Quitting without a backup plan.

Kristina Kotouckova
Jul 31
4 min read

But at least now I understand—we don’t need to wait until we are drowning to make the choice to swim.

Choosing to leave.

Leaving something that once felt secure is never easy. Quitting my corporate job after 18 months felt like walking away from a long-term relationship—something that no longer served me, yet something I couldn’t imagine leaving.

I was terrified of leaving because I was ending something earlier than I was meant to. The job contract had another year and a half left, and I still had exams to complete. But no matter how much I searched for motivation, I struggled to find a single reason to stay.

A dream that didn’t feel like one.

I had landed what should have been the perfect graduate job—competitive, prestigious, financially stable. I still remember the day I received the call where they told me I got the job. I was on holiday with my sister in Milan, sitting in a cafe having espressos and gateaux. To have found a role at an FTSE100 Company right in the centre of London? A dream come true for a fresh graduate.

Fresh out of university, I received an offer for an FTSE100 finance company in the heart of London. It came with a three-year contract, a chartered qualification, and the kind of social approval that made it all seem worthwhile.

From the outside, this was a dream come true. But on the inside? This silent tug kept navigating me to this deep feeling where I felt like this was a three-year-long task I needed to complete before I could actually start living my life, rather than the start of a career I wanted. But at this point in time, it was too easy to ignore that little voice, accept the job offer and continue enjoying my time in Italy.

A career that felt like a cage.

My company was built on values that aligned with mine. My colleagues were supportive. Nothing was inherently wrong—yet everything felt off.

My daily routine became mechanical. I would wake up at 6 am, shower and get dressed for work, come downstairs, eat breakfast, and hastily speed walk to catch my usual fast train at 7.29 am to get to London Fenchurch Street. From there, I'd once again walk hastily to the office and then spend the next 8 hours at my desk. By 5.30 pm/ 6.00 pm, I'd be walking back to the train station across London Bridge to get home by about 7.30 pm / 8.00 pm, have dinner, shower and get ready for the next day at work.

Even in my free time, I found myself searching for something more, trying to build upon my life outside of work, yet feeling completely stuck and exhausted by the end of the day.

Eighteen months in, I had passed six exams and completed two rotations, making up the graduate programme, while persisting through countless episodes of feeling lost and hopeless, battling with periods of low moods and panic attacks.

Confiding and confronting the fear of leaving.

I confided in friends about my doubts. Their responses varied person to person: "That’s just part of being an adult.", “Maybe just hold on for a few more months.”, “Nobody really loves their job.”

The words felt crushing. Was I expecting too much? Was I making a mistake by choosing to walk away? But staying felt like the bigger mistake.

I forced myself to look back at the days when I felt completely drained, when I woke up numb, anxious, and exhausted. If this was what I had to endure just to maintain a “successful” job, was it truly worth it? At the end of the day, what we don't change, we choose. And I did not want this to be my choice.

Just when you think it might get easier, it gets harder.

The moment I spoke to my managers, pressed send on my resignation email, and shared my decision with friends and family, doubt came flooding in. "You’ll struggle financially.” “You don’t have a plan.” “What if you don’t find another job this good?” “This will set you back.”

It was hard to ignore fear when it came from every direction. But I reminded myself: the moments of peace, mental clarity, and relief I felt after making this decision were far louder than the voices of doubt.

When the hardest decisions are the right ones.

Walking away felt like breaking through a wall—painful, isolating, but ultimately freeing.

It hurt to leave behind something that looked successful on paper.

But I now understand: we don’t need to wait until we are drowning to make the choice to swim.

If we don't fight for the life we desire, who will? At the end of the day, we are the ones who can stand up for what we truly want, no matter the risk it comes with. At the end of the day, if we don't try, we'll never know what's on the other side of that fear, that dream, that small lingering thought at the back of our mind.

Wrestling with conflicting emotions.

For months, I was living with an internal emotional tug of war. On one side, I craved freedom—the ability to shape my own life instead of following what I was told was the right path. On the other hand, staying would provide immediate comfort, a career safety net, financial stability, a clear career trajectory and external validation. It was exhausting and painful.

Navigating work every day while conversing with my colleagues and managers, discussing future plans, meanwhile trying to quiet the screaming inside of me telling me to quit, to run to get out, reminding me that staying meant choosing certainty over fulfilment—trading short-term relief for long-term dissatisfaction.

Final thoughts.

Making big decisions—especially the ones that challenge our comfort—often come with uncertainty... and a lot of it. I’ve learned that life will test us to see how far we are willing to go for the future we want.

It isn’t easy, but as people say, 'You can struggle to do what you hate, or struggle to do what you love.'

And that alone was enough for me to take that leap.

The key is to keep going, and I now know that as long as we follow what we believe is right for us, there is always a win waiting for us at the end of each journey we take.