Resigning is weird when you work in HR. We coach other people through it all the time, right? “Keep it professional.” “You don’t need to justify your decision.” “The sky won’t fall in.” And yet, when it’s us? We turn into wobbly, overthinking wrecks who write three different versions of a resignation letter and hide them in the back of our notebook like contraband. (Guilty as charged.)
When I handed in my notice once, it was so meticulously planned you’d think I was executing a military operation. The resignation letter had been drafted, redrafted, tucked away, and carried around like some kind of talisman. I’d rehearsed what I’d say. I’d thought through every possible reaction. And still, I was nervous as hell.
So why is resigning harder for HR folk than it should be? From what I’ve seen (and lived through), there are three big reasons:
1. We actually care about our people
You’ve spent months or years building trust with your team, supporting them through their wobbles, and being the “safe pair of hands.” Walking away can feel like you’re abandoning them. Spoiler: you’re not. You’re modelling what it looks like to make a bold, aligned decision. That’s leadership, even if you’re leaving.
2. We’re terrified of the reaction
Because we’ve been on the receiving end. We’ve seen managers cry, sulk, lash out, or suddenly become your best friend in a slightly desperate way. We know what’s possible, and we’re not naïve about how people might take it. So we catastrophise, trying to prepare for every single version of events like we’re playing “HR Resignation Bingo.”
3. We feel like we have to justify ourselves
There’s this pressure to give a PowerPoint presentation on why we’re leaving: “Here’s my SWOT analysis of this role, plus three charts on my career goals.” We don’t want to burn bridges, so we overshare. In reality, a simple, “This is the right next step for me,” is enough. You don’t owe anyone your life story.
Now, here’s the thing that made all the difference for me: You cannot control someone else’s reaction.
Read that again. Let it sink in. You can’t control whether your boss is gracious, awkward, or full-on passive aggressive. You can’t control if your team feels sad or surprised. What you can control is how you show up: clear, kind, and calm. That’s it.
The funny thing is, the dread is always worse than the conversation. Once I handed that letter over and said the words out loud, the weight lifted instantly. Everything I’d been carrying in secret – the planning, the guilt, the what-ifs – evaporated. Was it easy? Not really. Was it worth it? Absolutely.
So if you’re sitting there with your resignation letter burning a hole in your notebook, know this: you will feel better once it’s out. Rip off the plaster. Free up that mental real estate. And remember, you resigning doesn’t make you a bad HR professional. It makes you a human one.
Three ways to actually do the mindset shift
Knowing you can’t control someone else’s reaction is one thing. Walking into that room without sweating through your shirt is another. Here’s how to steady yourself:
1. Write your ‘how I want to show up’ script
Before you hand in your notice, scribble down three words that describe how you want to come across. Calm? Professional? Kind? Let those be your anchor. If the conversation wobbles, you come back to those words. It stops you from oversharing or backpedalling.
2. Practice your one-liner
You don’t need a TED Talk. A simple, “I’ve decided it’s time for me to take the next step in my career, and this role has been an important part of that journey,” is enough. Say it out loud a few times so it doesn’t catch in your throat. The less energy you spend justifying, the less messy it gets.
3. Plan your exit after the conversation
HR brains love a plan, but trying to map every reaction in advance is exhausting. Don’t script 27 scenarios. Save that energy for after you’ve spoken, when you can work with your manager on a sensible transition. That way, you go in present, not paranoid.
You’ve done this for other people countless times. Trust yourself to handle it with the same clarity and compassion you’d give them. And don’t forget, the second that letter leaves your hands, you’re already lighter.