Yulia Quits Her Job: A Blast From The Past!
20 min read
I was flipping through an old diary yesterday when I found a to-do list with one item ticked off:
Think of a fake name and publish the e-book already.
OH MY GOD. It all came rushing back to me.
I quickly logged into Amazon and went looking for it. An e-book that was supposed to be kept a secret, and I’d kept it so well that I’d forgotten ever writing it.
There it was. Written by Viola Knight (20 points for the name, please). I read all ten pages and giggled the whole way through. I am both amused by and strangely fond of the person who wrote it.
For some context: I wrote this a few years ago, around a time when I was thinking very seriously about leaving the only job I’d ever known. I changed names. I changed circumstances. I moved things around. I gave myself enough fiction to hide behind while writing about things that were, for the most part, very real.
My name became Yulia. And then, I made a cover, invented Viola Knight, and published the whole thing on Amazon Kindle. I told maybe two people. There was no grand plan. I mostly wanted to figure out how publishing worked. So instead of reading about it like a normal person, I wrote a book.
Anyway, I thought about cleaning it up before putting it here.
I’m not going to. This is exactly how ‘she’ wrote it. So now,
Meet Yulia!
Quiet Quitting
I couldn't take it anymore. I was up since 4 am, playing out every possible scenario in my head. I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. That says a lot for someone who hates having a bath. I could go days without showering. But I don't live alone, and well, people (read: my 6-year-old niece) notice things like this. Nobody wants to be known as the dirty one.
Anyway, getting back to the big decision that gave me sleepless nights for weeks, I had finally decided that I'd had enough. Today was the day I was going to do it. I looked for a nice outfit. Something that said, I put a lot of thought into what I'm about to say. But not too nice that it would show how happy I actually was to be finally doing this. I threw some granola and Greek yogurt in a bowl and sprinkled it with sunflower seeds. Here I was, having, for the first time this year, a healthy breakfast. This felt good. It felt like I was telling myself it was time to put my needs first. I sipped on my coffee, making a mental note to add brown sugar to my shopping list. I grabbed my bag and my phone and headed to the car. For weeks, this process had slowed down a lot. I'd be battling thoughts about whether I really needed to get dressed. Would anyone notice my absence at work? Does one need a job to survive? I'd make up excuses and try to convince myself that I could stay home today. Just a day, I'd tell myself. But on this big day, so to speak, I was darting to get to work.
Now, what is this big decision I've been going on about? Hold your breath and wait for it. I was going to quit my job. Pretty normal, and I've built up this whole narrative for nothing? Well, this is huge for someone like me. Someone who has spent a decade at one company. Someone who has lived life predominantly as a people pleaser, checking off the 'job at a multinational firm' soon after college. In fact, I'd bagged it even before I graduated. It's the only job I've ever had. It's the job my parents proudly spoke of to our neighbours and friends. So for me, this was a big decision. And it felt long overdue.
The drive to work was different. I didn't listen to music or to the audiobook that I needed to finish by the weekend. Instead, I went over what I imagined the conversation with my manager would go like. I rehearsed what I'd say. How I'd say it. I wanted to sound grateful but subtly pass on the message. I wanted to be assertive. I didn't want to cry. No way in hell was I going to cry, I told myself sternly. This happens every time I try to talk about something I feel strongly about. I pulled over in the parking area, looking for space. I'd gotten here early; how is there no vacant spot? Hamal, the company driver, waves at me and smiles. He rushes over to move his car, gesturing for me to park there. I smile. I love the people here, well, some of them at least. I wave back with a big smile and feel a tinge of guilt. For someone who thinks her organization's driver, who doesn't even know her well enough, will feel bad about this big decision, you can imagine just how much of a people pleaser I am.
I walk up to the gate; the security personnel say hello in their usual sing-song tune. Do they love their jobs? I ask myself. Do they also think about leaving, or do they love it here? Well, I guess I'll never know. I head straight to my office. The letter of resignation is already printed out. I take it out of my drawer and slide it into a book. I pick up a pen, my laptop, and the book, and head to my manager's cabin. I can't walk in with the letter in my hands. I think it'd be pretty obvious if someone walked by his glass-walled office. Who even walks around with paper anymore? My heart sinks; he isn't here yet. Funnily, this is the first time I'm sad he isn't around. Does the phrase 'Cat's away, mice at play' mean anything to you? I chuckle and walk back to my seat. I unfold the letter and read it again, yet again.
