“Just Quit”: How Privilege Shapes Career Decisions
Few pieces of professional advice irk me more than, “You should just quit.” I, and many others, have received this advice in frustrating, draining, overwhelming, or downright toxic job situations. It usually comes from one of two types of people:
People who listen enough to understand that quitting isn’t a realistic option and are just being facetious.
People who neither understand nor care to understand how absurd that advice is for many people.
In my case, my siblings and I have been financially responsible for ourselves since legal adulthood. To give you some perspective, allow me to share how my parents handled a professional move abroad and home after college. One parent’s stern final words during our goodbye were, “So you’re going to Spain. Well, don’t call me when you need money for underwear.” The other parent, a few weeks before my return stateside when I had logistics and accommodations sorted, hesitantly informed me that it would be okay to stay with them—but only for two weeks, and after that, I’d need to start paying rent. (Believe me, if you’re thinking, “I’m sure in reality they would have”—don’t. There are plenty of other examples confirming that what they said was exactly what they meant.) This is not to victimize myself, but rather give some perspective in how some people navigate adulthood from even the earliest years.
Given my experience, you can imagine how perplexing it is when a client or friend tells me they’re being questioned and often judged by someone in their life for not just quitting a toxic job or company. I understand that this advice generally comes from a place of concern, support, or righteous indignation, but it also comes from a place of privilege. If your immediate reaction to someone else’s professional situation is to tell them just to quit, it is likely you have access to a pretty solid safety net. But, telling someone to “just quit” without considering their actual circumstances? It’s tone deaf at best, especially in turbulent job markets like today.
To be clear, I have “just quit” two jobs in my lifetime—and by “just quit” it means that I didn’t have another position lined up. Yes, it sounds pretty privileged and is in a lot of ways. But, both times, I was financially and logistically well-prepared, and it was borderline necessary given the state of my mental, physical, and/or emotional health and the impacts on my loved ones.
My first “just quit” experience was in my late twenties when I was recently single, renting, living in a town that made me miserable, and working in an environment that a professional mentor described as “a tomb” when they visited. Quitting my job meant uprooting my life, relocating to the Midwest, living in my brother’s home office, losing access to healthcare, deferring student loans (again), and burning through savings I had spent years building—which, as an entry-level nonprofit employee, took serious time and effort to accumulate.
The second time I “just quit” was a situation I had never actually prepared for. It was my third position in five years at a hypocritical organization with a lot of amazing people but with toxic, gaslighting leadership. I was beyond burned out and recently married. Sitting there for the umpteenth time in tears, trying to figure it all out, my amazing husband said, “If you want to get out, do it. I can financially support us. You can just quit.” The thought had never occurred to me because it was my responsibility to help support my now growing family.
It took months of resistance and many attempts to reframe and retry, but for the sake of my health and my marriage, I did. I just quit. That said, in doing so, it was because I had access to my husband's health insurance, zero student debt, and enough savings that, in addition to scaling back, we could swing it for a year or two on just his salary. I didn’t have to uproot my life, give up access to the healthcare I rely on, crash on a sibling’s sofa, or spend every waking minute frantically applying to jobs. “Just quitting” was magical, disorienting, overwhelming, surreal, and would not have been possible as a single person in my position.
When you live in the U.S., where we have limited and dysfunctional social services, skyrocketing costs of living, crushing medical and student debt, employer-tied healthcare, etc., just quitting is often not an option. Hate your boss? Suck it up; rent or mortgages still need to be paid. Stuck in a toxic workplace? Tough luck; student loan interest is piling up, and you’re barely impacting the principal as is. Thinking about freelancing or starting your own business? Fingers crossed that you’re one of those “six figures in my first month” success stories—otherwise, good luck affording healthcare. It’s not to say people don’t just quit and figure it out all the time. But it’s a gamble that many people can’t take, especially if they are caretaking others.
So, no matter how well-intended or how annoyed you are hearing someone vent about their job, unless you’re ready to step in with a big ole bag of cash, the “Why don’t you just quit?” question is neither helpful nor realistic for many. Here are some things you can ask instead:
Can I bring or buy you dinner tonight?
Does your workplace offer coaching or an Employee Assistance Program (EAP)?
Why don’t we do some free activities so we can both put away a few more dollars?
Do you need help brainstorming your next move?
Can I watch the kids/walk the dog so you can apply for that job?
Would it be useful to introduce you to some people in my network?
What kind of jobs/positions should I keep an eye/ear out for?
Are you looking for me to just listen, or are we actively problem-solving?
What do you need from me right now?
A crappy job is already miserable enough without someone offering empty, unrealistic advice. So be a good friend, colleague, coach, peer, or human—and recognize that not everyone has the privilege of job and career choice. Unfortunately, sometimes, the only way out is through.
Until next time, y’all be supportive out there.
