The Stages of Grief: Career Edition

As I reported two posts ago, I finally quit complaining about my life and its lack of direction and I made a big move. I took a new job. My immediate reaction to Villanova University's offer was great excitement. Seconds after that my stomach dropped to my knees and I whispered "Dear God, what have I done?" Naturally I was nervous at the thought of starting something new, but bigger than that was my fear of losing what I had.

American Baptist Home Mission Societies/Judson Press is like the Hotel California (albeit without the wine):

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Seriously, no one ever leaves this place. Twenty-plus years of employment is perfectly normal. Thirty isn't unheard of. Why should anyone quit when 99% of your coworkers and supervisors are really good people? And it's family-friendly with the flexibility a mom like me needs? And the work is literally about changing lives? And did I mention they have a retirement benefit that's to die for? Actually, it's to live for.

Even before telling my HR director and my boss that I was leaving, I entered the Four Stages of Grief (Career Edition).

DENIAL:
No, this isn't really happening. If I just don't tell anyone, then it won't be real. I'll conduct business as usual. Attend and contribute in meetings. I'll even respond to those emails and phone calls I've been avoiding. Yes, it will all be fine. (Note: Denial works well until your soon-to-be new employer outs you to your current employer by calling to verify your employment there. Can you say "awkward?")

DEPRESSION:
Yikes, depression is what got me into this mess in the first place. Now I feel worse. How can I feel worse? I got what I wanted. I should be thrilled. Why aren't I over the moon? People congratulate me and note how excited I must be and I have to conjur up my fake happy face to agree with them. Of course, most of the time I just break down and confess that I'm still waiting for the excitement to hit. Sometimes I just break down, period. Friends must think I'm insane to be so upset. This makes no sense whatsoever. Why can't I just be normal? (As if I haven't been asking myself that question for the last 35 years).

ACCEPTANCE:
It's okay. This will be good for me. A chance to grow personally and professionally. I'll make new friends. And it's not like I won't see my Judson Press friends. We'll keep in touch. And I can always stalk them keep tabs on criticize my replacement stay familiar with their projects via my their JP blog and my their JP Facebook page and my their JP e-newsletters.

While not officially recognized as a stage of grief by the American Psychological Association, there's a little something extra I experience during times of major transition. I like to call it:

ILLUSIONS OF IRREPLACEABILITY
Symptons include:

• Secretly hoping that those you've left behind are absolutely miserable without you
• Accepting that this other person/organization is no longer part of your life, but not wanting anyone to replace you
• Fantasizing that your replacement fails miserably in any attempt to fill your shoes
• Praying you will be remembered as the best girlfriend student church usher pancake maker marketing director ever 

I am officially no longer an employee of the American Baptist Home Mission Societies and Judson Press. I shed a great many tears on my last day in the office, but I have reached the point of acceptance and figure I'm well on my way to visions of irreplaceability. In less than 36 hours I will find myself on Villanova's campus, ready to start the next stage of my life and career. Wish me luck.