After the Exit: What Comes Next When You Don't Go Back

Two weeks ago, I published a blog about walking away from Corporate America. I expected to feel strong. Empowered. Maybe even victorious.

But what I didn’t expect was to need to take a break right after.

The moment I hit “publish,” I felt her.

The old me.

She passed through me like smoke—brittle, fearful, desperate to stay invisible. She was the version of me who had been shaped by titles, deadlines, dress codes, and shrinking herself into acceptable shapes. The one who learned how to apologize for her instincts, and survive in a culture that uses words like “human capital” and “culling” with no sense of irony.

I needed to feel her one last time.

Not to grieve her.

But to exorcise her.

She “slimed” me on the way out—one last residual coating of shame, control, and codependency on systems designed to break people like me. Like us.

If only all breakups came with a full-body flashback of who we became in the relationship, no one would ever question leaving. No one would look back.

That blog wasn’t just a post. It was a purge.

Peace Isn’t Passive. It’s Hard-Earned.

The days that followed were quiet. But not peaceful—at least not at first. I had to sit with myself. With the version of me I had once become to survive. The pleasing. The proving. The constantly performing.

And here’s what I realized:

You don’t leave a culture like that and walk into wholeness overnight.

You detox. You rewire. You “unslime”.

Peace isn’t the absence of noise. It’s the presence of self.

This Wasn’t a Victory Lap—It Was a Burial.

What I wrote wasn’t about vengeance. It was about truth-telling. About honoring the millions of micro-decisions it took to say: “I want more than survival.”

It wasn’t written from rage.

It was written from a place of resurrection.

And now that I’ve let the old version of me pass through, I can finally stand in the body, with the voice, and the life I actually want. Not the one I was told to chase. Not the one I had to fight to keep.

To Those Still In It: Your Intuition Is Not Lying

I know that feeling when you wonder if it’s you. When the performance review praises your work but critiques your “tone.” When you shrink, because being fully present has consequences.

I want you to know:

Your exhaustion is not laziness.

Your frustration is not immaturity.

Your intuition is not inconvenient.

It’s a warning. It’s a life raft.

Here’s What Life Feels Like Now

No, I don’t have a view of downtown.

No more catered lunches. No team-building trust falls or “just circling back” emails.

What I do have?

Oxygen.

Like… real, deep, non-performative breaths.

Because I’m no longer squeezing myself into a version of me that fit the system but choked my soul.

I have sovereignty.

I have love.

I have freedom.

It’s terrifying sometimes—don’t get me wrong.

There are moments I look around and think, “Wait… who let me run my own life?”

Oh right. Me. I did.

This life I’m building is mine.

It’s far from perfect.

But I’m healthy and I’m happy.

Finally.

And I’ll take slightly scary and fully authentic over soul-sucking and shiny any day.

I’ll End With This:

You don’t have to relive the trauma to walk away from it.

But if you feel the ghost of who you had to be still lingering in your body, breathe her out.

Mourn her if you need to.

Then open the window and let her go.

She helped you survive.

Now it’s time for you to live.