Let’s say you’ve decided to leave academia. You’re awash in a complicated sea of emotions: grief, anger, bitterness, relief, hope, fear. And now, in the middle of all of this difficult, emotional work, you have to explain to someone else that you’re leaving.

Maybe it’s your chair, maybe it’s a favorite colleague, maybe it’s a parent or a grad school friend. But you have to explain it in such a way that they get it and accept it — and preferably without you either launching into a bitter rant or falling into a weeping puddle at their feet.

And on top of your own fears about falling apart in some way come the fears about their judgment, criticism, doubt, and anxiety.

So what do you do?

First, you plan

You know the people you’ll likely have to tell, so figuring out ahead of time how you’ll explain it will give you a road map to follow when all you want to do is fall apart. And that means thinking about the following things:

• What’s the purpose of telling this person? Yes, it’s to inform them, but there will almost always be other, more subtle purposes attached. Maybe you want to get the hell out of Dodge without explaining to your department chair that your program’s supervisor is a micromanaging, condescending prick. Maybe you want your parents to believe this is the right course without asking you a lot of questions. Maybe you want your best friend to understand just how deeply hurt you are by this whole stupid situation. Figure out what, in your heart of hearts, you want them to come away with. Then figure out if that’s both reasonable and possible and plan from there.
• How close are you with this person? How much detail are they entitled to? How much detail are you comfortable sharing? The friends who had lived through my struggles already got the down and dirty. The colleagues I mostly said hello to in the halls got the abbreviated “opportunity” version of the story.
• What’s their relationship to academia? People inside academia are going to be more defensive about the whole glorious system than people outside it, however much they love and care about you. If it’s still paying their bills, they have a vested interest in believing it’s not a horrible place — even if you think it’s the most venal institution to grace the face of the Earth.
• What version of the truth should they get? We leave for complicated reasons, and few people will really get the whole story. Should they have the version that focuses on the opportunities you’re moving towards? Should they have the version that focuses on realizing that you and academia aren’t destined for the life-long love affair you thought you had? Should they have the version that explains how academia left you at the altar or stole your boyfriend or beat you up in a dark alley after stealing a decade and all your money? Stick to the truth, but remember that the truth is multifaceted.
• How do you want this conversation to come about? Where should it take place? When should it take place? Should you plan a date, or take advantage of circumstances? Should you phone, email, or explain in person? Some conversations, like the one you’ll have to have with your chair, may have to be in person. Others might benefit from an email-first-then-talk strategy.
• What do you need for self-care around this conversation? For particularly difficult ones, you might want to have a confidant waiting in the wings to help you process it, you might want to be alone with your journal, you might want to go out for ice cream to celebrate. Knowing that you’re being taken care of will help you keep going.
• What reminders will help you keep your center? Unfortunately, we don’t usually get to get to the other side of the emotions before we have to explain what we’re doing. And that means figuring out what you need to hold on to to be confident of your decision. For some people, writing down the real reasons for leaving on an index card to carry around will help them remember. Some people need a favorite figurine or the perfect sweater or a piece of jewelry that helps them stay connected to their centers. I had a Scully doll. To each her own.

Then, you practice

So much of deciding to leave is emotional and therefore not entirely able to be articulated. Except that, unfortunately, you have to articulate it. That’s where practicing comes in. If you have a supportive spouse or partner or friend, ask for their help. If not, an empty room will do.

• Remember how we were all supposed to have the 30-second, 2-minute, or 5-minute description of our research for the job market? Practice having the 30-second, 2-minute, or 5-minute explanation of why you’re leaving. Repeat them out loud until they feel fluent.
• Brainstorm what the other person might say and how you might respond. Will they be shocked? Angry? Sad? Nervous? Elated? Do they tend to be critical? Supportive? Sarcastic? Withdrawn?
• Notice what you’re comfortable sharing and what you aren’t comfortable sharing. Stay with comfortable.
• Notice what parts of the explanation feel most emotional for you and brainstorm ways to deal with that, whether it’s letting yourself express the emotion or finding ways to avoid the topic altogether.

Then, you let it go

The unfortunate truth of the matter is that you won’t be able to anticipate every eventuality and you won’t be able to control how any other person responds or reacts. But thinking about what you want to accomplish and how that might happen gives you much better odds of getting through conversations without falling apart — or doubting what you’re doing.

And, as always, remember that this is hard work and that you’re likely to be a little delicate. Be gentle with yourself. Remember that it’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to need help and hand-holding and hugs. It’s okay to be nervous and anxious about explaining this enormous decision to the rest of the world. And remember that, soon enough, you’ll get to the other side.

You can dress me up but you can’t take me anywhere, apparently.

I spent an hour the other day trying to convince a young colleague of mine not to go to graduate school. Well, let me rephrase that. I told him that if what he wanted was the experience of graduate school on its own, well, that’s all well and good. Graduate school is pretty much awesome if you’re a self-starter who can handle living on pennies. If he thought it would lead to a job, though — run away! Right now!

But by the end of the conversation I couldn’t tell him to go to graduate school for the experience, either, because why take on tens of thousands of dollars of debt and lost wages and blah blah blah when you could find a couple of like-minded people, a nice neighborhood pub, and read all the continental philosophy you want while hollering about holes in your friends’ arguments?

What would you tell him? He’s young (24 maybe?), really smart in that perfect-for-graduate-school-in-philosophy way, and thinks he’d like teaching. Inquiring minds really want to know.