When the Dust Settles: The Feelings That Come After You Quit Your Job

At the end of August, I left my stable teaching job to take a leap into the totally unknown world of self-employment.

For years, I had been running myself ragged teaching four days a week, squeezing in coaching clients on my “day off” and late into the evenings. I told myself it was fine, that this was what it took to build something of my own. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t sustainable.

At the beginning of the year, I started to feel the pull, that quiet, persistent whisper telling me it was time to leave my job. But the louder voice inside my head was quick to jump in:

“No, it’s not stable enough.”
“You won’t be able to sustain your family.”
“You’ll lose the comfortable life you’ve built.”

So I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and carried on.

But carrying on meant running on fumes. I started to feel like I wasn’t showing up as the best parent I could be,because honestly, where could I fit the children in between school and clients? I wasn’t the best teacher I could be either (and if you’re familiar with teaching, you’ll know it’s not the 9–3 job the media would have you believe).

Something had to give.

Between my workload, coaching sessions, and family life, my only option was late-night laptop marathons. Clients were flying in through recommendations, but my availability was so limited that I constantly felt like I was letting someone down.

The result? Complete dys-regulation in every sense of the word. I was cross, tired, and just about keeping my head above water, all while smiling through my various roles so nobody really knew how much I was struggling. Inside, I was terrified that all the plates I was spinning would come crashing down at any minute.

Eventually, I realised I needed an outside perspective. So I reached out to a coach I’d been following online for a while. After just an hour of chatting, it was as though the fog had cleared. I suddenly knew what I needed to do.

I had been overcomplicating everything, and because I was in constant fight-or-flight mode, everything felt doom-and-gloom and frightening. This coach asked me one simple question that changed everything:

“So what if everything just worked out… what would your life look like?”

It was such a simple question, but it stopped me in my tracks. My mind had been so focused on everything that could go wrong, I hadn’t even allowed myself to imagine what it would look like if it all went right.

My brain had obviously been trying to keep me safe, stuck in what was familiar and predictable. It hadn’t even let me begin to imagine the freedom, the creativity, the space that might come from going all-in as a coach.

So I did the work. I walked myself through the very coaching program I’d designed for others. And before I knew it, I was handing in my letter of resignation.

There were waves of dread here and there. I think, if anything, it was a sign of how much I actually loved teaching. I’m a bloody good teacher, but that’s also part of what makes me a bloody good coach.

Fast forward three months, and honestly? I couldn’t have imagined how things would turn out. Because I trust myself, my ability as a coach, a teacher, a speaker (I still have to pinch myself when I say that one), opportunities keep revealing themselves to me. Since August, I’ve spoken on stages to workforces, entire year groups, and university students. I’ve delivered online workshops on topics like confidence in interviews, sleep hygiene, and goal-setting. I’ve begun the process of creating educational resources to support children’s emotional literacy. My client base has also grown because I finally have the capacity to serve them properly. I’ve travelled up and down the country, met incredible people, and seen my vision start to take shape — all because I took a chance.

I felt the fear… and did it anyway.

During the summer holidays, I was too scared to take time off with the children. I felt like I needed to be productive, to push myself, to prove that I could “make it” on my own. Rest felt indulgent — something I hadn’t yet earned. I spent much of that time working behind the scenes, convincing myself that hustling harder was the way to safety.

Fast forward to now. I’ve taken the whole half-term off, bar a couple of my 1:1s, and I don’t feel one tiny bit of guilt. I can treat my children to days out, just as I always could… only now, it’s without the guilt. Without the rushing. Without the constant mental checklist running in the background. I get to be with them. Fully.

It hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows, though. There have been some unexpected feelings that have shown up for me along the way, things I didn’t anticipate when I first handed in that resignation letter.

But I’ll save that part for my next post.