Sometimes You Have to Move On

I'm writing this Sunday afternoon, lazy on the couch, with the sound of my little G's video game quietly beeping and singing next to me. It's peaceful, despite the 100-degree weather and horrendous drought that all of Texas has been experiencing.

This blog won't go live until Monday evening, because I haven't yet told everyone who needs to know what my plan is. I've talked to my two uppermost-level managers, but I have one more to go.

I love this image. Right now I feel like the King, even though I've made the move of the Pawn.

I quit.

I have given my two weeks' notice, and I am incredibly at peace. Here are some answers to questions I'm sure I'll either be asked or that people will be wondering.

No, I don't have a new job lined up yet, though I've applied.

No, we aren't PCSing.

Or retiring.

It's just time. The last six months or so have been extremely stressful in an unhealthy way, culminating in this week's drama. I don't want to get into details but those who are closest to me at the office have an idea of what's been going on. And I don't need, or want, to endure any more of it.

I've simply had enough.

I have enjoyed the chance to work with some amazing people over the last two years. Nurses and social workers who assist new parents and answer endless questions about babies and Army life and "what do I DO?" Dedicated Victim Advocates who help people rebuild their shattered lives, but travel in twos to remain safe in the face of unhinged perpetrators. Trainers who tell Soldiers the same information, year after year, because sometimes it works and Soldiers will change their ways or will make that call to end abuse. It's been worth it, and I've been so proud to take part in it.

But there comes a time when each person has to do what is right for their families. And this is right for us. Perhaps I'm burned out. But I feel like the very best is heading my way, and I couldn't be more excited.