There’s a hard truth most people don’t like to say out loud: Many of us stay in the wrong job far longer than we should. Not because it’s working, but because it’s familiar. Leaving feels risky. Staying feels responsible. And somewhere along the way, comfort gets mistaken for commitment.
I see this pattern constantly, and not from a single vantage point. I don’t just observe it from behind a desk or through leadership conversations. I see it from every angle. At Vista, we’re often brought into firms where leadership is exhausted, managers are frustrated, and team members are quietly drowning in roles they no longer fit. By the time a termination finally happens, it often feels sudden to the person on the receiving end, but it almost never is.
Termination is rarely the beginning of the problem. It’s usually the end of a long period of misalignment that no one knew how or was willing to name. And while being let go rarely feels good in the moment, I’ve watched it become one of the most important turning points in people’s careers. Not because they failed, but because they were finally forced to stop forcing a fit that wasn’t working. This isn’t just something I’ve witnessed. It’s something I’ve lived.
This isn’t a motivational blog. I won’t pretend termination doesn’t hurt or encourage people to immediately “look on the bright side.” I want to tell the truth: sometimes being let go is the reset you didn’t know you needed.
Most firms don’t call us in when things are going well. By the time we arrive, growth has outpaced structure, people problems are being misdiagnosed as performance problems, and leadership knows something isn’t working but can’t quite put their finger on what needs to change. We hear managers explain why someone should be succeeding but isn’t. We talk with employees who feel blindsided by feedback they never received, or feedback that came too late to act on in any meaningful way.
What I can say with certainty is this: Most terminations don’t happen because someone is incapable. They happen because alignment was never established, or because it eroded over time, and no one course-corrected early enough. By the time employment ends, the emotional damage has already been done on both sides. Termination isn’t necessarily the most painful part. Staying stuck for as long as people do is what quietly holds them back from their full potential.
Most people don’t take the “wrong” job on purpose. They take what’s available. Sometimes the opportunity shows up at the right moment in life. It pays the bills even if it doesn’t fill the cup. In fast-paced, heavily client-facing industries like personal injury law, roles are often filled quickly. When work is piling up and clients are waiting, the priority becomes relief, not fit. If you’re reading this and nodding your head, you’re not alone.
Training gets rushed. Expectations are assumed instead of being clearly spelled out. Success is defined in vague terms like “keeping up” or “handling the workload.” Without clear metrics or benchmarks, people are left to interpret performance on their own, usually through the lens of stress and exhaustion.
At the beginning, everyone is optimistic. Little time is spent considering how the decision might fail in practice. The person seems capable, intelligent, and willing. Leadership assumes they’ll figure it out, that things will sort themselves out, and that the decision was the right one. Any downstream impact is treated reactively and triaged as it arises.
Over time, the cracks begin to form. The pace feels heavier than expected. The volume becomes overwhelming. Communication starts to slip, not because someone doesn’t care, but because they’re operating in survival mode. Often, they don’t even realize that speaking up sooner could lead to meaningful support or change.
Instead of identifying the misalignment early, everyone gradually adapts to it. Managers voice concerns upward. Leadership looks for ways to relieve pressure. Work gets quietly redistributed. Tasks are reassigned without explanation. Teammates step in to help without saying much. Grace is extended, deadlines are softened, and accommodations accumulate, not out of malice but out of a desire to keep things moving and avoid confrontation.
In the moment, it’s easy for the employee to miss what’s happening because they’re focused on getting through the day. But in hindsight, they’ll tell you they felt it too. Something wasn’t quite right, even if they couldn’t articulate it. So they stay later. They do more. They look for ways to prove they’re a hard worker. They internalize the stress and assume the constant struggle is just part of the job. Over time, exhaustion and resentment begin to feel normal.
Often, people don’t stay because the role is working. They stay out of loyalty. They don’t want to disappoint the manager who took a chance on them. They don’t want to walk away from a team that feels like family. They convince themselves that if they just push a little longer, things will eventually click. But loyalty without alignment eventually turns into resentment, on both sides.
One of the most damaging narratives in professional environments is the idea that struggle equals commitment. It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking for it, and many leaders do. It shows up as long hours, chronic stress, and the belief that difficulty is simply the price of proving your value. Over time, endurance gets mistaken for growth, and misery gets reframed as loyalty.
But struggle without support isn’t noble, and endurance without clarity doesn’t lead to development. Staying in a role that drains you out of obligation doesn’t make you committed. It keeps you stuck. I’ve watched incredibly capable people slowly lose confidence because they stayed too long in roles that no longer fit. I’ve been one of them. As misalignment drags on, it starts to look like underperformance. Skills that once felt solid begin to feel shaky. Instead of questioning the environment, people start questioning themselves.
That’s a dangerous place to land. When termination eventually happens, it often reinforces the wrong story. People tell themselves they aren’t good at what they do, that they’re not cut out for the industry, or that they just aren’t capable. None of that is true. What failed wasn’t the person. It was the fit, the support, or the leadership around them.
