What’s Your Quitting Style? How I Got Unstuck at Work
A quitting style isn’t really about leaving. It’s how you respond when work stops working for you. Here’s mine, how two readers are handling it, and how to build the support to find yours.
While flying home from Paris, I started watching Halloween Baking Championship Season 11. I’m a home baker, I love all things baking, and it’s spooky season!
I kept watching once I got home. My kids, who usually spend their screen time on Minecraft, Gabby’s Dollhouse, or PrestonPlayz, even stopped what they were doing to watch with me.
Now we’re watching bakers turn spooky ideas into elaborate desserts while I resist the urge to get off the couch and bake something myself.
The last time I baked for Halloween was a Brooklyn Blackout Cake (image below), a week before I went into labor with my third kid.
That’s how I unplug. And learning to unplug—to actually pause—is something I’ve had to get a lot better at this past year.
Last week, I shared how I broke down on a Saturday morning a year ago. Several of you emailed or sent DMs to say the story resonated—thank you.
This week, I’m taking a couple of steps back to look at the environment that made me feel like I had to stay stuck—and the first person who showed me I didn’t need permission to pause. Me, someone who’s normally full steam ahead.
The car ride home
A few days before that Saturday, a neighbor asked me at an event how I was doing.
“I’ve been better.”
Afterward, she offered to drive me home since I’d walked there. I kid you not—my kind-hearted neighbor gave me a taste of my own medicine: tough love.
She told me she’d resigned from work to take a “power pause”… and then told her husband.
The chutzpah! Oy vey.
I commended her for taking that leap, but told her I’d need to talk it through first. I have a hard time quitting in general. I’ve been told I have a “high frustration tolerance.”
Then she held up a mirror.
She’d seen me running through our neighborhood in the mornings and was impressed by how fast I ran. She wanted to know why I was giving other people so much power over my life.
“You can outrun them.”
What kept me stuck
The thing is, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I could tie my shoes and run, but I felt like I could never keep up with what was going on around me. I was always falling behind. And yet I felt like I needed to do something to “get ahead.” Somehow, that year, I felt responsible for every failure.
Being capable didn’t protect me from exhaustion.
And by then, it was hard to see what choices I still had. A few things kept me stuck:
- Having friends and co-workers who normalized sticking it out. I kept hearing, “Be happy you have a job in this economy,” and that I should get comfortable with 2–3% raises.
- Waiting for something to happen that would make the decision for me.
- Not having a clear path for what was next.
The third was the hardest. I’d sat with uncertainty countless times before, but this time it took energy I didn’t feel I had.
But my neighbor had a point. I didn’t have to quit her way. I just had to find my quitting style.
Finding my quitting style
So I did some homework. After hearing her say “power pause” more times than I could count, I looked it up and found The Power Pause by Neha Ruch. Skeptical but curious, I listened on my walks.
Much of it focuses on pausing or downshifting a career for motherhood, though I think it applies equally to both parents. It gave me insight into career transitions: preparing financially and mentally, talking it through with your partner, and navigating the career narrative and identity questions that come after.
Different styles, same choice
To be clear, I’m not pushing anyone to quit. A quitting style isn’t really about leaving. It’s how you respond when work stops working for you. After last week’s newsletter, a few readers shared how they’re handling it.
My quitting style turned out to be: pause first, then decide.
Taking a few months off made it clear that I needed to quit. If I stayed, I’d be hamstrung. I wasn’t allowed to explore or work on other ideas that could be seen as competitive. I was also struggling to keep up with my workload at home and at work. I needed to pause and rest to get clarity.
But I couldn’t have taken that pause on my own. My neighbor’s willingness to share her experience—and challenge how I was thinking about mine—helped me imagine making a different choice.
Quit first, then pause
One reader wrote:
“I too was fixing the margins with short vacations and weekends, only to feel deflated the minute I got back to work. I didn’t have the option to take a break, so I quit. I didn’t want to look for a job either. I wanted some time to think. I’ve now come to my hometown, figuring out what I need to do next.”
Build options first
Another reader is still narrowing down their plans but has set three concrete goals: earn AI certifications to stay current, build a mobile app (even if it’s just for fun), and find a company with a great work culture. Rather than making one big move, they’re creating options.
None of these styles is the right one. But each person made a choice instead of waiting for something to make it for them.
And none of us did it alone.
