When people tell me why they’re leaving, I don’t believe the first answer.
Usually not the second one either.
Because it’s almost never one thing. It’s a pile of things. Ego. Fatigue. Money. Boredom. Resentment. A bad boss. Lost confidence. Real ambition. Fake urgency.
So I keep digging.
Even when I’m the one who reached out.
They’ll say, “Well, you called me.” Sure. But you still made time. Why?
The person saying, “I need more growth,” when the real issue is, “My boss makes me feel invisible,” is already lining up the wrong fix.
Most career moves are not clean, strategic decisions.
They’re reactions.
People get ignored, so they want a bigger title. They get underpaid, so they grab the biggest number. They get frustrated by bureaucracy, so they run to the first startup selling speed and freedom.
Then six months later they’re miserable again. Different company. Same hole.
And sometimes, bluntly, it’s not your boss. It’s you.
When you’ve been depleted long enough, your judgment gets compromised. You start reading everything as a sign to leave. And autonomy, culture, and leadership like they mean one obvious thing. They don’t.
Autonomy at 5,000 people is not autonomy at 50. A better title can mean worse work. A bigger paycheque can be very expensive.
Early in my career, I got this wrong. I didn’t push hard enough. I didn’t understand how much context shapes motive. And when you watch someone make a move that was avoidable, and you know you helped them rationalize it, that stays with you.
So now I probe. More than people expect. Longer than they like. Straight through the polished answer.
Because before someone makes a move, they need to know what they’re actually solving for.
Is it your boss? Is it the work? Is it burnout? Is it your own pattern?
Figure that out before you blow up something decent chasing a story that sounds good in your head.
The best moves are made by people who paused long enough to separate what’s real from what they needed to believe.