Well, I quit.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Letters, 1902-1922

I quit my job. There wasn’t one single moment where I knew this is the right moment. Instead, I went on vacation and decided during a moment of solitude in the Florida sunshine that I would quit when I returned. I didn’t tell anyone because this needed to remain my decision. I didn’t want the opinions or accountability of others.

I feel calm about the choice, affirmed even. I do not want to work for that organization any longer. What I am having a difficult time with is leaving the families and children I work with. Walking away from the relationships I have built and knowing that they cannot continue once I leave, that is the hard part.

There is one particular relationship that mirrors - in some ways - the caretaking role I had with my dad. By leaving, I feel that I am abandoning this person. By leaving, I wonder if this person will die. When leaving, I am praying, willing, desperately hoping this person continues healing. Choosing myself feels synonymous with ripping away their safety net. It is a fine balance: knowing I am not responsible for anyone but myself, but also knowing that the choices I make do and will impact others. About this particular aspect of quitting my job, I feel sad. I feel dreadful. Like a ball of lead has landed in the pit of my stomach.