To Daniel and the HR team,
Kindly consider this as a formal intimation of my intention to resign from the services as Assistant Manager, Quality Control at Current Time International. It has been a pleasure to be part of your team for the past 10.5 years. I'm grateful for the opportunities given to me during my tenure. My last working day will be 10th February 2023.
Thank You,
Yulia
I sigh. Should I have said more? Is this too curt? Does it feel emotionless? Could I sign it, 'Yours sincerely, Yulia'? In my defence, I had googled the template and swapped the details. I needed to sound professional after all. I did want to specify that I'd been there for over a decade. Maybe they'd read the letter and realize that I've been a significant part of their growth after all. Maybe they'd read it and think, well, here's someone who is important to us. Why exactly was I still yearning for their appreciation? I get mad at myself and try to bring back the self-confidence that this woman woke up with today. The one who was convinced she didn't need this job.
I looked around my tiny cubicle. A space I'd spent the last few years decorating, trying to make myself feel better about the job. A sketch of a colleague and me that she'd made for me when she left 3 years ago. A note from another, telling me how lovely her time at CTI was and that she'd miss me. I bet she doesn't even think of me anymore. Paper flowers with silver foil pinned in the corner. An apprentice who I mentored for a year gave them to me. My name is spelt out as an acronym. Y- Youthful. U-Understanding. L-Lovely person. I-Intelligent. A-Amazing! I go over the words again. This was a gift from colleagues from my department, at my 5-year celebration party. The words seem so superficial now. It feels like no thought went into it. Zero effort. I don't know why I held on to this hanging for this long. But that's how I've always been. I'm a sucker for all things handmade and adorable. And if you've used stickers or glitter, I'll store your creation safely in a file at home. It will, without a doubt, outlive me.
Hey, you're in early!
Daniel pops in and shakes me out of my dizzying thoughts.
Yes, I need a moment with you actually.
I realize I hadn't used the words please, may I, or kindly. I feel good about it.
Um, okay. Meet me in my cabin in 5.
He walks away; I don't even have a chance to answer. I mutter an 'okay' under my breath, stuff the letter into a book, and hurry after him like a thirsty pup chasing an ice-cream truck. It's the first time I've tried to meet with him and secured his time. It usually takes days to get uninterrupted time with this man.
I take a seat without being asked to; my hands feel clammy, and I can already feel my armpits sweating. I’m not quite sure whether this is related to what I’m about to do. Daniel has this effect on me, too. Let me put it this way: he’s not the easiest person to talk to. I never feel heard or understood. And his sarcasm almost always borders on sexist and inappropriate humor. In my opinion, he doesn’t even realize what an ass he sounds like.
I hand over the letter. He stares at it. He looks up at me and laughs. I say nothing. He reads it again. He laughs, only this time, it doesn't sound like he's amused.
This can't be true. Why? No way. Okay, take it back. This is a joke, surely.
I'm honestly quite surprised by his reaction. I burst into laughter. This conversation is nothing like I'd imagined. Using his index finger, he drags the letter across the table and back to me. I do the exact same thing. And I laugh again. A genuine laugh. I have no idea what's gotten into me. We talk for a good 20 minutes. I tell him about how I need to do this for myself. He asks what he can do to get me to stay. I look straight at him and say I'm not staying.
I walk out of his cabin feeling good. Peaceful. Light. I'd gone over this moment in my head a million times over the last few months. It felt liberating. You see, I've had great memories here, no doubt. I've made friends who turned into family. I picked up skills that will serve me well going ahead. I've moved across various departments, learning the ins and outs of how they function. I've worked in cross-functional teams. Led projects that benefitted the organization a great deal. I've organized and participated in fun events. I've tried it all here. But then something didn't feel quite right. I felt like I needed change.
