Always Have an Exit Strategy
How to Stay Smart, Live Well, and Lead Yourself Out
“Quiet Quitting?” Um. No. This Is “Strategic Staying.”
There’s something condescending about the term “quiet quitting,” isn’t there?
Like the problem is that you’re not enthusiastic enough about your overwork. Like setting a boundary is a character flaw. Like the real offense is you no longer pretending you’re fine.
But the truth is, most people who are “quiet quitting” aren’t quitting anything. They’re still showing up. Still getting the work done. Still leading, still teaching, still performing—with no net, no backup plan, and no room to fall apart.
They’re not disengaged. They’re exhausted. They’re paying the bills. They’re trying to figure out how to get free without blowing up their whole life in the process.
This piece is for them. And it’s for you if you’re trying to understand them or maybe even work through something of your own.
This is not about slamming the system or telling you to walk out tomorrow.
It’s about giving you a map—so you don’t wait until the floor disappears to start looking for a door.
An exit strategy isn’t a failure plan. It’s a freedom plan.
By the time you're done reading this, you’ll know:
What an exit strategy really is (and what it isn’t),
Why you need one even if you love your job,
And how to build one—quietly, smartly, on your terms.
The Loyalty Myth
We’re taught to be loyal. To stick it out. To believe that if we just keep doing good work, someone will notice. Someone will reward us.
Spoiler Alert: that someone is probably not coming.
Loyalty to the work is noble. But loyalty to the institution? That’s often rewarded with burnout. Or erasure. Or an company-wide email that says, “We’re restructuring.”
If you’ve been following Unfold, you’ve heard me talk about the Review Economy—how everything now hinges on feedback loops, performance rubrics, and optics. And how those systems, by design, rarely make space for care, clarity, or complexity.
Here’s the truth:
You can love the work and still question the structure. You can pour your heart into your students, your team, your community—and still know that the place housing that work might not be built to hold you.
Just because you gave them your best years doesn’t mean they ever saw you.
Sometimes staying is about survival. But sometimes, staying is about something else:
Why I’ve Stayed Anyway
There are stories I haven’t written yet. Things I’ve experienced that left real bruises. The kind that don’t fade easily. What I’ll say is this: I’ve been harmed by the institution. Not just let down—harmed.
And I came back anyway.
Because I believe in the work.
Because I believe the skills I teach—rhetorical awareness, strategic communication, clarity in chaos—aren’t just survival tools. They’re thrive-al tools. Anchors and wings. The kind of tools that help people not just stay afloat, but navigate. Rise.
I’ve stayed because what I offer students isn’t just a course—it’s a compass.
And I’ve stayed because I trusted myself.
Not in a hashtag-girlboss kind of way. But in the way that meant I could tell what was mine and what wasn’t; I knew how to document what needed documenting; I was willing to hold the tension until I could move with intention.
If that kind of trust feels far away for you right now, that’s okay. It’s not something you’re born with.
It’s something you build.
And quietly? You already are.
Exit Isn’t Failure. It’s Freedom.
Let’s define it clearly:
An exit strategy is a plan you make before you need it.
It’s not a dramatic announcement. It’s not a resignation letter in all caps. It’s a slow, intentional shifting of weight. A redistribution of power—back to you.
It’s the thing that keeps you grounded when the gaslighting starts; the thing that keeps you clear when the meetings go silent; the thing that lets you pivot—not spiral—when everything changes and no one tells you.
It’s also what separates “quiet quitting” from sovereign leadership.
When I talk about sovereignty, I don’t mean control over everything. I mean clarity. Ownership. No longer waiting for someone else to give you permission to want more, or to name what’s no longer working.
An exit strategy isn’t quitting. It’s choosing.
Choosing how. Choosing when. Choosing you.
Build It Quietly
If you’ve ever opened the Notes app to draft a resignation letter you didn’t send—congrats. You’ve already started.
An exit strategy isn’t just a timeline. It’s an archive. A mirror. A slow, deliberate gathering of what the system wants you to forget and what you cannot afford to.
Start saving emails that show the pattern—not to weaponize, but to witness. Start tracking what fuels you and what drains you. Start paying attention to the moments you almost talked yourself out of trusting your gut.
That’s the data.
That’s the record.
Then start building what’s next—before it’s time to leave.
Even if no one sees it yet.
Even if it lives in your Google Drive under a fake file name.
Start the podcast.
Register the domain.
Outline the course.
Make the spreadsheet.
Write the first messy paragraph of the thing that won’t let you go.
Your resignation letter might start in the Notes app.
But your freedom lives in your next draft.
Exit Thinking Isn’t Just for Employees
This isn’t just about surviving jobs. It’s about leading with intention—everywhere.
The first person who taught me the value of an exit strategy wasn’t an academic. He’s an entrepreneur and investor and was the founder of the business I helped lead into its next chapter—and the one who ultimately sold it.
He didn’t cling. He didn’t panic. He planned the business’s exit strategy. From the beginning.
He knew when to scale, when to delegate, when to step aside. He walked away with clarity. Without theatrics.
And he didn’t confuse “success” with permanence.
He taught me more about leadership than any book I’ve ever read.
Entrepreneurs love to say their work is “mission-driven.” But mission without a map is just another bet. If your business can’t adapt, it can’t survive.
So yes—founders need exit strategies too.
Because pivoting with dignity beats crashing in crisis.
When the Thing You Built Needs an Exit, Too
Let’s go one layer deeper.
Exit strategies aren’t just for systems that harmed us. They’re also for the things we love; the projects that lit us up; the systems we believe in; the identities we once wore proudly.
Sometimes what we build is meant to grow. Sometimes it's meant to close well.
Unfold might change shape one day. It might pass the mic. It might bow out with a final essay and a quiet thank you.
The point is: we don’t wait until something is on fire to figure out what comes next.
We plan while it’s still good.
We exit with love. With clarity. With care.
Because endings aren’t the opposite of devotion.
They’re the proof of it.
This Is Not About Giving Up
If you’re still in the system and need to stay for practical reasons…
Stay in it like a sovereign.
Do the work.
Do it well.
Not because you owe the institution—but because The Work called you here, and you're still answering.
This isn’t the time to numb out. To half-ass. To hide.
This is the time to remember: You are not stuck. You are staging something else.
Your exit strategy is not a secret signal of defeat; it is the scaffolding of your becoming.
And when it’s time?
You won’t need a door.
You’ll walk through a wall they didn’t even know was there.
The Derby
A week ago, the winning horse at the Kentucky Derby had a name that hit me in the gut: Sovereignty.
Not Power.
Not Domination.
Not Glory.
Sovereignty.
A word that means you answer to yourself. You run your own race. You make your move when the timing is yours—not theirs.
And that’s the energy behind this whole thing.
Not to escape.
To reclaim.
Always have an exit strategy.
Because someday, you’ll stop asking if you’re allowed to go.
And you’ll know—you were already on your way.
