Career Change is a Kind of Grief (and yes, I cried, froze, spiralled, and built a website)
You’ve probably heard of the Kübler-Ross model — the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. Neat. Predictable. Designed for when you lose something monumental.
What no one tells you is that these stages can turn up (uninvited) during a career change too. Especially the kind that doesn't come with a dramatic exit or viral resignation letter, but the slow, sneaky realisation that something once meaningful no longer fits.
It’s not like I hated my job. Quite the opposite — I loved it. I loved where I worked. I loved the people. I believed in what we were building. I told anyone who would listen. So when the discomfort crept in, it caught me off guard. The disconnect wasn’t loud at first, more like a quiet background hum that eventually turned into a siren.
This is a story about grief — not the falling apart kind, but the coming back together differently kind.
Denial: This is just a rough patch. I just need a break.
The things that should’ve felt easy started to feel heavy. Tasks that once gave me energy began feeling like a drag. But I rationalised it, over and over again.
I told myself I just needed a break. Maybe a little breathing room. A couple more resources. “Once this piece of work wraps up, I’ll be fine.” Classic workplace denial — served with a side of burnout and topped with enthusiastic optimism. I even convinced myself I’d return from leave full of fire and ready to fall in love with it all over again. Spoiler: I didn’t.
Anger: Why can’t people see what I’m feeling?
Next came the irritation. The simmering kind. At the system. At leadership, my peers. At myself for not being more patient, more gracious, more resilient (ugh, that word).
I started noticing how things around me hadn’t changed — but I had. My tolerance was gone. My fuse was short. I felt like I was ready to fight for something meaningful, but I was a day late to march into battle and really had no idea who the battle was against.
Bargaining: Maybe I don’t need to leave. Maybe I just need a new role?
Even after I resigned, I didn’t quite let go. In my mind I let the door sit ajar, just in case. Maybe I could reframe things. Shift my scope. Rebuild something that looked different but kept me close to the people I cared about.
I wasn’t just protecting the job, I was trying to protect my relationships, my reputation, my financial security, my career narrative. You don’t spend 15+ years building a career without feeling a little shaky when it starts to wobble.
Depression: Wait… who even am I now?
Leaving should’ve felt empowering. Instead, I spent the first week of self-employment in bed. My nervous system, clearly, didn’t get the memo that we were now a business owner.
And then came the identity fog: No meetings. No one checking in. No inbox pinging with requests. I spiralled into hyper-productivity — exercise, clean eating, two uni units, business plan, website, start cold plunging with the "Chilly Bitches" in the Bay at 7am daily, volunteer at a local food bank or maybe adult netball?! (As if kale and cardio would distract me from an existential unravel.)
Eventually… I froze. Because deep down I wasn’t just tired — I was lost.
Acceptance: This is mine now.
It wasn’t until a peer coach asked me:
“What’s holding you back from doing what’s right for you?”
…that it all clicked. It wasn’t fear of failure. It was fear of disappointing everyone who knew the old me. And the wild thing was, the only person I needed permission from… was me.
Because here’s what I realised: I get to choose everything now.
→ Who I work with
→ Why I work
→ The tone I use
→ The rhythm I follow
→ The damn job title
For the first time, I’m not carrying someone else’s definition of success. I get to build something that actually aligns. Not just something I’m good at. Not something that makes other people proud. Something I love. Something that’s mine.
I’m not afraid of the outcome. I’m a grafter. If it doesn’t work? I pivot. I try again. But what scared me more was never taking the chance.
Reflecting as a Coach: The grief in growth
We often associate grief with loss, but growth can carry its own grief, too. The grief of shedding identities. Of closing doors we once fought (sometimes really effing hard) to walk through. Of no longer recognising the version of ourselves we worked so hard to build.
This is where coaching has been life-changing. Not just in the formal sessions but in the pause it demands. The space to reflect.
As a coach, I now work with people navigating the same messy middle, that murky space between what was and what’s next. People who are wildly capable but quietly stuck. People who are beginning to realise that their work is no longer aligned with who they are becoming (or maybe who they always were).
Transitions are weird. But they’re also where clarity grows — if you’re brave enough to look.
So here’s the question I’ll leave you with: What’s holding you back from doing what’s right for you?
If that question hits somewhere deep, I'm with ya lovely! This is the nitty gritty of real change. It’s not always graceful — but damn, is it powerful.
Stay curious,
Claire x
Image Credit: Cottonbro, Curtesy of Pexel