Should You Stay or Should You Go?
Deciding when to stick with your job and when to move on is one of the most challenging things to discern when you’ve put your heart into it. Sometimes, we have to walk through discord to find our truest selves. We often feel devalued and misunderstood. It’s common to be frustrated by being viewed as artists rather than professionals.
“What exactly do you do again?”
“It must be so fun just to create all day!”
“That’s not really a job-job, though, right?”
We are deemed as easily replaceable by new technologies. We hold it in and let it fester inside of us, building insecurities that replace the community we seek.
Perhaps most disorienting of all is when we’re surrounded by people who appreciate our work but do not value who we are. They love what we create but are indifferent to how we live, what we need, or what it costs us to keep showing up.
These dynamics are subtle. They're rarely cruel on the surface. But they create the same erosion. The same whisper that says:
“Maybe it’s me.”
“Maybe I’m asking for too much.”
“Maybe I’m just not that good.”
The vague ache we feel is often perceived as our fault or failure.
We fear having tough conversations because we may not want to hear the answers. We worry that we might lose our jobs or not be heard. We want to keep the roles we are playing intact because we think that’s safe. We want to remain a part of something, even if that means we must translate ourselves into digestible soundbites. We choose to play small because being expansive might be intimidating or perceived as “too much” or too soon if we have less experience. And then we wonder why this is all happening to us.
The discomfort can force us to stop and listen. Professionally, we sure have a lot of scripts, don’t we? Work environments are filled with quiet agreements to keep playing a role, even when the scene no longer fits.
The tricky part is that it can often feel and seem like the actions of others are imposed upon us, that we have to carry the weight, when the reality is, we don’t have to suffer for the sake of the team. We are responsible for what we create and what we condone, and it’s up to us to decide when a job is worth the effort and when it’s time to grow and move on.
If you are in the wrong relationships (including with yourself, your work, your tools, and the people in your life), the action will burn you out and get you down.
In professional dynamics, we’re cast as the “creative one” who is expected to produce brilliance on demand, but rarely invited into strategic decision-making.
Around non-creatives, we shame our weirdness into hiding to stay palatable.
Around younger creatives, we feel pressure to perform relevance.
Around older creatives, we feel pressure to prove we’ve earned our seat.
We learn to scan the room, anticipate needs, sense the mood, and fill in the blanks. That’s a superpower in some spaces. It’s a slow erosion in others, especially when our authentic voice, our rhythm, our perspective is constantly overwritten.
When you gather the courage to say, “This isn’t working,” you’re not just walking away from a job. You’re breaking free from a system.
This might look like finally leaving a team or client relationship where you were valued only for what you produced, rather than for who you are. It may seem that no longer saying “yes” to collaborations that require emotional labor without offering emotional safety is a good move. It might mean stepping away from mentorships that feel more like control than guidance.
Across generations, this means rewriting the rules of reverence. Respect doesn’t mean obedience. Curiosity doesn’t mean naivety. Innovation doesn’t mean irreverence.
It means recognizing when the narrative no longer reflects your truth, and having the courage to become your narrator again.