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There is a kind of grief nobody warns you about. It is the grief you feel before you leave. Before the resignation letter. Before the hard conversation. Before the moving truck. You are still there, still showing up, and you are already mourning it. If you have felt that, you are not being dramatic. You are grieving. And until you name it, it will keep you exactly where you are.

"I know I need to leave, but..." I have heard that sentence more times than I can count. In coaching sessions. After keynotes. From friends at the kitchen table. And almost every time, what comes after the word "but" sounds very reasonable. "But the timing isn't right." "But the kids are still in school." "But I'm too old to start over." "But what if it doesn't work?"

You know the job is done with you. Or the relationship. Or the city, the church, the business partnership. You have known for a while. Maybe years. You have said it out loud to a friend. You have said it to yourself in the car. And then Monday comes, and you go right back. If that is you, I want you to hear this first. Nothing is wrong with you. You are not lazy, and you are not confused.