I finally handed in my resignation

Dear Delyara, I had been unhappy for a long time, but I kept calling it resilience. The truth was uglier. I was waking up with dread, driving to work rehearsing how I would survive the day, staying quiet in meetings where I should have spoken, and coming home too drained to be fully present with my family. My husband told me more than once that the job was changing me, but I kept saying we needed the salary, the routine, the security. Then two things happened in the same week. My daughter asked me why I was “always cross after work,” and my manager publicly blamed me for a mistake that was not mine. Something clear clicked into place. I didn’t resign impulsively. I updated my CV, spoke to a recruiter, checked the numbers three times, and then, yesterday morning, I handed in the letter. My hands were shaking, but I did it. I am frightened, yes. But underneath the fear is something I have not felt in a long time: self-respect. Sometimes victory is not getting picked. Sometimes it is deciding you are no longer available for a place that keeps reducing you.