The grief nobody warns you about.

Hey honeys and hustlers,

Today, I’m bringing you some words from Lee Griffith, the writer behind the Unlearning Life newsletter. When she’s not freelancing, she’s hanging out in the Hype Yourself VIP group with me and other awesome human beings, which is how we met. If you’ve hung out on Substack Notes for any amount of time, you might have come across the term “portfolio career.” And while the term caught buzz for a good reason, what we talk about even less is what it feels like to step away from the portfolio you built during your corporate career. If you’ve gone freelance and ever wondered whether the grief you’re feeling is a call to return to a salaried position, this article is for you.

P.S. Thanks to everyone who is sharing the newsletter with folks who would enjoy it and benefit from this community. And welcome to our newest subscribers! Check out the Creator Database and meet other folks who are creating awesome work.

At the beginning of this year, I got a renewal notice from the public relations professional body that had defined my professional expertise for over 25 years. My degree, my postgrad qualifications and my career in corporate communications all connected back to it. Even though six years had passed since I’d left the corporate world, and I had no use for the subscription in my business, I’d never been able to cut that final thread. As I considered what to do- keep paying the subscription or finally admit I’d left the industry once and for all- I realized it wasn’t so much about saying goodbye to a membership; it was about saying goodbye to who I used to be. And that opened a whole box of emotions I hadn’t realized I was storing. The strangest of all was grief. Before I explain, let me take you back a bit…

When I finally left corporate in 2019, I was exhausted. I went silent. Disappeared. I had no plan, and I didn't want anything to force me to think about what I was going to do next. Life lifed. COVID struck. I continued running away from what I was doing before, while watching all of Netflix. Eventually I landed on my next thing. I retrained as a coach and started my own business. I thought this was going to give me freedom. A chance to explore and be creative. 

The first couple of years felt like I was playing at being a business owner; ignoring the warning signs that something didn’t feel right. I did everything the marketing bros and Insta gurus told me I should do to be visible and find clients. But I wasn’t trusting myself. Then I got the ick, big-time. It made me want to rip it all up and start again.

All those rules I’d been following as a new business owner were making me feel like I wasn't cut out for it. In corporate, I had structure, a place in an organization, and specific training, all of which gave me legitimacy. What was my entrepreneurial equivalent? I didn't have one.

Holding onto the old identity meant I set higher expectations for my business than it needed. I was running it like I would a multimillion-pound organization. And I doubted how transferable my skills were.

So I started to unlearn my business, questioning the decisions, actions, and beliefs I’d been blindly following, and deciding whether they were true for me. I didn’t realize it would mean I’d have to unlearn who I was as a person as well… 

That’s what I was doing when the membership renewal landed. At a point when I was questioning whether I should continue with my own business or go back to what I once knew well. It took me a while to work out why I’d held on for so many years. The membership was the only thing that acknowledged that I used to be and do something. It said I hadn't disappeared; I was still relevant. Without that connection, I’d be no-one again. The thought of canceling felt like throwing away years of hard work.

In divorcing myself from my past career, and the way I did it, I never took the time to process things. To celebrate. Recognize all it had given me –safety, clarity, belonging, legitimacy – and all I had given to it. I was so very tired. I wanted to forget. But it seems IT didn't want to forget me. 

Yet I wasn’t mourning what I once had because I wanted to go back there. Far from it. The previous years had proven to me that I made the right decision to walk away. But sometimes, especially when I was so far out of my comfort zone, I wanted the old me back by my side. The one who just knew what to do. Who had authority. Who could make things happen. My work then spoke for itself; I didn't have to convince anyone. Now I was building legitimacy from scratch. And the rules that once served me no longer worked. 

So I grieved the confidence of past me who didn't have to overthink. I grieved the person who had the receipts to show she knew what she was doing. I grieved the version of me who didn't need to build her credibility in public. It feels strange to associate grief with something that I chose to walk away from. But I'm realizing it's not a contradiction. Something can be right once and wrong now.I eventually canceled the membership and was underwhelmed by their response. I’d attached my whole career to this identity, and they saw me as a number, not a person. That was probably the strongest signal that I’d done the right thing in walking away. And it wasn’t just me; those around me were also navigating my new identities. 

Some tried to keep me back in the box they once knew, referring to what I did, not what I offer now. Some sent opportunities (and job opportunities) that past me would have embraced, but I had no interest in pursuing them today. For a while, that fed the doubt about going back. Maybe they thought I wasn’t cut out to be an entrepreneur? In fact, I now see that they have their own grief, thoughts, and beliefs to process. It's their problem, not mine.

I’m still unlearning my business and my life. And one thing I’ve realized is that I don’t need to land on one specific identity. That’s a neat box you’re led to believe you must fit yourself into, making it easier for someone else. Leaving corporate wasn’t about fitting myself into another box. I'm creative. I write. I coach. And all of that can be true. Being me is the job title.

I'd been borrowing other people's rules to fill the gap where my legitimacy used to be. I didn't need to know or be more. I needed to start writing my own rulebook. My knowledge and experience got me here; it's not deleted because I stopped paying my subscription. You can keep what’s gone before without keeping the identity. What identity are you grieving, even if you know it no longer fits?