I recently turned 30, and I felt this constant urge to do something more with my life. Everything that I did at work, I'd like to think I did well. I excelled at planning, coordinating, and presentations. Communication was my #1 strength. Often, I felt underappreciated. It's like I was trying hard to be seen. I felt like the young girl in school screaming “pick me, pick me”, only to be ignored. The pretty ones were always picked. The tall ones. The smart ones. Nobody looks twice at a tiny, seemingly malnourished kid who hides behind a fringe and oiled hair. It felt the same now, years later. But in a pantsuit, and a much better haircut. I felt like I was jumping, but nobody could see me. And even if they did, they didn't really see me - you know what I mean?
It had been a tough year. With Dad being hospitalized, and my health taking a downturn as well, I'd spent about 45 days away from work. Does it really count as off days though, if I still take calls at the hospital, or clear my emails every free minute that I get? Even so, I knew this was my best year professionally. I had gone above and beyond for CTI. My cost-saving projects had made them millions. The company had received global recognition because of the work I'd put in. I'd never felt prouder. But there was that nagging feeling in my heart that I was meant for more.
The next few days passed by in a daze. Meetings were organized with Human Resources and the firm's management. Turns out they didn't want to let me go. I had no idea I was this valuable to them. I wonder why they never took the opportunity to tell me that in all these years. I had, however, already detached from work. I'd gone back to dragging myself out of bed and into my car. I'd started avoiding meetings so I didn't have to participate in important discussions. Or worse, take on more work. I'd call in sick, even though I'd be in the pink of health. I'd leave the office early, almost every day, not worried about the consequences. I felt disconnected from myself and everyone around me.
My brother Yovan said there was a term for how I was feeling. Quiet quitting. I googled it. The act of doing the bare minimum at work to ensure one doesn't get fired. Pretty accurate — I'd felt this way for a while, I realized. Like I had one foot out the door. I couldn't wait to be done and be out of here. Did I mention I didn't have another job lined up? What then was my plan, you ask? Oh, I had plenty! I wanted to take time off, laze around, read, swim in the ocean, travel, bake, paint, visit museums, and do everything I hadn't had the chance to over the last few years. I'd saved up enough. And with no husband or children to worry about, Yulia was pretty much open to doing as she pleased!
Talking to my parents was so much harder than talking to Human Resources. They couldn't, for the life of them, contemplate why I'd taken such a 'drastic' decision. I'm not quite sure if they were upset that I was throwing away a secure job at a reputed firm, or that I hadn't spoken to them before I did it. They weren't part of the decision-making process. And that's not how the Blanc household functions. Everything that the family does, the family does together. We'd talk about the classes we wanted to take. Yovans friends. Who we could keep as friends and who we couldn't. The parents we needed to stay away from. Our grades. Projects. Details about what happened at work. Staycations over the weekend. Our parents had a say in everything we did. Or said. Or are. Or felt. It sometimes felt like we were one unit. Components that felt differently and wanted other things, but moved on like gears of a car, afraid that a sudden movement would drive the family off a cliff.
To the outside world, the Blancs came across as a happy family. The parents, dignified members of the church parish, indulged in social work. And the children were qualified and had jobs at huge corporations. Except that we were nothing like that. We were like a house that was perfectly plastered and refurbished to attract new buyers but had rapidly spreading mold in the basement.
I worked for 30 years, loyal to one company. Look at how happy I am today!
I knew how this conversation would go. Dad's been with AFX Constructions, Ireland's leading construction company, almost all his life. It's the only job he's ever worked. He points to the silver shield on the mantelpiece. 30 glorious years of service. He's so proud of it. Everyone who walks into our home will see it and hear all about it. Sometimes more than once.
I don't know what to say. We were so proud of you. You were doing so well. You were happy. Why would you do something like this, so out of the blue?
Mum always felt like this job was tailor-made for me. That I'd bagged a good one, and nothing could ever top it. I know she means well; they both do. She's toiled all her life, working multiple jobs to make ends meet. Things did get better when Dad started moving up the ladder at AFX. But with increasing costs and two more mouths to feed, Mum would continue to take whatever work she'd get. She reminds me of this, and suddenly I feel stupid for throwing away a job just because it wasn't fulfilling enough.
It's not out of the blue Ma, I've been unhappy for a while now!
That confident woman is slowly coming back. I quite like her. I need to be more like her.
What do you mean by unhappy? What is there to be unhappy about? It's a job! It pays the bills, doesn't it?
