When to Walk Away: Choosing Between Stability or Freedom

There’s a moment in everyone’s life when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at two very different paths. One is a safe pathway down; predictable. The other is a terrifying drop into an abyss, but it whispers of possibility... 

I remember my cliff all too well.

It was the moment I had to decide whether to stay with my first startup, Aceleron, or take the plunge into the unknown. I’d spent years clawing my way through uncertainty, barely scraping by financially, fuelled by passion and caffeine (mostly caffeine).

And just when it seemed like things were finally stabilising, when we’d pulled ourselves out of a deep rut and buyers were circling, offering security, I had to ask myself: Is this it? Or was it time to walk away? 

The Red Line That Wasn't Obvious, At First 

When I co-founded Aceleron, we had one mission: to create sustainable battery technology. It was all-consuming, an all-in or get-out endeavour. And for years, it felt like we were constantly on the brink—sometimes of success, but more often of collapse. The kind of collapse that has you staring at your bank balance and wondering if the sandwich you bought for lunch was a terrible financial decision. 

There were countless sleepless nights, trying to balance impossible deadlines with personal sacrifices. We hit roadblocks no one could have predicted, not least of which was the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, we were in over our heads. The red flags were there, but in the thick of the grind, it was easy to wave them off. You get used to the chaos, the uncertainty. It becomes normal—until one day, it isn’t. 

Eventually, we caught a break. We hashed out a new strategy, one that actually felt sustainable. We had buyers interested, a plan in place. It was everything I’d worked for. The hard work was done. I could finally see a version of the future that wasn’t just an endless struggle to keep the company afloat. 

But then came the curveball: the buyers wanted me to stay on board. They wanted me to stick around and keep doing what I had been doing for years. The stability I’d dreamed of was there, dangling in front of me like a golden carrot. I could take it, cash in my years of stress for a steady income and finally breathe a little easier. 

Except I didn’t want it. 

Stability vs. Freedom: The Battle Inside My Head 

Here’s where the internal tug-of-war started.

On one side, I had security—something I hadn’t felt in years. After what seemed like an eternity of financial instability, the allure of a stable pay cheque was… seductive. I mean, who doesn’t want to wake up without that pit in your stomach, wondering how you’ll pay rent this time?  

But on the other side, there was this gnawing need for freedom. For something new, something that wasn’t tied to the blood, sweat, and tears I’d already poured into Aceleron. Staying meant safety, sure—but it also meant staying stuck. Stuck in the same routines, the same conversations, the same grind, but with a slightly bigger pay cheque. 

I kept thinking, Do I really want to tie myself down again? Or do I walk away, leaving behind the thing I’d built with my own hands, and see what else is out there? I wasn’t ready for the possibility of feeling shackled to my own creation—no matter how well it was starting to do.  

I’m not going to lie; I wrestled with this decision. Hard.

I thought about all those years of struggle, of pushing through failure after failure. I thought about how staying would finally reward me for all that effort, how my family and friends would look at me and say, “See? It was all worth it.” 

But there’s this funny thing about life: sometimes, the harder decision is the right one. 

Crossing the Red Line (For Real) 

I’d crossed my red line without realising it. The signs were subtle at first—little flickers of dissatisfaction that I ignored, rationalising that this was just how life worked. But the truth was, deep down, I knew I was ready for something else. Something that wasn’t Aceleron. 

I’d spent so long convincing myself that “making it” was about stability, about finally getting that steady income, that I hadn’t stopped to ask what I wanted beyond that. 

Once I did, the answer was crystal clear: I had to walk away.  

It wasn’t about the company—it was about me. Aceleron was no longer my passion. It had become the safety net, not the dream. The dream was out there, somewhere else, waiting for me to take a leap. 

Pulling the Parachute Cord: Freedom Feels Like Falling 

So, I pulled the parachute cord and walked away. 

It wasn’t an easy decision. People thought I was crazy—who leaves stability for uncertainty? But I realised that staying would’ve been crazier. Because staying meant sacrificing my freedom, my need to explore new things, for the comfort of predictability. And that wasn’t the life I wanted. 

The first few days after walking away felt like free-falling. I’ll be honest, it was terrifying. There were moments when I questioned myself, moments when I thought maybe I’d made a huge mistake. But every time I felt that doubt creep in, I reminded myself of why I’d left in the first place: to find something new, something that mattered again.  

And slowly but surely, the parachute opened. The space I created by walking away allowed me to see opportunities I never would have noticed before. I had time to breathe, to dream, to create again. I wasn’t shackled to a past version of myself or my work. I was free to figure out what came next. 

The Aftermath: Reclaiming My Path 

Walking away from Aceleron was both the hardest and most liberating thing I’ve ever done. It taught me that knowing when to walk away isn’t about defeat—it’s about evolution. Sometimes, the thing that gave you life at one point is the very thing you need to leave behind in order to grow. 

Leaving gave me the space to explore, to chase new ideas, to reignite that fire that had been dimmed by years of survival mode. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. 

Would it have been simpler to stay? Sure. I could have stayed, played it safe, collected my pay cheque, and lived a life that was fine.

But “fine” wasn’t enough for me.

I wanted freedom—the kind that only comes when you’re brave enough to let go of the very thing you once thought would define you. 

So, When Do You Walk Away?  

If you’re standing at your own cliff, wondering whether to stay or leap into the unknown, ask yourself this: Have I crossed my red line? If the answer is yes, it’s time to pull that parachute cord.

It’s scary as hell, but the moment you do, you’ll see the world with new eyes. 

Because here’s the secret… walking away isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. 

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OAQ’s (occasionally asked questions)

• How do I know I’ve crossed my red line? 
  When the thought of staying feels heavier than the thought of leaving, you’ve crossed it. Trust that feeling. 

• What if walking away means giving up stability? 
  It’s a tough trade-off, but ask yourself if stability is worth feeling stuck. Freedom often requires risk, but it also offers the greatest rewards. 

• Can you ever come back after walking away? 
  Sometimes, walking away is temporary. You can always come back—but you’ll return with more clarity and perspective. 

• What do you do after walking away? 
  Breathe. Explore. Give yourself the space to see what comes next. The path forward will reveal itself when you’re not forcing it. 

• Is walking away always the right decision? 
  Not always. But when your gut and your data both tell you it’s time, don’t ignore them. Trust yourself to make the hard choice.