Exit Wounds:

The 5 Stages of Leaving a Job

Last week I left a job I was in for nearly eight years. While for some people that is just a blip, for me it was the longest time that I have spent anywhere.

I’ve learned that when you hand back your lanyard, clean out your desk drawer (how many pens do I need?), and hug your favourite colleagues goodbye, a kind of grief bubbles up. It’s there—woven into the sense of identity you’ve built, the community you belonged to, the students whose names you’ll never forget, and the version of you that you became while you were there.

No one tells you that even when you’re leaving on good terms — towards a job you’re excited about there is a subtle disorientation, like your internal GPS hasn’t quite caught up with the change.

It seems to me that this is the part of work that we don’t often talk about. We talk about job burnout, getting promoted, quitting the jobs that make us miserable. But we don’t often talk about what it’s like to leave a role you liked.

New Beginnins

The job I left

I was a Learning Support Coordinator in a New Zealand school, a role that sits somewhere between SENCo (Special Educational Needs Coordinator, for those in the UK) and case manager (for those of you in the US). I worked with students who learn differently, alongside their families, teachers, and all the professionals that orbit education: Ed Psychs, SLTs, OTs, and a thousand other acronyms. It was work I cared (care) deeply about. Work I like to think I was good at.

Working at this school gave my days shape during some of the most disorienting chapters of my life — the loss of my mum, surgery, the Covid years. When everything else in my life felt uncertain or raw, school was a kind of anchor. I could show up, be useful, focus on someone else’s needs.

As I have written before there is a time for stillness and inaction, but eventually, stillness can start to feel a bit like… stagnation. One day, I caught myself thinking, If I stay much longer, I might just retire here. And not in a peaceful, life-well-lived kind of way, more in a “wait, how did that happen?” kind of way. It was a strangely motivating thought. I realised I wasn’t done yet. There’s still more I want to do, more people to work alongside, more ideas to test. I didn’t want comfort to become a full stop.

So, as a result I am stepping into a new role as an RTLB — a Resource Teacher: Learning and Behaviour. I’m still working alongside the learners who ask us to see differently. The ones who don’t fit the mould, and gently reveal the limitations of the mould itself. But this time, I’ll be working across different schools, in a role that invites more movement. The work is still human. Still grounded in inclusion and compassion. Just with a broader view and, hopefully, a little more room to grow.

I know this is the right next step for me. However, that hasn’t made it any less strange to leave behind a place, great colleagues (and friends), and a day-to-day flow that I knew so well it almost felt like second nature.What has surprised me most was the quiet, persistent feeling that followed: not regret exactly, but something closer to loss.

Over the past eight weeks, ever since I handed in my notice, I’ve found myself thinking about Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief. Not because this is on par with losing someone, of course it isn’t, but because leaving something familiar, something that anchored you through life’s messier moments, can stir up its own quiet kind of mourning. Sadness for what you’re letting go of, even when you’re moving toward something good.

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So, here are the five stages of leaving a job grief, as experienced by me!

1. The Polite Denial Phase (Weeks 1–3)

You tell people you’re leaving. They’re kind and supportive. You’re experiencing a mild euphoria akin to when you’ve just booked a holiday to somewhere tropical. “I’ll still be around!” you tell everyone, although this is really just to reassure yourself! You keep doing your job like nothing’s changing, except you start putting a few things in folders labelled for whoever’s next.

2. The Resentful “Why Is Everything Still Happening Without Me?” Phase (Weeks 4–5)

You’re suddenly not looped into planning meetings. Someone else has been asked to take on a project that would have normally been given to you. You start irrationally resenting the school calendar for continuing past your final day.

3. The Sentimental Spiral (Week 6–7)

You find an old student note in your drawer. Someone says, “You really made a difference,” and your throat gets tight. You remember the little things. The plushie a student made for you, the unexpected thank-you card left on your desk, the parent who quietly handed you a gift to say thank you. It hits you that you were part of a small, close-knit world, more connected than you’d admitted to yourself. You are constantly one nice comment away from tearing up, and you are constantly wondering if you could ask for your old job back.

4. The Anti-Climax (Final Week)

The last week arrives. You wear something vaguely nicer than usual. You make a short speech at the morning meeting and try not to sound like a TED Talk.
You drive home, and it’s… fine. Quiet.
You wonder if you were supposed to feel more, or less, or different.
You don’t cry. But you also can’t start thinking about next thing yet without getting emotional.

5. The Acceptance ( just after you’ve left)

I haven’t started my new position yet; I’m on a two-week break beforehand. There’s anticipation for the future, but also a strange sensation of leaving one identity behind without fully stepping into the next. At the moment, I’m focusing on taking it easy and preparing for what’s next: meeting new colleagues, facing new challenges, and acquiring new skills. The sense of loss isn’t about sadness, but about adjusting to a changed sense of self, now that I’ve moved on from that previous role.

Leaving a job isn’t just a career move, it’s a shift in identity, routine, and belonging. The five stages don’t always arrive in order, and sometimes they loop back when you least expect it. But like all grief it reminds you that what you have left behind mattered.