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I’ve always been someone who speaks up.
Even as a child growing up in a conservative, Middle Eastern household, I fought for rights that were denied to my cousins. Not out of rebellion, but with words. With conviction.
At school, I stood up for others when I saw injustice, even if it didn’t affect me personally. I never saw authority as sacred. I often clashed, and eventually, for practical reasons, I learned to adapt. I started swallowing things. Complying. Functioning.
But I’ve never stayed in a job out of fear. When something became unbearable, I left—not out of drama or impulse, but because I was seeking clarity. Still, most of the time I left quietly. No confrontation. No spectacle. Just a farewell speech in my head.
An exit letter I never sent.
When I talked to colleagues or friends about the things I wished I could say, I’d often hear: “Don’t bother.” “Sleep on it.” “Take the high road.” “Let it go.”
And most of the time, I followed that advice. Not because I thought it was right, but because I thought silence somehow made me look more professional.
But over time, something started to pile up. Like in a relationship where you break up and weeks later, all the words come back. You remember things that were out of line, and you regret not having stood up for yourself. Not being clearer.
Five years ago, at the end of a particularly stressful job, I did things differently. I had worked as an executive assistant for many years, and when I quit, I told my boss that he urgently needed to look into non-violent communication, for the sake of his relationship and family.
Two years later, we ran into each other again. He thanked me. Said he had taken a course. That my words had stung but helped him grow.
That changed something in me.
Since then, I’ve realized there’s a kind of feedback that’s uncomfortable—but healing, for both sides, if you can manage to be honest without being cruel. And that’s what I aim for.
A while back, I was let go from a job, out of the blue. No prior warning. No conversation. No official warning letter. The shock hit hard, but not for long. I knew right away: This time, I won’t go quietly. I can’t fight this legally but I can respond. Clearly. Directly. On equal footing.
I know most people wouldn’t. I know we’re told to stay composed, stay professional, avoid conflict. But I was so certain I needed to write this letter, and I don’t regret it. Since then, I’ve felt free. Seen. Not by them—but by myself.
I didn’t threaten anyone. I didn’t go to the press. But I laid out my perspective. Point by point. What I experienced. What was not okay. What I wish had been different.
Here is my exit letter. Maybe someone will recognize themselves in it. Maybe it will help someone else. Maybe it will make someone think.
“Subject: Your Termination—My Response
Dear X and Y,
With your termination, my time here has come to an end. I have acknowledged it, and to be honest: I am relieved. Not because I have failed, but because I can finally say what I have been holding back all this time.
What you present as leadership, in my view, is a mixture of ambiguity, mutual gossip, avoidance, and control—garnished with a carefully staged symbolic policy outwardly. I was in the middle of it. I experienced it. And I am glad to be out.
After our agreement to increase my working hours, I was present, engaged, prepared. I took on all tasks that arose, contributed, made proactive suggestions—such as procuring supplies myself to reduce ancillary costs, communicating with the service providers, or correcting and updating outdated contract documents with numerous errors.
I implemented things in a short time that had obviously remained unaddressed for a long time. This was never acknowledged; instead, reasons were cited in my termination that seem more far-fetched than justified. Apparently, something has passed me by—the real reason for the termination. Perhaps it was because I dared not to reveal to the supervisor how I spend my lunch break. That seems to have led to mistrust and speculation.
Then the accusation that I would educate myself during working hours. Those who have no idea should refrain from making conclusions, and not interfere in matters that simply do not concern them.
Following my break, I spent an hour and a half procuring a coffee filter—without stress, without haste. Why should I? I had no information that something urgent was suddenly expected of me. My tasks did not require constant presence, and mind reading is not in my profile.
X, you have been grateful for errands like these. I took all that on so you wouldn’t have to. Now it is being held against me.
In the two weeks since my return from vacation, I have repeatedly asked how I can contribute. Your answer: ‘You see, there’s not much going on right now. I’m just walking around the house a bit myself.’ Honestly, that’s not my style. I’ve never experienced someone expecting one to walk around and disturb or control others at work when there’s nothing going on. Your way of exerting control has personally put me under a lot of pressure.
I have often experienced that during working hours, when much space was given to private conversations and digital content—that also influenced my perception of priorities in everyday work.
How you twist the world to your liking is not only contradictory—it is hard to comprehend.
And then as a reason: ‘It doesn’t fit personally.’
You have told me personal things, regularly vented to me, sought advice, opened up—and now you explain that it doesn’t fit personally? With someone to whom you have entrusted so much personally? It rather seems that you lack the courage to say what you really think. And yes, that runs through your dynamics. You go along instead of saying what really bothers you.
Y, you appear reserved in conversations but within the team, the impression arose that there are tensions and reservations that are not openly addressed. That burdens the working atmosphere.
Your handling of contradictions is also problematic, from my perspective. Those who express criticism quickly become targets. I also felt this in the case of my predecessor. I regret not recognizing this earlier, but now I know more clearly what I need—and what I will no longer accept.
In companies with more than ten employees, at least a warning or a clarifying conversation would be customary in comparable cases. Relying here on the legal possibility to pronounce a termination without warning may be formally correct—but whether one can also morally justify it raises questions. All the more surprising is the manner of termination. A decision of this magnitude without prior communication raises questions, not only about the culture of conversation but also about the professional attitude in the company.
I have no interest in harming you. But I take the right to describe my perspective—and to name what I have experienced as unprofessional and inconsistent. If equality and openness are emphasized outwardly, they should also be lived inwardly.
I am not perfect. But I am honest. I have raised a child alone, worked for everything myself, without gaining advantages that were not legally due to me. I can look at myself in the mirror. I hope you can too.
At first, I was hurt. Now I feel free. And clearer than ever before.
I wish you nothing. But you are welcome to thank me for this letter, for holding up a mirror that you rarely dare to face yourselves.
Kind regards,
Rita”
I’ve heard older people say, “In the end, we don’t regret what we did, only what we didn’t dare to do.” I’ve realized I’m learning to live by that motto more and more—and it feels good.
Because I can’t always control what happens to me. But I can decide how I respond.
5 Honest Thoughts for Anyone who Wants to Write their Own Exit Letter
If you feel the urge to speak your truth but don’t know how to start, here are five thoughts that helped me. Maybe they’ll help you too.
1. Let it all out first.
Write without filtering. For your eyes only. Just to get it out of your system. You can sort it later.
2. Sort with intention.
What’s just venting? What’s ego? And what’s something that actually reveals a deeper truth—something your manager might even grow from?
3. Stick to your truth.
No exaggeration. No assumptions. Just your experience. That’s enough.
4. Ask yourself: What do I really want?
Do you want to be right? To be seen? Or to walk away feeling like you stood in your truth?
A lot of people think professionalism means silence and restraint. But I believe true professionalism sometimes means being honest, with clarity and courage. That changes everything.
5. Do it for yourself.
Maybe nothing will change on the outside. But inside, everything might. Maybe your letter won’t reach your boss, but maybe it’ll reach the next person.
Or maybe it’ll just help you breathe easier. And that’s reason enough.
~
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