office. ‘We know it’s your grandmother’s funeral, but do you think you could just come?’
I did — a decision that still haunts me today.
At first, I made excuses: it really was my job anyway; if I couldn’t be there, who would do it?
The dangerous thing with thinking that you are irreplaceable is that you project that to your colleagues, and pretty soon, they’ll be calling you for everything. There would be comments like ‘Call Alyssa and the other girls, they don’t have anything to do on the weekends anyway.’
It was during the last few months leading to my resignation that I realised that I had had enough, that I was drained of energy and life and passion for what I was doing.
I made my decision to resign about six months before I actually did. I let the necessary people know and they tried to dissuade me, but I refused. This time, I told myself, I would be firm. This time, I would say no.
Even when they tried to get me to volunteer for another event (not under my direct supervision) while preparations for another event were ongoing, I said no. It didn’t make sense, I told them. I had to be on the ground preparing for a major event and they wanted me to come in just to make sure nothing happens even if they had other staff there.
Saying no to that was liberating. But it had a consequence.
Our company would hold yearly team buildings and during those team buildings, they would honour the staff who did outstanding work. That special night, they called on everyone in my team but me. They praised everyone in my team for their willingness to go beyond their work. It stung, but I held my ground. Never mind that I had always been willing to go all out for the company…except for this one time when I knew it would be wiser to focus on the major event we were planning for. Never mind that I knew that if I had volunteered, I would have forgotten so many details and the major event would have suffered.
The next day when we were preparing to leave, some of the staff approached me. They were the ones who knew of my decision to resign. ‘You’ll miss this next year and the years to come,’ they said.
I haven’t yet.
The truth about people.
The truth about people is this: they don’t care what happens to you as long as they make it to the top, as long as they will not suffer anything.
In my early years as the event planner for the last company I worked for, one of the major events we would do required gathering huge amounts of data from our clients. These data would be used to make the event more special and meaningful, more personal. And there was quite a lot to gather — documents, letters, photos, speeches.
At one point, I was coordinating with over 300 people, emailing them back and forth to the point that the email service provider considered my messages spam and started blocking me from sending and receiving. As a result, much of the data was difficult to gather, sort, and some even got lost prior to the event.
During the post-event meeting, we gathered to talk about it and to find a system that would work better for all of us. It didn’t make sense to use the old system (something they had already established before I started working with them) because there were too many people to coordinate with. The company head demanded some answers about how the data was being gathered. ‘Please don’t tell me we are using the old system,’ he said. ‘Please don’t tell me that it’s all Alyssa gathering the data.’
There was an awkward silence before they started talking all at once: No, it’s not just her. We’re doing our parts too. We’re all very busy you know, but we’re helping her with what we can.
Lies, all of it.
I learned a very important truth that day: people will poke and prick the truth into a shape that suits them best. That day, out of frustration, I wrote my very first resignation letter. Why stay in a company where people will pretend to do what they didn’t want to do? Why stay in a company where people would walk all over you even if you were there in the very same room?
I know my fault was not speaking up. I was too afraid back then, but sometimes, the thing about resigning is that it gives you some sort of freedom. It loosens your tongue and makes you speak up.
Walking away from a job that no longer fits.
I always say there’s a difference when people support you because they believe in you, versus supporting you because they have absolutely no choice but to support you.
When people support you because they believe in you, you feel invincible. You are excited to come to work every day and make a difference in people’s lives. But when you hear, ‘They don’t really believe in what you do anymore, so you need to keep proving yourself to them,’ how is that supposed to make you feel?
To be told that you constantly have to prove your worth, though anyone can see the countless nights you spent slaving away, is something akin to a cold bucket of water being poured over your head. It was my wake up call. I was done defending the company, defending my decision to stay.
If I had any qualms about resigning, it all disappeared the moment I learned that working diligently wasn’t enough. I passed my resignation letter and in 30 days, I was gone from the organisation where I had worked for nearly eight years.
Whenever I meet people who still work there, they always tell me one thing: I look better now. More relaxed. More peaceful. Happier.
I laugh it off, but deep down inside, I think we all know the truth: there is something freeing in walking away from a place where you are no longer meant to be.
In freelance, you also need to walk away.
When you’re new to the freelance world, things can be a bit scary. There’s no guarantee of how much you will make unless you have returning clients. And even then, sometimes, you can have a great project for three months and have so-so projects for the next three months. I guess that’s why freelancers tend to hustle with everything they’ve got — we’re sprinting to make sure that we won’t lose our motivation, our traction, or opportunities with potential clients just because we let ourselves relax for a second.
But there are some clients and after a few months of working with them, you know it isn’t going to work out. They demand too much. They pay too little. They’re toxic. They don’t believe in you, just like your old workplace.
Even in freelancing, I learned that you need to walk away. Yes, that’s a little less extra income per month, but, as they say, if it costs you your peace, it isn’t worth it.
I’ve been learning to select my clients meticulously these days. I’ve been with some who don’t pay as much as my big-name clients, but I’ve kept them because of the good working relationship we have. And then there are others who I’ve decided to let go in the coming months for several reasons. They don’t know what it means to work with freelancers. They don’t see my worth. They break agreements. They cross boundaries.
Old me would have let it slide. Old me would have pushed on to make it work. Old me would have made excuses. Old me would have silenced the doubts in my head.
Not this time, I said. This time, I’m going to walk away.
