OF & Streamates: Why I Really Quit

Every night at work, I wore a mask. I smiled, I performed, I showed up, but inside, I was unraveling. Not because of the profession I chose,  but because I carried the weight of something much heavier. Being in a domestically abusive situation had hollowed me out. At the time, I couldn’t fully see it. But the truth is, I was trying to survive, not thrive. That relationship had stripped me of so much confidence, so much joy, that even the simplest tasks felt insurmountable. I was constantly exhausted, not from the workload, but from pretending I was okay.

I had stopped feeling motivated. Goals that once lit me up now felt pointless. I lost sight of my own value, not because of the work, but the constant threat of looming chaos at any moment. I started to feel like I was disappearing, like I didn’t even deserve to take up space. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be at work; I didn’t want to be anywhere. I wanted to hide from existence, to fold into the quiet and stop pretending that everything was fine.

Quitting wasn’t just about leaving a job, it was a step toward reclaiming myself. ISo much of the drama was focused on social media and false allegations over strangers who followed me. I needed space to heal, to breathe, to find myself again, refocus.