In an annual review at the start of my career, a kind ex-boss called me a Completer Finisher. I looked it up. It meant she saw me as thorough, detail-obsessed, a “safe pair of hands”. If you wanted a project managed right up to the finish line, you’d call me. The compliment jarred. My work was solid but I didn’t identify as a Finisher. Nor a Completer, which is surely exactly the same thing? I was always starting something — but I was also always planning my escape. A week later, I handed in my notice. I’d never seen my poor boss look so shocked, and disappointed.
I was a quitter before it was acceptable. Before Google made mistakes cool, before Quiet Quitting, before one of my favourite podcasts – How to Fail – ever existed. Or could have existed. I was taught that staying power was, well, powerful. My parents and teachers were brought up on wartime sentiments of “Keep Calm and Carry On”, when giving up was not an option. This idea was handed down to me. I was repeatedly told “winners never quit and quitters never win”.
Yet, as soon as I had power over my own decisions, I started making and swiftly un-making them. I quit countries, quit relationships, quit flat shares. I was a no-show at my seminars – the OG Quiet Quitter.
I knew I was leaving a trail of chaos in my wake because of the countless confused voicemails that I only ever half listened to. I was so ashamed of the psychological and financial debts that started to rack up: unpaid bills; unpacked boxes; unattended shifts. I rarely stayed around for the inevitable fallout.
So how on Earth did I get the reputation as a Completer Finisher, only a few years later? My boss wasn’t totally crazy. On the outside, I looked like I had it all under control. I’d been a straight ‘A’ student and a prefect at school. I was polite and conscientious. The job in question had me single-handedly holding down a busy press office while simultaneously creating every written word that came out of the business. I was the lead on a number of major comms projects. The whole time, I never allowed a ball to drop. In reality, I was working twelve hour days and about to burn out. The crumpled letter of resignation that I nudged towards my boss was a cry for help. A shameful white flag.
I now realise that I quit because I couldn’t bear to upset anyone. I couldn’t face being honest about the things I didn’t want to do. So I said yes, and then let everyone down in the most awkwardly indirect way possible.
I’ve only been able to really confront this hidden side of myself, the quitter inside me, since becoming a parent. The role is an identity with responsibilities that you can never quit. And for the record, I have never actually wanted to give parenting up for good. But there have been shitty days; times when I’ve thought I’m not up to it. Days when the hours until my husband came home felt interminable. If it had been anything else, I’d have hoisted up that white flag years ago. Instead, I’ve gritted my teeth, taken deep breaths in the loo, and marked the minutes with countless episodes of Bluey.
And an interesting thing has happened. By signing up for motherhood, something I can’t quit, I’ve got better at quitting the other stuff. Reading Jenni Gritters’s insightful piece on What a client breakup really feels like made me realise that I’ve become better at unapologetically saying goodbye to what’s not working. Whether a client who hasn’t respected my boundaries, a broken childcare setup, or a day rate that just didn’t add up. Motherhood has forced me to face these issues head on.
Case in point: last year I fired a client. What I really mean is that I didn’t ghost them and I didn’t pretend I was fully booked. I told them upfront that their expectations, and communication style, were not compatible with my way of working. I rewrote the email about seven times, and then I closed my emails and turned off my phone in horror at what I’d just done.
I’m proud of the progress I’ve made but I do wonder whether I’ve gone too far. I’ve shed my people pleasing disguise so brilliantly that I’m worried I’ve become rude. I guess I’m learning what it’s like to quit in the open, and I will sometimes get it wrong.
I’d love to know, how is quitting for you? Has becoming a parent made you better at holding boundaries? Or perhaps you’re managing other conditions or responsibilities that force you to be upfront about what you need? Are you also a closet quitter? I’m curious and I’d really love to hear from you in the comments.
Thanks for writing this! I've had such a similar experience; parenting seems to leave a lot less room for the BS, which means less dancing around people's feelings and more just saying outloud what you mean. Biproduct of being in survival mode, I think.
Not a parent but, in an attempt to be an adult at a previous job, I went to my boss and said that I didn't see a future there and I wanted to let them know so they could be looking while I was looking but there was no rush (I knew they took forever to make a decision, and I wanted to find something great). I would be transparent and if I found something first, I would give proper notice and, if they found someone first, I would stay on to train. It all seemed super cool (except for them wanting me to stay and asking what it would take). I took my scheduled week's vacation and then got a call from their representative the afternoon before my return saying they hired someone while I was away and I didn't need to come back. (BTW, the background check I went through took two weeks, then the paperwork...it was 30 days from offer to start for me.) Needless to say, the lesson I learned is that no good deed goes unpunished when you try to be forthright with an employer. But severance is lovely. xo