You know, sometimes you pull a card and it just stares back at you, not with mystery, but with a big, fat mirror. That’s how it felt when I got the Reversed 8 of Cups. It wasn’t a question, it was practically an accusation. “What are you doing? Why are you still here?” My gut just twisted up.
I remember sitting there, deck spread out, and seeing that upside-down eight of cups. The upright one, that’s about walking away, leaving behind what doesn’t serve you, going off on a journey, right? Well, reversed, it felt like I was trying to walk away, but my feet were glued to the floor. Or worse, I’d packed my bags, walked out the door, and then somehow ended up right back inside, staring at the same old mess I thought I’d escaped. It was a nasty feeling of being stuck, truly stuck.
For me, at that time, it was definitely about a work situation. Not a bad job, not even a toxic one, but it was just… stale. It didn’t challenge me anymore, didn’t spark anything. I knew, deep down, I was ready for something new, something more. But every time I thought about making a move, my brain threw up a thousand reasons not to. “What if the next one is worse? What if I fail? What if I can’t find anything better?” All that fear just paralyzed me.
So, the card hit me hard. It wasn’t asking “What does this mean?” It was asking, loud and clear, “What the hell are you going to do about it, old man?” And that question echoed for days. I tried to ignore it, tuck the card away, but it kept popping into my head.
I knew I had to stop just thinking about leaving and actually do something. That was the turning point. I had to kick myself into gear. Here’s what I started doing, step-by-step:
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First, I forced myself to really see the situation for what it was. No more sugar-coating. I grabbed a pen and paper – old school, I know – and just started writing down everything that made me unhappy about the job. Not just the big stuff, but the little annoyances too. The dull meetings, the same old tasks, the feeling of my brain turning to mush. I wrote down the fears too, all those “what ifs” that were holding me back. Seeing them on paper made them feel a bit less scary, a bit more manageable.
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Next, I started small, internal resistance. Instead of just automatically saying “yes” to every extra task that came my way, I started asking myself if it truly benefited me or if it was just adding to my stagnation. Sometimes I’d say “no” or “I’ll get to it later.” It felt weird at first, like I was being rebellious, but it was really just me taking back some control.
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Then, I started actively looking, but quietly. I dusted off my old resume, which was a laugh, it was so outdated. I started tweaking it, thinking about what I actually wanted to do. I didn’t tell anyone at work, didn’t even tell most of my family. It was my secret mission. I browsed job boards, just to see what was out there. It wasn’t about applying right away, but about getting a feel for the landscape, breaking out of my bubble.
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A big one was talking it out with a trusted friend. Someone who wouldn’t just tell me what I wanted to hear, but would listen and give honest feedback. I laid out all my fears, all my hopes. Just saying it all out loud, getting it out of my head, was a huge relief. It made the whole thing feel more real, and less like just a vague anxiety.
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Finally, I set a loose deadline for myself. Not a rigid one, because life happens, but a mental target. “By X date, I need to have at least applied to Y number of places,” or “By this time next year, I want to be somewhere else.” It gave me something to work towards, a light at the end of the tunnel.
The actual act of leaving didn’t happen overnight. It took months of gradual effort, some false starts, and a few rejections. But that first step, prompted by that reversed card, was the most crucial. It forced me to stop circling the drain and actually engage with the problem. I had to gather my metaphorical cups, decide which ones were truly empty, and then, with a deep breath, consciously turn my back and walk away. It wasn’t easy, facing the unknown felt scary as hell, but staying stuck felt even worse. And you know what? When I finally did step out, it felt like shedding a heavy cloak. The relief, the sheer lightness, was incredible. It reminded me that sometimes, the hardest thing to do is simply to allow yourself to move on.