I don’t know how to answer her.
Maybe you’re tired. Take a vacation, you’ll get over it.
Dad adds very matter-of-factly. Why does it seem like my feelings are not valid? Like it's all a figment of my imagination.
I want to talk about finding purpose and mental health. These aren’t terms that they’d accept too well, and so I sit in silence instead. Yovan and I catch each other's gaze for a fleeting moment. I feel like he understands me. He definitely does. Growing up together, sharing a room, and being only a year apart, he's been like my best friend. I'd been dreading this conversation with my manager for so long that I'd forgotten to think about how my parents, my real managers, would take it!
Daniel's words echo in my brain:
"But what would you even do? Think about this please. Think really hard."
Self-doubt creeps back in. It's not worth it, I tell myself. None of it is. And I walk away and retreat into my room. I shut the door behind me. I pause and listen intently for murmurs or hushed whispers, if any. I hear none.
On my nightstand is a list I had made earlier this year. My ‘pros v/s cons list’. It’s what I do for every big decision that I have trouble making. It serves as my ‘look before you leap’. The pros of staying with CTI are a surprisingly long list — a secure job, a steady salary, sick days, medical care, free wi-fi, coffee, maternity support (for someone who doesn’t have kids, this one surprises me although I had written it myself), flexible hours, a laptop, a company phone. The cons — unmanageable workload, a boss that isn’t supportive, not happy. Not happy was underlined thrice.
I think about this for a bit. What exactly did I mean when I wrote this? When was the last time I felt happy about work, or better yet, anything at all? Nothing comes to mind. I am feeling too many things right now; I tell myself to change my thoughts. I wonder if being here for the next decade, in a different role, would make me happy. Honestly, though, are there people who are truly happy with their jobs? Could the universe send one my way so I could understand what that’s like?
I draw up another blank page and decide to do one more list. The things that make me happy. I start slow, but in about 2 minutes I have listed out 18 items. Taking another good look at the list, I realize that these could be potential future jobs. I could actually make a living and a life by being a scuba-diver instructor, a librarian, running my own café, a blogger, a graphic designer — the list goes on. None of the jobs on the page was 9-to-5, and none were a ‘traditional’ job. The kind that I've had for years. Surprisingly, this thought doesn't scare me. I am excited about the possibilities. I believe that no matter what comes my way, I’ll figure it out. The uncertainty, the ups and downs of not being a salaried employee, the risks- I feel okay with it all. Better than okay.
And for the first time in a while, I have that feeling in my heart. The feeling that no matter what, I'll be fine. I’m not lazy; it’s not that I’m looking for an easy job. I want to pour my heart into my job. I want to find meaning in my work. I take a good look in the mirror, and thank Yulia for showing up for herself. I thank her for taking this leap of faith, unaware of what she’s landing on. My worth as a person does not feel tied to my designation and my organization anymore. A blank slate, I get to start over at the age of 30! I smile. Tears stream down my face. I feel happy. The happiest I’ve been in a while. This is going to be a hell of a ride!
That was my book, guys :)
It’s strange reading this now because I remember the feelings far more clearly than I remember writing the words. The restlessness. The guilt. The ridiculous amount of thought that went into leaving something I knew I didn’t want anymore. The need to make sure everyone else would be okay with a decision that was entirely mine.
And then there’s that list: Scuba-diving instructor. Librarian. Café owner. Blogger. Graphic designer. I laughed when I got to blogger. Here I am, years later, on a website with my actual name on it, publishing something written under a pen name. We’ve really come full circle.
I wish I could tell the woman at the end of this story that she was right about everything. That she took the leap, landed perfectly, found her purpose and lived happily ever after.
She didn’t.
A lot happened after this. Some wonderful. Some terrible. There were other jobs. Other versions of me. Things I thought I wanted and then didn’t. Things I had to heal from. Things I never saw coming. More starting over than Yulia probably would’ve liked.
But there is one thing she wrote that I stopped at:
I believe that no matter what comes my way, I’ll figure it out.
I don’t know if I believed that as confidently every day that followed. I don’t even know if I believe it that confidently today. But I have a few more years of evidence now. And I suppose that’s something.
Anyway, thank you, Yulia. And Viola, wherever the hell you came from.
