When Something Feels Off: The December Decision You're Avoiding

I remember the December before I walked away from my 33+-year career in finance and tech. I was sitting at my desk—the same desk I'd sat at for decades—and something was different. Not the office. Not my role. Not the work itself.

Me. I was different.

For 30 years, I'd had the same internal conversation every December. The one where I'd look at my calendar, feel that familiar heaviness, and tell myself the same lies I'd been rehearsing since my twenties: "Who am I to think I could have work-life harmony? I've been told my whole life I'm here to work." "A lot of people are unhappy in their jobs—why should I be any different?" "When did people start thinking they needed to be happy at work? People in the mills didn't expect happiness."

I'd apply for other positions, internal, external, anywhere that promised something different. Then I'd talk myself out of it. Give myself the royal pep talk. Grit my way through. Tell myself it wasn't so bad. Tell myself this is just what success costs.

And nothing would change. Oh, it might shift for a few weeks. But by February, I'd be right back in the same patterns, having the same conversations with myself, waiting for next December to feel different.

But that last December? The conversation finally changed.

Not because I suddenly got brave. Not because the job got worse. Not even because I had a plan.

It changed because I'd spent years doing deep work, confronting beliefs that no longer served me, healing wounds my inner child carried, and releasing anger and grief I didn't even know I was holding. And then my mother died. My narcissistic, controlling mother who'd shaped every belief I had about work, worth, and what I deserved.

That December, for the first time in 33 years, I heard different words: You deserve to rest. You're not a robot. You deserve to be happy and at peace.

And I finally understood: The feeling of "I can't do another year like this" wasn't drama. It was data.

Why This December Feels Different (And It's Not Just You)

If you're reading this in December 2025 and something feels off, more off than usual, you're not imagining it.

This isn't just end-of-year exhaustion. This isn't just holiday stress, performance review anxiety, or the usual "new year, new me" pressure building.

This year is different.

The layoffs that ripped through 2025 left scars. Women you worked with for years—gone. Positions you thought were secure—eliminated. The unspoken message hanging over every team meeting: "You're lucky to still have a job."

And now costs are skyrocketing. Insurance premiums. Groceries. Utilities. The basics aren't basic anymore, they're calculated risks. Every month, you're doing math: Can I afford to stay? Can I afford to leave? Can I afford another year of this?

So when that voice whispers "I can't do another year like this," it's immediately drowned out by a louder, more terrifying voice: "But what if you don't have a choice?"

Here's what I need you to understand: That "something feels different" feeling? It's not a weakness. It's not ingratitude. It's not privilege or entitlement or any of the other words we use to shame ourselves into staying quiet.

It's your system telling you something critical that fear is trying to drown out.

The Truth Bomb: Paralysis Is Also a Decision (And Often the Most Dangerous One)

In my 33 years of getting career advice, I noticed a pattern: people either told me to be bold and quit or to be grateful and stay. Nobody helped me figure out how to make a clear-headed decision when I was terrified.

The "just quit!" advice ignored mortgages, healthcare, and reality. The "be grateful you have a job!" advice ignored the cost of what staying was doing to my health, my peace, my sense of self.

Both missed the point entirely.

Here's what no one tells you: When you're terrified and can't make a decision, you're still making a decision. You're deciding to let fear choose for you.

And fear is a terrible decision-maker. Fear doesn't care about your long-term well-being. Fear doesn't do strategic thinking. Fear just wants you to freeze until the immediate threat passes.

But here's the problem: When the "immediate threat" is your career slowly destroying your health, your relationships, your sense of self, freezing doesn't make you safer. It makes you sicker.

I spent 33 years letting fear make my decisions. Fear told me that staying was safer than leaving. Fear told me that the devil I knew was better than the uncertainty I didn't. Fear told me that "unhappy but employed" beat "unemployed but free."

Fear lied.

The year I finally left wasn't the year I stopped being afraid. It was the year I learned to tell the difference between fear that protects and fear that paralyzes.

How to Make Clear-Headed Decisions When You're Terrified

In 2025, with everything feeling uncertain, you need a framework for decision-making that acknowledges fear without being controlled by it.

Here's what actually works:

1. Separate "scared because it's risky" from "scared because staying is killing me"

Not all fear signals danger. Sometimes fear signals change and your nervous system can't tell the difference.

Ask yourself: When I imagine staying in this role for another year, what happens in my body? Tension? Relief? Dread? Resignation?

Then ask: When I imagine leaving (even without knowing what's next), what happens? Terror? Excitement? Both?

Your body knows the difference between protective fear and paralyzing fear. Protective fear says, "Slow down, think this through, make a plan." Paralyzing fear says, "Freeze, don't move, any change is dangerous."

