The day of departure should be a day of joy

"The day of departure should be a day of joy": Khalil Gibran, The Prophet.

Subject: Official Resignation from the Position of “The Strong, Quiet One”

Dear Management (i.e., Society, Family, Friends, and That One Voice in My Head),

Please consider this my formal resignation from the unofficial, unpaid, and frankly exhausting position of "The Strong, Quiet One".

You may also know this role by its alternate titles:

The Quiet One.

Yes man!

The One Who Never Says No.

The Peacekeeper.

The Reliable One Even When He's Falling Apart.

Tissue paper.

This notice is effective immediately. Retroactively, even.

Let me be clear—I don’t quit easily.

I don’t tap out at the first sign of trouble. I s*ck in everything and everytime.

Therefore, I’ve stayed in the boardroom meetings long after the air turned toxic. Held the rope long after it burned my hands. Kept smiling through clenched teeth while my insides screamed.

I was proud of that. For a long time, I wore that resilience like armor. But the thing about armor? It’s heavy. Eventually, it wears you down.

Contrary to what the motivational mugs and inspirational Instagram posts might say, there is strength in quitting—when what you're quitting is killing your spirit.

I wasn’t always like this.

I used to be someone who said “maybe” instead of “yes,” someone who didn’t feel compelled to fix every broken situation or carry everyone else’s emotional luggage while mine sat, bursting at the seams, ignored. But somewhere along the line, I got cast in a role I never auditioned for: the Strong, Quiet One.

I was good at it. Too good. I became the one people vented to but never asked about.

The one who handled deadlines, emotional labor, unspoken expectations, and passive-aggressive digs with a serene smile and a polite nod.

“He’s so grounded,” they said. “So calm. So dependable.”

What they meant was: He doesn’t make a fuss. He absorbs the impact.

Well, I’m done absorbing. I’ve reached my saturation point.

Let me offer an example for the record: A few years ago, I worked in an environment that could only be described as polished poison. From the outside, it looked like a dream—smart people, big ideas, a culture that championed collaboration. But under the surface? Ego, manipulation, and that one colleague who could gaslight a lightbulb into thinking it was never on.

I stayed. I smiled.

I held everything together like emotional duct tape. I let snide remarks pass. I absorbed criticism that was never constructive. I picked up the slack, defused the tension, and made excuses for others while quietly breaking down in the bathroom between meetings.

Because I believed, truly, that strong people don’t walk away. They endure. They rise above. They stay.

Until one day, I didn’t.

I remember the moment clearly—not a breakdown, but a breakthrough. A small, honest voice inside me said, “You don’t owe them this.” And for the first time, I listened. I left. I didn’t explode or burn bridges—I just stopped setting myself on fire to keep everyone else warm.

I took a job somewhere else, with people who valued collaboration without competition, kindness without performative fluff, honesty without cruelty. It was like coming up for air after years underwater. And I realized: strength isn’t remaining silent. It’s knowing when to speak. It’s knowing when enough is enough. It’s knowing when to quit—not out of weakness, but out of wisdom.

So here I am again. Not leaving a job this time, but leaving behind a role that’s lived rent-free in my chest for far too long.

• To the version of me that always swallowed words to keep the peace—I love you, but I don’t need you anymore. Silence is no longer my virtue.
• To the version of me who said yes when he wanted to scream “no”—thank you for keeping the waters calm, but I’m done being the damn lifeboat.
• To the version of me who carried it all because he thought that’s what strong people do—you were heroic. And also, you were tired. It’s okay now. Put it down.

What am I resigning to, you ask? I’m resigning:

To rest.

To joy.

To flawed humanity.

To boundaries that don’t require explanation. I’m resigning to being the person who sometimes cries in public and asks for help and says, “Actually, that doesn’t work for me.”

To choosing peace—not the fake, manufactured kind that demands silence—but the kind that comes from living with synced truth.

Yes, some people will be disappointed.

Some won’t understand.

They liked me better when I was agreeable, predictable, and quiet. Pushable at their will.

Let them be confused.

Let them adjust.

I’m not responsible for their discomfort with my growth.

This isn’t a phase. It’s a homecoming.

Please don’t come with any counter-offers. I will not be lured back by guilt or approval. I’ve deleted the job description, shredded the uniform, and blocked the HR department of Emotional Labor & Suppressed Needs.

If you have further questions, feel free to write to my new office: No Boundaries & All Liberated, LLC.

I am not taking any appointments or holding meetings at this time, and we don't appreciate your interest.

With all the love and none of the martyrdom,

Yours untruly,

Strongest_XO_XO

Former Title: The Strong, Quiet One

New Title: CEO of Saying No, Protector of Peace, Human Being