Quitting Can Be Courage

On burnout, sunk costs, and why sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away.

I am the kind of person who stays too long.

Too long in bad relationships.

Too long in unfulfilling jobs.

Too long in one-sided friendships.

I’m the “in for a penny, in for a pound” type — loyal to a fault. And for a while, I could see this project becoming another one of those things.

When I started Ditch Stress — not only as a website, but also as a Substack and a podcast — I attacked it with all my usual zest. I love a new project, and I get a lot out of doing something full throttle. BUT I started to burn out pretty quickly. Creating at full speed was ironically stressing me out.

Photo by hayleigh b on Unsplash

So I backed up, and focused only on writing. I started to try sharing my work on the Substack feed, at work, with anyone I was chatting with. It was very slow going, but I did get a tiny bit of traction. But then, that started to fade…

I found that my blog had become lifeless. No matter how much energy I poured into research, writing, or finding the perfect photo, it just wasn’t enough. My ideas never caught on. But I kept on grinding even though all the signs were there: This project didn’t have wings.

Soon I found I was writing without my usual zest and joy. I kept finding new topics, writing about them, and then watching my work fall into the void. I kept wanting to quit, but I was scared.

Why It’s Hard to Leave When It Used to Be Good

In the beginning, it felt alive. The ideas flowed. The mission felt clear. I believed I was building something that would grow.

But almost two years later, I remember sitting down to write on a Tuesday morning, staring at a blank screen, feeling my stomach knot up—and thinking, ‘This is supposed to help people feel less stressed.’

And that got me curious: Why was I so afraid to leave a project that was going nowhere?

Because for a while, it used to be good. And abandoning something that worked can be hard.

When I thought about it, there were lots of reasons I kept staying. First, identity attachment. The blog had become part of who I was, and leaving it felt like losing a piece of myself.

Sunk cost bias was also a big player. I’d invested so much time, energy, and heart. Walking away from it felt like wasting it. And fear of regret loomed large: What if I regret this? My worried mind looked at an uncertain future, and didn’t like what it saw. What if I was so close to success?

And lastly, grief. Leaving the blog felt like watching a dream quietly die.

And yet, despite knowing all this, I kept telling myself...

The Fairytale of “Don’t Quit — You’re One Step Away”

There’s a long-held belief that if you just keep going, eventually it will work.

And I wouldn’t even disagree with that.

We love the story of the person who almost quit — but didn’t. The one who pushed one more day and found success waiting around the corner.

And sometimes, that story is true.

But as Tony Robbins said:

“Stay committed to your outcome, but flexible in your approach.”

Photo by Ross Findon on Unsplash

There are times to keep going, and there are times to redirect that energy to a new approach.

There is a Buddhist teaching: “Don’t Carry the Boat After You’ve Crossed the River“

The metaphor goes something like:

If you use a raft to cross a river, you don’t pick it up and carry it on your back once you reach the other side.

The raft was necessary and it served its purpose.

But once you’ve crossed, holding onto it becomes a burden.

It’s okay to walk away.

And if you’re holding onto something that has already carried you as far as it can, maybe this is your quiet permission to set it down.

I want to be clear, this isn’t about starting something and quitting right away. This is about grinding endlessly when the joy is gone.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I built Ditch Stress to help people let go of what drains them—and here I was, clinging to something that was draining me.

The most aligned thing I could do was practice what I’d been preaching all along.

So this is me setting the raft down.

I have been so honoured to write for the fine folks who have been reading my work and supporting me. I want to thank each and every one of you who made my corner of the world a little brighter.

I’ve got some new projects in mind, so hopefully we will run into each other again.

“There is a time for departure, even when there’s no certain place to go.” — Tennessee Williams