Resilience needs support
Here’s what I’ve learned about resilience: it doesn’t only come from within.
It also needs support. Someone who can hold up a mirror when you’ve lost sight of what you’re capable of. Someone who can help you find room to rest, think, and decide.
A year later, I feel more relaxed and capable. I have more time and resources than I thought I did to pursue ideas and learn new things.
With more room to think, I’ve also started exploring without needing to know where it will lead.
A room full of big checks
Last week, I got invited to a pitch event. I didn’t have anything to pitch, but I was curious, and it was 15 minutes from home. My mom offered to watch the kids, so I had no excuses and was free to explore.
It was a small room, maybe 20 people. I spoke with a couple of investors I’d never met. They said they wrote big checks.
How big? $100M.
Gulp.
After the first pitch, for a connectivity product, I raised my hand to ask about manufacturing and product positioning. Every person in the room turned around.
All eyes were on me.
As someone who teaches others to communicate and command a room, I knew what I had to do: quiet the voices in my head and ask my questions.
Before I left, a few people stopped me for one-on-one conversations. Afterward, a couple of investors messaged me and connected on LinkedIn.
Those conversations gave me a chance to see how others are thinking and building. I could pick out what resonated, get inspired, and see more clearly what I don’t want. They also reminded me that I have insights worth listening to, even without a pitch of my own.
When I got home, my mom asked how it went. I told her about the BIG checks.
Her response?
“OK, go build a big idea.”
But even she knows that big ideas start small and can take years. So she added: “One step at a time.”
My enablers—the good kind
My neighbor. My mom. These women are my enablers—the good kind.
My neighbor normalized pausing by sharing her own story, and made me realize I didn’t need anyone’s permission. My mom gave me room to try things, then encouraged me to keep going.
They believe in what I’m capable of, and they support me while I go do it.
They’ve also helped me get more comfortable with not having everything figured out. I can start with the pieces I know how to do and ask for help when I get stuck.
And people want to help. When I recently posted that I needed help with a new product, people came out of the woodwork. Not within days—within minutes and hours.
I’m thankful for that support.
How to build your own support structure
1. Name your mirrors
List the people who, in the past year, told you a hard truth or reminded you what you’re capable of. Be specific: “my neighbor who drove me home,” not just “friends.” What did they help you see that you couldn’t see on your own?
2. Fill the roles
A strong support structure has three: a mirror who tells you the truth, a champion who says “go build a big idea,” and helpers who show up when you’re stuck. Write a name next to each. One person can fill more than one role—my mom both encouraged me and watched the kids. The empty role is where to start.
3. Notice who normalizes staying stuck
Some people in your circle make burnout feel normal. You don’t have to cut them out, but you should know whose voice you’re listening to when you decide.
4. Decide, then start with what you know
Pick one decision you’ve been sitting on. Write down the pieces you already know how to do, and do one of them this week.
A few readers wrote in to say they’ve been using AI to build mobile and SaaS apps to get familiar with the tools. That’s great! They picked a direction and started with a project small enough to finish.
Others said they want to start writing but aren’t sure what to write about. My 8-year-old had this problem last year. So I bought him a book of 5-minute writing prompts and asked him to pick one each day and write for five minutes.
The first couple of days were tricky. But it turned into a habit, and he started going back to earlier prompts and adding to them.
5. Make a specific ask
When you get stuck, ask one person for one thing. Be specific: “Can you introduce me to someone who’s taken a career break?” or “Can you read this post I wrote and give me feedback by Friday? I’d like to publish it to my network next week.”
“Let me know if you hear of anything” leaves the other person figuring out what you need. A specific request gives them something they can act on. People want to help, so make it easy for them.
What’s your quitting style—and who’s supporting you through it? Tell me in the comments, or subscribe to the Femgineer newsletter and hit reply.
P.S. You’ve probably heard that the Grace Hopper Celebration (GHC) was canceled this year. One of my favorite parts of the conference was meeting new people in real life, and the moments of serendipity that came from those new friendships. I’m working on a way to recreate those connections. Curious? Subscribe to the newsletter and reply “tell me more.”
P.P.S. Want to try the Brooklyn Blackout Cake? Fair warning: it’s a project. But one step is a chocolate pudding that my oldest asks me to make from time to time, and it’s much easier than the whole cake. Start there if you want the payoff without the commitment.