2. Audit what "staying safe" is actually costing you

In 2025, staying feels like the safe choice. You have a paycheck. You have benefits. You have something.

But what's it costing?

• Your health? (Are you actually sleeping? Eating well? Moving your body? Or just surviving?)
• Your relationships? (Are you present with people you love? Or just getting through?)
• Your sense of self? (Do you recognize yourself anymore? Or are you performing a role?)

I stayed 33 years because I thought I was being responsible. But the cost of that "safety" was my peace, my health, my joy, my authenticity. By the time I left, I was paying a higher price to stay than I would have paid to leave.

3. Name the lies you're telling yourself

For 33 years, I told myself:

• "I need to learn how to separate work from life" (Translation: I need to learn to tolerate being miserable)
• "You've survived worse" (Translation: Your bar for acceptable is trauma, not thriving)
• "I don't know what I want, so I should play it safe" (Translation: Uncertainty about the future means accepting the certainty of suffering)

What are your lies? The ones you rehearse every December? The pep talks that keep you stuck?

Write them down. Then ask: Are these truths, or are these just the stories I've been telling myself because I'm scared?

4. Reframe the question from "What should I do?" to "What clarity do I need?"

You don't need to decide whether to stay or leave by January 1st.

You need clarity on what you're actually choosing and why.

December isn't a deadline. It's a pause. A moment when the busyness stops long enough for you to hear what you've been avoiding all year.

Use it. Not to pressure yourself into a decision, but to get honest about what decision you're already making by default.

What Your Nervous System Is Trying to Tell You

Here's what neuroscience actually shows: Your brain is wired to prioritize short-term safety over long-term well-being. It's an evolutionary feature, not a bug.

But in 2025, the "threats" aren't saber-toothed tigers. They're layoffs, inflation, uncertainty, systemic instability. Chronic stressors that keep your nervous system in permanent activation.

When you've been in survival mode all year (or for years), your system can't tell the difference between:

• Real danger (this decision will harm you)
• Perceived danger (this decision feels uncomfortable)
• Learned danger (you've been taught to fear this)

That "something feels off" sensation? It's your system trying to get your attention. It's saying: This chronic stress is not sustainable. Something needs to change.

But fear immediately translates that to: Don't change anything. Change is dangerous.

The work is learning to hear the signal under the noise.

Why December Matters (Even If You Don't Make a Decision)

I'm not telling you to quit your job by New Year's.

I'm telling you to stop letting December pass while pretending everything is fine.

Because here's what happens when you ignore the signal: You go back in January. You tell yourself, "new year, fresh start." You convince yourself it'll be different this time.

And by February, you're exactly where you were last December. Same exhaustion. Same resentment. Same "I can't do another year like this" feeling that you'll ignore again until next December.

I did that for 33 years. Each December, I felt it. Each January, I silenced it. Each year, the cost got higher.

Until the December, when I finally listened.

Not because I had a plan. Not because I had another job lined up. Not because I stopped being afraid.

Because I finally understood: The conversation I'd been having with myself for 33 years, the lies, the pep talks, the gritting through, wasn't protecting me. It was killing me.

And the most dangerous decision I could make was no decision at all.

The Question December Is Asking You

You don't have to know what you want by January.

You don't have to have a five-year plan or a backup job or perfect clarity.

But you do need to answer this: Am I more afraid of leaving, or am I more afraid of another year exactly like this one?

Because whichever fear is bigger, that's the decision you're making.

If you're more afraid of leaving, you'll stay. And that's okay, as long as it's a conscious choice, not a paralyzed default.

If you're more afraid of another year like this, you'll start moving toward something different. And that's okay too, even if you don't know exactly what "different" looks like yet.

But you have to choose. Because not choosing is choosing fear.

And fear doesn't care about your happiness, your health, or your future. Fear just wants you to stay exactly where you are.

Journal Prompt

Sit with this question, Beautiful Soul:

If I knew that staying in this role for another year would cost me my health, my peace, or my sense of self, would that change my decision? And if the answer is yes, what does that tell me about the decision I'm actually making right now?

What Comes Next

If you go back in January without addressing this, without understanding what this feeling is actually telling you, here's what will happen: You'll have the same conversation with yourself next December. The same exhaustion. The same resentment. The same "I can't do another year like this" that you'll ignore again.

I ignored it for 33 years. Each December, I felt it. Each January, I silenced it. And each year, the cost got higher.

Don't let fear make this decision for you. Book a Strategy Call before you go back in January—because the most dangerous choice is pretending everything is fine.

Related Reading:

• Why Am I Stuck in My Career? The Real Reason Your Success Strategies Stopped Working
• The Identity Shift That Changes Everything
• Feeling Stuck in Career? I'll Tell You Why (And It's Not What Your HR Department Says)