Who are we without a job title?

One of the hardest realisations I’ve faced during this transition period is just how deeply we subconsciously tie our inner worth to the type of job title we hold.

Twelve months after walking away.

Last week marked exactly a year since I made the choice to leave my corporate job in London without a plan B—a decision that was absolutely terrifying, but, I believe, necessary.

Since then, I’ve travelled across Europe, volunteered and worked in Italy, Croatia, and France; renovated my family home; and deepened my relationships with family and friends. It’s been exciting but challenging, fun yet scary, spontaneous yet unnerving. Like all seasons of life, everything shifts with time—and this period has begun to shift more quickly than I expected.

The reality check that follows change.

When I first walked away, I felt limitless—like anything was possible. I envisioned moving abroad, getting an Australian work visa, finding a role in the U.S., and finally moving to New York, as I had dreamed for years. I was certain I had traded a life of mundane routine for a life that would excite me.

I even imagined reaching out to old colleagues with great updates, proving to friends and family that I was right to leave something so stable despite their doubts.

But in truth, that initial thrill was powered by survival energy—the kind that makes leaps feel urgent rather than sustainable. As the months passed, reality knocked louder. The need for structure, productivity, and responsibility re-entered my life, bringing the challenge of re-rooting myself in something meaningful.

Though my “big life” dreams still resonated, each passing day made it harder to hold onto them. I began to feel like I was losing the stable ground I needed to keep going.

The search for what’s next.

Despite having travelled and volunteered around Europe, it didn’t feel like it “counted” for much once I came home. I felt as if I had to start over—rekindle old friendships, refine my CV, start job searches. Worst of all, I still didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with my life.

The transition back into everyday life was difficult. I went from living without a routine—meeting new people, seeing new places—to waking up and scanning hundreds of job specs until one felt just “good enough” to click Apply.

Job hunting felt demotivating. Every listing was a quiet reminder of the very life I’d walked away from. But reality was clear: I couldn’t float through life forever waiting for the “right” job to appear. So I took small steps toward responsibility again.

I got a job in a local café to sustain myself while searching for full-time roles. I needed direction, yet everything felt underwhelming. The ideas that excited me felt almost impossible to bring to life. Without realising it, I’d drifted into a fog of confusion and uncertainty—a self-made abyss. And it was terrifying.

The societal hamster wheel of life.

The question “What do you do?” comes up in almost every social interaction, making it easy to believe our worth is tied to the role we hold. For months, I scrambled for a response, usually muttering with a forced smile: “Oh, I’ve been travelling and now I’m just figuring out what’s next.” What I didn’t say was that I’d been “figuring it out” for six months and counting.

What happens when you step away from expectations?

It’s scary. Whether we leave by choice, face redundancy, or are still job-hunting after graduating, it’s never easy to answer that question when we’re struggling to answer it for ourselves.

I’m not reinstating myself as a victim—our choices shape us, and I stand by mine. But no one prepares you for the emptiness and confusion that can follow. It’s like stepping off the societal hamster wheel and suddenly seeing everything from the outside. You can’t make sense of it. And no matter how much you try, part of you wonders if the only way to feel “normal” again is to return to where you left off.

We live in a world where pausing—to reflect rather than just chase the next thing—feels foreign. But fulfilment isn’t just found in big milestones—holidays, promotions, expensive purchases. It’s also in the small, everyday moments: the quiet mornings, the smell of coffee, the fresh air, the joy we create for ourselves outside of societal pressure.

Struggling with uncertainty.

Walking away from what no longer serves us can feel empowering at first, but days will come when we wake up frustrated, anxious, and unsure of what’s next. We assume that once we make the brave leap, the rest will fall into place. But often, it’s the opposite—leaving means starting a new search, and that search is rarely easy.

By choice, we welcome change into our lives. But to consciously face it can knock us down in ways we can’t predict. The stillness, the uncertainty, the inability to see progress—it all tests our trust in ways we don’t expect.

And yet, I still choose this path. Even through phases of regret—not for leaving the job, but for leaving the safety net, the stability, the predictability—I remind myself I left for a reason.

Choose to believe it will work out, despite the odds.

Trusting that everything will work out—especially on the days it feels impossible—is the hardest part of this journey. But I believe it’s also the most important.

Once we choose to believe, even without proof, we can remain present for our lives instead of letting them pass us by.

Who are we without a job title?

I’m learning that life isn’t about having everything mapped out. There’s a balance between comfort and stagnation, between uncertainty and trust. Sometimes, stepping into the unknown—choosing possibility over certainty—sets us up for our greatest opportunities.

Where you are right now is not wasted time. It’s exactly where you’re meant to be.

Amelia X

Sometimes the quietest moments bring the loudest clarity.

Pausing to turn pages instead of chasing timelines.

Caption: Not every season blooms loudly—some grow in stillness.