I quit.

I helped a friend draft a letter of resignation. 

It's exactly what they want to say, but I'm guessing they'll do some major editing before submitting it. In fact, they're probably only gonna use the first line.

Dear [Boss],

I’m resigning from my position, effective [date].

If this comes as a surprise, it says more about the state of leadership here than I know how to explain politely.

I'm leaving because I care enough about the rest of my life to stop donating it to a workplace that has mistaken endurance for engagement.

I want to spend my time doing things that don't require a twelve-person meeting to determine whether an email should be sent. I want to work somewhere that understands that “urgent” is supposed to be an occasional adjective, not a permanent operating system. I want to be around people who understand that creativity needs oxygen, that good ideas rarely emerge from exhausted people staring at dashboards, and that human beings are not software licenses that can simply be reassigned when someone leaves.

Most importantly, I want to remember what it feels like to finish a day without mentally drafting my resignation letter.

For years you’ve told me I’m a “team player,” which I eventually learned means I’m willing to do the work of three people while being thanked for my “flexibility.” If you could’ve, you would’ve rated me “exceeds” on “exploitability” … you love the way I absorb disfunction quietly.  In my last review, you asked, “What do I think I’ve improved on this past year?” My answer: “My ability to pivot in dynamic situations.” I worded that carefully to avoid saying: “My ability to survive the absolute chaotic clusterfuck of your creation.”

I’ve pivoted, adapted, collaborated, reprioritized, embraced ambiguity, and demonstrated resilience. Although these were presented as professional development opportunities, they were just increasingly creative ways of saying, “We’re intentionally not staffing properly and exploiting the current team, expecting them to suck it up and grin and bear it.”

This organization has dashboards, metrics, performance frameworks, strategic priorities, and enough corporate vocabulary to launch a satellite, yet somehow remains unable to identify the obvious: people eventually stop tolerating being overworked, under-resourced, and undervalued.

I’ve raised concerns. I’ve adapted. I’ve solved problems I didn’t create. I’ve cleaned up messes I didn’t make. And every time I did, the system learned the same lesson: [First Name] can handle it. Well, now I’m going to stop handling it. I'm done. This organization is just not my cup of tea (I don’t take my tea with large chunks of shit in it).

So “Goodbye, Boss” and congratulations to you: You get to graduate from “boss” to “some asshole I used to work for.”

Respectfully,

[First Name]

_________________________

If you see a resignation in your future, feel free to use this to leave your position with flare.