I hate goodbyes.

Letting go of the good

I’ve never been good at goodbyes. I dread them, prolong them, avoid them. They are my Achilles' heel. It’s not just the literal farewell—it’s the sense of letting go, of something ending that once held meaning, of acknowledging that things are about to change in ways I don’t fully comprehend.

Whether it’s leaving behind a place I’ve called home, parting ways with someone who meant something to me, or even silly little things like finishing a book I’ve fallen in love with, I find myself clinging to whatever is slipping away. Nostalgia seeps into all the cracks. Even though I know it’s time to go, part of me wants to hold on, to put off the finality of it for just a little longer.

Last week, I gave my 2 week notice at my job and 60 day notice at my apartment. Today, I told all my clients I’d no longer be working with them after this week. That’s a lot of goodbyes for a goodbye-phobic gal. I was expecting it to be hard, but figured the excitement of what’s to come would soften the blow.

It’s one thing to leave a job, a place, or a person you’ve outgrown, maybe even something that’s unhealthy or "toxic." There’s a certain relief in knowing you’re making a change for the better, that the goodbye is a step toward something more aligned with who you are and what you need. But it’s another thing entirely to leave something you know is good.

Leaving a job that has been fulfilling, leaving an apartment that’s been my sanctuary, and saying goodbye to clients who have trusted me with their business—it’s hard because I know these things are good. They’ve been positive parts of my life, and walking away from them isn’t about seeking something better. It’s about growth and the small voice in my head telling me there’s something else out there for me.

If I’m honest, there’s a part of me that’s really scared of letting go. You see, I’m no better than anyone else: I’ve propped myself up for a long time on my successes. My whole life I’ve been your typical perfectionistic, straight-A student, president of everything, and overall person who prides herself on accomplishment. I went to school to “get a good job” and kept climbing my way up ladders, not content until I reached the top.

And I’m good at my job. Really good. I was the highest producing “new” (under 3 years) rep in my company last year. I work hard, prioritize my team and clients, and do not only what is needed, but go that extra mile to produce great work. It's been a source of tremendous pride and fulfillment.

As I prepare to leave behind my job—this thing I’ve worked so hard for—there’s a sense of vulnerability I didn’t anticipate. Without these successes, these things I’ve hinged my identity to, who am I? While I know my likes and dislikes, values, goals and dreams, there’s a part of me that has no idea who I am without these things I’ve tied myself to. It’s not just the job I’m saying goodbye to— it’s a version of myself.

I think that’s what makes goodbyes so difficult: the fear of losing a piece of yourself. Even though I’m ready to move forward, even though I know that growth is on the other side of this leap, it’s hard not to feel like I’m stepping into an abyss. What’s going to fill the void?

While there is immense excitement and opportunity on the other side of the door I’m closing behind me, I’m not going to rush it closed. I’m going to sit in melancholy for a bit. To let the goodbye be hard, to let it be sad. I’ve clung to this version of myself for so long—this version that’s defined by my job, my successes, my routines. I want to sit with her for a little longer, to acknowledge everything she’s given me, and to thank her for getting me to this point.

It’s tempting to want to push past the discomfort and dive straight into the next adventure (which has historically been my MO), but I know that’s not the way forward. I need to let myself feel this moment fully—both the grief of letting go and the uncertainty of what’s to come. There’s no need to rush the process of change. I’ve earned the right to sit with my goodbyes, to let the sadness wash over me before I embrace the excitement of what’s to come.

So, for now, I’ll linger here. I’ll allow myself the space to reflect, to mourn, and to celebrate. Because sometimes, before you can step into who you’re becoming, you need to honor who you were.

walk boldly,

Caroline