Four years. That’s how long it took me to unravel.

From the outside, everything looked fine. Big 4. Decent salary. A clear path. But I was grinding my teeth in my sleep, over-caffeinated and uninspired.

The most invigorating part of my day was weaving my motorcycle through traffic on the way to work. That short moment of freedom before I locked myself back into autopilot. I didn’t know it then, but that unraveling was the beginning of a slow return to myself.

We like to imagine career change as a neat before-and-after. You quit the job. Update the CV. Take the leap. But real change is rarely a single moment. It’s a series of wake-up calls and brave decisions.

When I finally walked away, there was no lightning bolt of clarity. No big breakthrough. Just a slow, uncertain peeling back of all the layers I’d built up to survive. And honestly? It was hard, and it was confusing. Four years of experimentation, missteps, detours and insights.

If I could go back, I’d give myself one thing: someone to walk beside me. To help me listen and stay with the discomfort and to remind me that it was okay not to know. When you’re inside the fog, you can’t see the way out.

When you’re burned out, overwhelmed, or quietly numb, the mind looks for external solutions:

• A better job

• A new manager

• A company with values that actually match yours

But deep change often starts with discomfort and the moment you realise that checking the boxes doesn’t quiet the discontent. It feels like the version of yourself you’ve been performing feels too small to keep living in.

So you stay. You convince yourself the problem is you.

But what if that tension you feel is a wake-up call?

When I finally left, I started small. Practising yoga at home. Going on a retreat. Speaking out loud for the first time: “I’m unhappy and I don’t know what’s next.”

That honesty cracked something open.

Slowly, I found people who reflected parts of myself I’d forgotten. It didn’t make sense all at once, but it felt like the beginning of something real. That’s why spaces that offer support matter so much—containers where you can unravel safely, be witnessed without judgment and slowly remember who you are beneath all the performing.

Your brain will talk you out of it

Your cognitive biases are doing their job: trying to keep you safe. During periods of change, they can also keep you stuck.

Knowing these biases exist doesn’t make them go away, but it does help you move through them with more awareness and self-compassion. Here are a few that show up often during a career change:

Loss aversion

We tend to fear loss more than we value gain.

“If I leave, I’ll lose my salary, my stability, my title, my professional identity…”

Even if your current role is draining you, your brain overestimates what you’re giving up and underestimates what’s possible on the other side. You stay because the idea of losing status, benefits, or credibility feels unbearable.

Instead, ask yourself:

“What am I already losing by staying where I am? Time? Joy? Energy? Growth?”

Sunk cost fallacy

We believe that because we’ve invested time, energy, or money into something, we must continue, otherwise it’s all wasted.

“But I studied for this.”
“I’ve spent 10 years in this field.”
“I can’t throw it all away now.”

So many people stay on paths that no longer fit, not because they want to, but because walking away feels like admitting failure. Staying in a life you’ve outgrown doesn’t make that past investment more valuable. It just deepens the cost.

Reframe it: That time taught you something. The skills, relationships, and experiences still belong to you, even if your next step looks different.

Status quo bias

We prefer things to stay the same, even if the current situation isn’t ideal.

“This job isn’t great, but it’s fine.”
“Maybe things will improve if I just wait a bit longer…”

Change (even change we want) can feel threatening. So we rationalise staying where we are as the safer bet. You might even start to minimise how bad things are just to justify not moving. The devil you know feels safer than the possibility of freedom.

Ask yourself:

“If nothing changes, what will my life look like a year from now? Five years from now?"

Confirmation bias

We seek out information that confirms what we already believe and ignore anything that challenges it.

How it shows up:

• You pay more attention to stories of people who failed after leaving their jobs.

• You dismiss examples of success as lucky or not applicable to you.

• You tune in to fear-based advice and tune out the part of you that’s dreaming of something more.

This bias strengthens the stories your fear wants to tell: that change is too risky, that you’re not ready, that you’ll fail.

Reframe it: Actively seek out stories of people who’ve made brave shifts and observe how they handled uncertainty, not just success.

Endowment effect

We place more value on things simply because we already own them.

How it shows up:

“At least I know what I’m doing here.”
“My job might not be great, but I know the system.”
“I don’t want to start from scratch.”

Even if your job isn’t aligned anymore, it feels more valuable because it’s yours and because it’s familiar. You may find yourself clinging to routines, relationships, or roles that don’t actually feel good, simply because they’re part of your current reality.

Reframe it: What if your future self had something better but you had to let go of the familiar to receive it?

These biases are normal and they’re very human. The key is to notice when they’re running the show, and to choose differently from a place of self-trust.

The most dangerous place to be isn’t in a toxic job you desperately need to escape. It’s in a comfortable one you can tolerate. You’re not miserable, but you’re not satisfied either. And because you could put up with it for another year or two, you do.

Until a year becomes five. And five becomes your entire career. I’ve worked with professionals in their 50s, who tell me, “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to leave.”

If your job is “fine”, it’s easy to convince yourself that now isn’t the right time. That you should wait until you have more clarity, more money and more confidence. The danger is: the longer you wait, the more normal the numbness feels.

You don’t need a 10-year plan

You just need a starter idea. That might be:

• Taking a class that sparks your curiosity

• Journaling to reconnect with your own voice

• Reaching out to someone who’s been where you are

So instead of asking, “What job should I do next?” Try asking:

• What’s making me feel most alive lately?

• What version of me am I ready to stop performing?

• What support would help me feel less alone in this?

Today, my life looks radically different. I don’t work to prove anything anymore. I work because I believe in what I’m building and I’m betting on myself. None of this happened in a single leap. It happened step by step. One small act of self-trust at a time.

Navigating what’s next

If you’re in the middle of an identity shift, or standing at the edge of one and you’d like support navigating what comes next, here’s how we can work together:

Coaching Partnership

I work with creative and tech professionals who are outwardly successful, but deep down feel quietly unfulfilled. I help them move into new roles (or a business) they love, without having to start all over again.

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