Let me start by saying this: I’m lucky enough to have never experienced a loveless marriage. But it’s a story I’ve heard many times – a story about something that once brought joy turning into something that feels empty, painful, and impossible to escape. I can only imagine how heart-achingly difficult it must be.
But while I haven’t been in a loveless marriage, I have experienced something that felt surprisingly similar: that slow, painful realisation of when you no longer love your job – but staying feels easier than leaving.
And yes, some people might say, “It’s just a job.” But for some of us, it’s more than that. When you’ve spent more than a decade with a company, it becomes part of your identity. You give so much of yourself – your time, your energy, your passion – because you believe in it. Until one day, you feel like you’re giving everything and receiving nothing meaningful in return.
It didn’t happen overnight. It was a series of experiences that built up over time, chipping away at my enthusiasm and leaving me feeling disconnected. A job that had once been everything to me became a place where I felt invisible, unappreciated, and disconnected from my own sense of purpose.
Falling in Love with the Perfect Job
At first, it felt like a perfect romance – full of excitement, growth, and admiration. It was like being swept off my feet. I was captivated.
He was the new hot guy in town – the one everyone wanted. Getting a job there felt like winning the lottery, like being chosen by someone completely out of my league. I was infatuated.
The company had an incredible culture, exciting work, and a reputation that made people envious. I gave it everything I had, and in return, I felt like I was getting the best experience of my career.
And to be fair, I was.
For the first few years – maybe four or five – it was everything I’d hoped for. We did everything together. We travelled together, celebrated wins together, and grew together. It was an exhilarating honeymoon phase. I would talk about my work with pride, and my friends would look at me with a mix of envy and admiration.
But then, his success skyrocketed.
He became richer, more powerful, and everyone wanted a piece of him. And with that success, I became less important to him, no longer a partner but just part of the entourage. New faces, fresh talents – I was just one of many.
The First Signs of Falling Out of Love with My Job
Then, the betrayal happened.
A career curveball threw everything off course. The leaders who had supported me and understood what I was capable of were gone. Suddenly, I was alone, trying to prove myself all over again to people who had no idea who I was or what I had contributed.
It felt like being cheated on – like waking up one day and realising I had given everything to something that no longer gave me the same love in return. Worse, there was no one left who cared about my side of the story.
Fighting to Make It Work – But Losing Myself
But I stayed.
Because even if the love was gone, it was still a great company. The money was good, the perks were nice, and it paid for a lifestyle I enjoyed. I was staying for the comfort and stability – because my confidence had taken a hit, and I wasn’t sure I could manage without him.
I tried to reignite the spark, to prove myself again, to make him see me. But the company had changed. It had grown so much that I was just a number. I was fighting for something that had long since moved on without me.
So I did what so many do in loveless marriages – I tried to find meaning in other ways. I poured myself into side projects, explored new passions, and dabbled in creative work, hoping to find a sense of purpose beyond the job that had once been everything to me.
But these weren’t just hobbies. They were where I could give back and feel valued. Where I could make a difference, give love, and feel love. I trained as a Mental Health First Aid instructor, I started writing, and I found ways to help people beyond the walls of that corporate mansion.
A Second Chance That Wasn’t Meant to Last
Just when I thought I might never feel the same way again, a glimmer of hope appeared. A new role, a manager who saw me, valued me, and seemed to understand what I brought to the table.
It was like those couples who try one last romantic getaway, hoping to rediscover their spark. For a moment, I thought we could fix things.
But then, he – the supportive one – was made redundant. Another change. Another loss. And suddenly, I felt lost in the system again, struggling to find my place. It felt like being abandoned all over again – like getting back together only to be ghosted.
But even after the second chance, I stayed. I stayed because I hoped things would get better. I thought maybe I could find my place again. But I never did. I just felt more and more lost in the system, a familiar face fading further into the background.
Realising It Was Time to Leave
I tried everything:
- I went to therapy (literally – EAP sessions).
- I took medication (antidepressants) to push through.
- I spoke to the right people, hoping for change.
- I fought, and fought, and fought.
But nothing changed. The company had grown so much that somewhere along the way, it stopped seeing the individuals who had been there from the beginning. It was like being with someone who knows they can always attract someone new – someone younger, fresher, more eager.
And the new hires? They reminded me of a younger version of myself – wide-eyed and full of hope, still believing this was the perfect match, just like I once did.
My last promotion was nine years ago. I kept giving it my all for at least five of those years, still believing I could make it work. But I was already exhausted.
I had given so much that I had nothing left. Not just for work, but for everything else in my life. I didn’t even have the energy to show up in my friendships or be present with my family the way I wanted to.
Redundancy: The End That Set Me Free
Eventually, I stopped trying. I stopped fighting for something that no longer valued me. I was exhausted from trying to be seen, to be heard, to be chosen again.
When the redundancy came, it felt like the quiet end of a long, broken relationship. No dramatic fights, no slamming doors – just a mutual understanding that we had reached the end. We were two people who had grown apart, still sharing the same space but no longer sharing the same love.
But it wasn’t just an ending. It was a gentle goodbye. A polite exchange of gratitude – “Thank you for everything you’ve done.” A moment of recognition (the Woman of Impact award) – like a parting gift, a final reminder that once, I had mattered.
And then, it was over. No angry words, no blame. A quiet, bittersweet closure. Like an amicable divorce, where both parties walk away with memories but no real desire to keep fighting.
But this time, I walked away knowing I had given everything I could. I had stayed long past the point of happiness, trying to make it work. But now, I was done. It was time to rebuild – to rediscover what I actually wanted.
To figure out who I was without the identity of “us.”
And for the first time in a long time, I felt free.
Final Thoughts: When You No Longer Love Your Job
If you’ve ever stayed in a job (or a relationship) long past the point where it made you happy, you’re not alone.
We stay for many reasons – stability, comfort, fear of the unknown. And sometimes, that’s ok. Not every situation is all good or all bad.
But if you’re constantly fighting to prove your worth, if you feel unseen despite your efforts, if the love you once had has faded into obligation… maybe it’s time to ask yourself:
- Am I staying because I want to, or because I’m afraid to leave?
- If nothing ever changed, would I still choose this?
- Have I done everything in my power to make this work, and am I just forcing something that no longer fits?
Walking away isn’t failure – it’s recognising that you deserve more. More than just a pay-check. More than just being another name on a list. More than being taken for granted.
And even though we grew apart, even though I fought to make it work, a part of me will always love him – the version of him I first fell in love with.
Important note: I want to be clear that I have no hard feelings about my experience or the redundancy. There were so many factors at play – including burnout, my own tendency toward it, menopause, and simply having been there a long time. This post is based on an analogy I used to describe how I felt during a particularly difficult time. I’m sharing it in case it resonates with someone else and helps them feel seen.
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