Why I Broke Up With a 12-Year Career in Tech

Before I get into it, I want to acknowledge something:

I had a good run. Over the past 12 years, I got to do work I cared about with smart, driven, kind people. I was usually on the "safe" side of layoffs, I was well paid, and I learned a lot. I know that’s not everyone’s experience in tech, so I don’t take it for granted.

And still, I reached a point where I couldn’t ignore the quiet voice in the background anymore, the one that kept asking: Is this really it?

Even with the perks, the fun, and the steady climb, I could feel something shifting. Slowly at first, then all at once. I had outgrown the path I’d spent over a decade building. And I stayed, not out of passion, but out of fear. Fear that there couldn’t possibly be a job out there that ticked more boxes.

This is the story of how I left my job in tech and what I’m building next.

I stumbled into the startup world in 2013, almost by accident, as a wide-eyed student in Amsterdam looking for anything but a corporate internship. Someone mentioned “startups,” which I’d only vaguely heard of. That same evening, I went home, googled startup opportunities in Amsterdam, and applied to a role at a startup accelerator.

A few weeks later, I was working in a gorgeous 17th-century canal-side house turned co-working space, surrounded by people buzzing with energy and building things I didn’t fully understand but found completely fascinating.

It was thrilling, earnest, and yes, a little chaotic. There was a “give first” culture that felt generous and optimistic. Even as an intern, I was trusted with way too much responsibility. (In hindsight, giving someone with no experience a €20k budget and saying “Go run an investor event!” was... bold.) But I made it work. I learned on the fly, I felt useful, capable, and genuinely energized.

I went from intern to full-time, built a small team, moved into my first real apartment. I was 22, and my career was starting to take shape. For a few years, it was genuinely great.

The momentum carried me. I changed jobs every 2–3 years; as soon as I mastered something, got a bit bored, and craved a new challenge, I found one. I joined truly exciting companies across Europe and the US. I helped build startup programs, founder networks, and emerging tech communities across Europe. I learned how business ecosystems grow, how VC works, and I met some of the smartest, most inspiring people I know.

Then, in 2022, I decided it was time to cross to the “other side.” After years of supporting early-stage founders, I wanted to experience what it was like to help build a product directly. So I joined a unicorn.

Spoiler: terrible timing 😢

A month into my new job, the bright future and growth opportunities promised to me during the interview process vanished overnight.

If you’ve ever gotten a vague all-hands calendar invite from the CEO with an hour’s notice, you know the feeling — your stomach drops because you know it’s not good news.

Fifteen minutes into that brief, yet awful call, 30% of the company was gone. There was no warning and no real explanation. Just colleagues’ names disappearing from Slack, logins disabled, and stunned silence. My Apple watch had to warn me that my pulse is at 160BPM while sitting at my desk. This is how deeply the shock and fear resonated in my body.

It was surreal, and what struck me most was how quickly we were expected to move on. There was no time to process, just an unspoken message to be grateful we were still there and to keep going.

So I did. I adapted and I picked up the work of some of those who were let go. I grew into roles I didn’t want because the work needed to get done.

Then it happened again. And again.

Three rounds of layoffs in under two years. Fewer people, more work, promotions paused, budgets cut and expectations unchanged.

I was doing the work of at least two people and my results were strong. But when I asked about growth, the answer was always some version of "maybe next quarter", because no matter how well I performed, my career trajectory wasn’t mine to decide.

My future depended more on whether a manager would advocate for me than on the actual impact of my work. And I knew this wasn’t just my company, it was the new norm across the tech world, as I learnt from my friends working at other companies.

The golden age of startups was behind us. The 2025 reality? Layoffs, uncertainty, burnout, hustle culture, AI, flat salaries, and flat energy.

It’s wild how long we stay in sh***y situations just because we know how to make them work.

I’d spent years convincing myself I was lucky and that I should be grateful. I couldn’t possibly want something better when others only dreamt of having what I had, right? Surely the brain fog and Sunday dread were normal, and the lack of energy was just because of winter. Right? It would surely all get better once spring came around.

But the truth was simpler: I wanted something different.

This time I wasn’t looking for a new job title or a slightly better company culture where I’d be mission aligned. I wanted real ownership - the freedom to work how and where I want, the ability to see the impact of my work and know it was mine.

And maybe more than anything, I wanted to feel excited again, to believe in what I was doing and to feel that I was building something worth sticking with for decades to come.

That version of startup life that I entered a decade ago, felt long gone. The culture had shifted. What once felt collaborative, energising, even idealistic, now felt extractive and brittle.

That wasn’t what I signed up for, and it certainly wasn’t what I wanted to give the next decade of my life to.

And when I finally said that out loud, I didn’t feel fear, I felt relief. Like my nervous system could finally exhale.

Two months later, I gave notice and left what will likely be my last job in a tech company.

I didn’t leave to chase a cooler company or a bigger salary (quite the opposite). I left to build something meaningful to me, human, and grounded in connection.

I started a coaching practice.

Now I work with ambitious professionals (especially those in tech) who are standing at a similar crossroads. The ones who feel stuck, restless, quietly wondering if this is all there is.

They’ve done everything “right”, and yet they’re dissatisfied, depleted. They’re tired of performing enthusiasm for goals they no longer believe in. They want a change, but don’t know where to begin.

My job isn’t to hand them a five-step plan. It’s to help them navigate career transitions by reconnecting with what matters to them, creating space for clarity, and taking steady, intentional steps toward work that feels truly theirs.

If you’re in that in-between place - no longer aligned with where you are, not sure what’s next - I want you to know:

You’re not alone, you’re not behind, and it’s not too late to make a change.

If this resonated, I’d love to hear from you.

👉 Curious about coaching? Learn more or book an intro call at andranuta.com

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