I thought making the decision to leave would be the most difficult. After a particularly rough week, and the realization that I was starting to show signs of anxiety and depression, I decided to put in my two weeks notice, backup job be damned.
But it was as if he knew it was coming. For nine straight days, we either did not work the same day or he would have already ducked out by the time I came in for my shift. Literally nine days. Okay technically eight… the ninth day I was given the day off to take care of a foot injury fiasco.
Today we finally sat down, face to face, and had the conversation I’d been wanting to have… not the uncertain phone call that he cornered me with on Sunday (he suspected I was planning to leave and I was upset that I showed my hand). This time it went much smoother. A clean break. The 30th is my last day.
Now I can breathe a huge sigh of relief. The hardest part is over. Everything else will fall into place.