Termination has a way of surfacing truths that have been buried for far too long. It interrupts patterns that quietly stall growth and forces an honesty that rarely happens when everyone is still trying to make things work.
That pause is not gentle. It can feel humiliating, disorienting, and deeply unsettling. Losing a role often means losing routine, stability, and identity all at once, and that grief is real.
But once the initial shock fades, something else starts to happen. People begin asking questions they never gave themselves permission to ask before.
Those questions are both uncomfortable and clarifying. Slowly, a truth emerges. You knew the role wasn’t working. You just didn’t know how to leave.
Termination removes the option to keep pretending. And in doing so, it creates space. Space to reassess strengths honestly. Space to understand what kind of structure, support, and pace you actually need to succeed. Space to stop chasing a version of success that was never designed to fit.
Personal injury law is demanding in ways that aren’t always obvious from the outside. It’s not simply about knowing the law or following procedures, but about managing constant urgency while staying emotionally regulated, shifting quickly between priorities, and doing all of it without sacrificing accuracy, professionalism, or empathy. That combination is harder than it sounds, and it isn’t something everyone is wired to sustain long-term.
Some people thrive in that kind of environment, while others don’t, and that difference has far less to do with intelligence or work ethic than most firms want to admit. I’ve watched capable, motivated people struggle in high-volume case management roles, only to later flourish in positions with clearer structure, tighter scope, or more predictable rhythms, whether that’s administrative work, operations support, or client-facing roles with defined expectations and fewer constant interruptions.
The issue was never their ability. The role simply required something different than what they were positioned to give at that point in their career. When fit, pace, and support are misaligned, effort alone can’t close the gap. You can work harder, stay later, and care more, and still feel like you’re constantly behind or falling short. That isn’t a personal failure. It’s a signal that something in the environment isn’t aligned.
When termination is handled with clarity and dignity, something interesting tends to happen. People recalibrate. They become more intentional about what they say yes to next. They ask better questions in interviews. They listen more closely to how expectations are described and whether those expectations are actually documented or simply implied. They pay attention to how feedback is delivered, how success is measured, and whether support is consistent or conditional.
Many people develop stronger boundaries after an experience like this. They stop over-functioning. They gain clarity around what kind of guidance, communication, and structure they need in order to do their best work. For some, the realization is simple but powerful. The struggle wasn’t the work itself. It was the lack of clarity, the absence of structure, or the constant shifting of expectations without conversation.
Others recognize that they were chasing a version of success that never truly fit how they operate or what they value. And many, truly many, go on to thrive in roles that align far better with their strengths. Not because they changed who they are, but because they stopped forcing themselves into an environment that required them to be someone else.
Clear, honest feedback delivered early, without personal attack, helps someone understand what didn’t work without questioning their worth. It gives them information they can carry forward, rather than something they have to emotionally recover from.
Good leadership doesn’t sugarcoat, but it also doesn’t shame. It doesn’t rewrite history or pretend everything was fine until it suddenly wasn’t. Instead, it names reality directly and respectfully, even when the conversation is uncomfortable. That honesty matters, not just in the moment, but in how the person processes the experience long after they leave.
In many cases, strong leadership extends beyond the final meeting itself. It shows up in how the transition is handled, whether expectations are communicated clearly, whether next steps are acknowledged, and whether the person is treated like a human being rather than a liability to manage. Those details don’t soften the reality of termination, but they do shape how someone carries it with them.
We’ve written more extensively about this from the firm’s perspective, including the mechanics and tone of offboarding, in a separate piece by my colleague Mary Ellen Murrah on how to let someone go without letting it get weird. That blog dives into the practical side of these moments. What matters most here is the throughline. A well-handled termination preserves dignity. A poorly handled one can quietly undermine confidence for years.
Being let go does not mean you are bad at your job, that you lack potential, or that you failed as a person. More often, it simply means something wasn’t aligned. The danger comes when you start absorbing blame that was never yours to carry, replaying every interaction in search of a single moment that might explain everything, or internalizing vague narratives that leave you questioning your entire career without offering any real clarity.
Instead of spiraling there, focus on what you now know. You have a clearer understanding of what drains you and what energizes you, the kind of structure that allows you to succeed, the type of feedback that actually helps you grow, and the environments where you can do your best work without living in constant survival mode. That clarity matters. It’s earned through experience, and it’s something you take with you into whatever comes next.
Every ending has the potential to become a powerful new beginning. While getting fired might initially feel overwhelming and disheartening, it’s often a disguised opportunity to realign with your goals, passions, and purpose. By reflecting on the lessons learned and building on your strengths, you can forge a path that feels more authentic to who you are. Growth comes from challenges, and sometimes the greatest breakthroughs stem from the most unexpected circumstances. While the road ahead may still hold some uncertainties, the insights you’ve gained allow you to move forward with intention and purpose. Trust in your resilience, believe in your ability to start anew, and know that this moment, while difficult, is just a stepping stone toward a brighter, more fulfilling future.
