Day Twenty Nine - Letting Go Isn’t Quitting: Choosing the Path to Heal

February 5, 2025

It’s been a long and rough night, one of intermiten sleep. One of those nights where the weight of everything—the illness, the decisions, the unknowns—feels almost unbearable. I feel like I’m losing control of my day-to-day life, like I’m barely holding on while everything shifts around me. The waiting, the uncertainty of my chemo plan, the exhaustion—it all piles up. I know it will work itself out and I just need patience

And then there’s the eating. The nonstop chore of eating. It’s no longer about pleasure or sustenance; it’s a work. Every bite makes me feel bloated, uncomfortable, or just plain miserable. Keeping weight on is a battle I don’t feel like fighting. I’m tired of forcing myself to drink protein shakes, tired of always having to think about whether I’ve consumed enough to stay strong. I’m sore. I’m beaten down. I’m just… tired.

But the hardest part? Stepping away from work and choosing a logical path makes the most sense but feels wrong. I’m taking the offer of the fork in the road—the safer, steadier way. Resigning now, retiring in September means stability, a way to cover expenses without the added stress of work, it is enough to carry me through the roughest parts of treatment. Either way, I step away from what I’ve built. I leave behind a career that feels unfinished. (Edited on 02/06/2025) After thoroughly considering the legal uncertainties, potential waiver of rights, lack of guaranteed administrative leave, and the possible implications for future benefits and employment, I concluded that accepting OPM's deferred resignation offer was not in my best interest. Remaining in my current position provides more stability and preserves my rights and benefits as a federal employee. I will retire shortly, but I will not resign or retire today.

I hate that I have to make this decision.

I hate that I feel like I’m quitting when I know deep down I’m not.

I hate that my friends and coworkers may not have jobs in six months and that I won’t be there to help hold things together.

I hate that I feel like I’m walking away when so much still feels unresolved.

It’s been a brutal week, and it’s all coming to a head. My heart aches—for my friends, for my country, for everything I’ve poured my time and energy into.

And yet, even in all of this, I know I have to shift my perspective. I need to find something—anything—to hold onto.

So, here are the silver linings, the little flickers of light in this dark moment:

• I get to fight this battle without the weight of work on my shoulders. As much as I love what I do, my energy needs to go toward healing. No deadlines. No emails. Just me, focusing on getting through this.

• I get time with the people who matter most. My family, my friends—those who love me and want to be there for me. I won’t be squeezing them into the spaces left over after work; they’ll be my priority.

• I have a safety net. Not everyone in my position has options. I do. I have a way forward that keeps me financially stable, even if it’s not the path I envisioned.

• I have a legacy, whether I see it or not. Just because I’m stepping away doesn’t mean everything I’ve built disappears. The work I’ve done, the people I’ve impacted—that all stays. My presence may change, but what I’ve contributed will last.

• This isn’t the end. My path is shifting, but that doesn’t mean I stop having purpose. It just means I have to redefine it. Maybe that’s through writing. Maybe that’s through mentoring. Maybe it’s just in being present for the people who need me most right now.

So yeah, tonight was hard. This decision is painful. But it’s not quitting. It’s making the best choice for myself, even when it hurts. And if that’s the road I have to take, I’ll do it. One step at a time.