Today I resigned from my position as Director of Development at a health care nonprofit.  I have never before resigned like this. I left my last two jobs to give birth to my children and to embark on new work as a stay-at-home mom. This time is different. This time I left without knowing what’s next.

There are many reasons I am where I am. This did not happen spontaneously–perhaps it would be easier if it had been out of the blue. On the work front, the fit was increasingly misaligned. The critical thinker in me questioned too many things–from programmatic execution to over all strategic direction. Eventually, the questions became too loud for me to ignore. I struggled to reconcile my growing discontent with the stubborn desire to accomplish something, to make any kind of progress. I don’t like leaving unfinished business. As a mother, work is time away from my children, so when that work ceases to be meaningful and sustaining, I can no longer justify it. This all explains my departure, but none of it explains the lack of “what next.”

What is next?  I don’t know–acknowledging that is both liberating and utterly terrifying. I don’t do well with ambiguity so you can imagine how nerve-wracking this is for me.  I have always been proud of my nonprofit career, working to advance social change that the private sector has no interest in and that the public sector is too slow to engage. My work, regardless of the specific issue or focus, has always been a part of how I define myself, how I see myself against the backdrop of family and the larger world. Without it, I feel adrift and unsure about who I am.

I am in a position of privilege; I recognize that. I am able to leave my work because Mr. No Nom makes a good living and we are financially secure. More importantly, he supports (encourages, even) my decision to take time off to reflect and take stock. But leaving a paycheck is not easy. Growing up in an immigrant family, the importance of earning a living was always a central focus point. I watched as my family struggled to find financial security. My mother has had a public sector job for decades, relishing the security and passing up riskier opportunities. She also instilled me in a deep belief that a woman must earn her own living, that we should not depend on men. My paycheck, no matter how trifling, represented my independence, my sense of self and purpose. Without it a part of me feels missing–like a numb limb. (I don’t know how I will tell her about this latest development.)

But this is absolutely the right choice for me at the right time. I firmly believe that. But believing it alone does not quell the anxiety in the pit of my stomach, wondering where I will land and when. It has taken much courage for me to make this move for it implicitly means that I am facing questions about what I really want in a career, what work is meaningful for me, and how to balance ambition/family/impact. Many of you would agree that time off is beneficial, but I suspect that many of you would also agree that facing such questions would be terrifying.  But if not now, then when?

Clearly, I did not come to this decision lightly. The past 12 months have been defining for me in ways that I never could have anticipated. Our trip to Vietnam last April liberated something in me, allowing me to appreciate my past without being bound by it. Instead of forever feeling like a daughter caught between two parents and two worlds, I am my own person, free of their grievances and histories. I can do what I want. And last fall I attended an intensive leadership training workshop that put my career under a microscope, making me question what I was doing and why. What I wasn’t doing and why. The revelations were disconcerting. My decision to leave was made in the midst of that training, forcing myself to take an honest look. It took a few more months for me to execute the decision.

Today is not my last day on this job, but it is a significant one nonetheless. I don’t know what I will find on the other side of whenever, but I promise I will let you know when I do. There will be cooking and writing. Maybe I’ll get a sports car. Stick with me for the ride.