When Returning Means Remembering Why You Left

There’s something uniquely complicated about going back to a company you once left. In some ways, it’s like getting back together with an ex—familiar, nostalgic, maybe even hopeful. But what I’ve come to realize is that sometimes, leaving once wasn’t the mistake. Going back was.

I recently returned to a company I had previously resigned from. The offer was familiar, the money was good, and I thought—with some distance and fresh perspective—it might be different this time. But within two days, I felt the same weight, the same pressure, and, most painfully, the same lack of support that originally pushed me to walk away.

I was brought back to transition into a role vacated by a departing account manager. Instead of a structured handover, I found myself in an environment where his exit seemed to be the focal point—more than my return, more than the customers I was there to support. I was immediately pulled into an impromptu meeting where I was asked to give up the largest account I was inheriting—a $1.5M book of business—in exchange for smaller accounts that amounted to a third of its value. I declined respectfully. But from that point on, the account became the center of scrutiny and tension.

Despite the fact that I had come back in good faith, people began questioning whether I “deserved” the account—simply because I had been open to hearing their offer. I was pressured, spoken to with aggression, and eventually excluded from decisions entirely.

At one point, I was berated in front of colleagues about information I wasn’t even given. No proper desk for me setup. I essentially handled my own onboarding. Just a chaotic swirl of politics, ego, and gaslighting.

Experiencing this was incredibly isolating. The way my teammates and the company director, who had asked me to return, treated me was also very disheartening. Considering how much I've grown in my career and confidence, and how negatively it affected me, I can't fathom what they might do or are capable of doing to those who are meek, gentle, and soft-spoken. It seems inevitable that such individuals will be silenced and disrespected into obscurity if this is how they treat a woman who is outspoken and refuses to accept nonsense.

By the end of Day Two, I was exhausted and heartbroken. Not just because of how I was treated—but because I had hoped this time would be different. I had turned down other opportunities for this. I wanted to believe that returning would be a step forward, not a relapse.

What I learned is this: when your body tenses with anxiety before walking into a building… listen. When your voice is overshadowed, your presence dismissed, and your integrity questioned—again—listen.

You are not being too sensitive. You are not overreacting. You’re remembering.

I share this not for sympathy, but for solidarity. For anyone who has returned somewhere thinking it might be different—only to realize that your growth has made the old version of you no longer fit there.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away. Again.