It was just another Tuesday morning when she clicked āPost.ā Her hands trembled slightly, her heart pounding louder than the sound of the rain against her window. The caption read simply:
āThis is goodbye š More details in the link in the comments.ā
Within seconds, the post began to gather reactionsālikes, sad faces, hearts, question marks. But no one knew the full story. Not yet.
To most people, Maya lived a picture-perfect life. From curated beachside selfies to candlelit dinner photos, her feed was something out of a lifestyle magazine. But behind the filters and fake smiles, she was slowly unraveling.
Three years ago, she moved to a new city to chase a dreamāa digital marketing job in a firm that promised āfamily-likeā culture and āflexible work-life balance.ā The reality was long hours, endless revisions, fake smiles in team meetings, and a slow but steady erosion of her mental health. Her closest friends didnāt know she often cried in the bathroom at work. Even fewer knew she had started questioning her entire purpose.
Maya tried to make it work. She joined yoga classes. She bought self-help books. She even tried journalingāwriting down affirmations and goals. But each attempt felt like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.
Then came the breaking point.
One night, after another āemergencyā client pitch that kept her in the office past midnight, she returned home to find her apartment broken into. Nothing was stolenāat least not visiblyābut something inside her shattered completely. She looked around at the overturned cushions, the broken lamp, and realized: āI donāt feel safe anymore. Not in this job. Not in this city. Not in this life.ā
The next morning, she sent an email to HR with the subject line: āImmediate Resignation.ā
No explanations. No notice. Justā¦ goodbye.
And now, sitting on the floor of her half-packed apartment, she posted what would be her final updateāfor now.
āThis is goodbye šā
The link in the comments? It led to a simple blog post on her personal site titled āStarting Over: Why I Chose Myself.ā
In it, she finally opened up. About the burnout. About the loneliness. About the creeping anxiety and the realization that no job or lifestyle was worth sacrificing her peace for.
āIām not running away,ā she wrote. āIām choosing to begin again. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere slower. Somewhere I can remember how to breathe.ā
She didnāt name the company. She didnāt blame anyone. But the pain in her words was unmistakable.
By the end of the week, her post had gone semi-viral. Messages poured ināsome from strangers who said they were inspired, others from old friends who admitted they, too, had felt the same way but were too scared to walk away.
Maya didnāt respond to most of them. She had booked a one-way train ticket to a small coastal town where Wi-Fi was spotty and the only thing louder than the wind was the crashing of the waves.
She wasnāt sure what would come nextāa book, a new job, maybe even a complete reinvention. But for now, she was content to sit by the shore and let the silence heal her.
The profile that once buzzed with brand collaborations, hashtags, and ācontent dropsā was now quiet.
But in her silence, there was strength.
And for
the first time in years, Maya felt free.
