Choosing Stability: Embracing the Downward Career Shift

I didn’t think I’d ever run into this one in my life, but here we are.

I’m job hunting again. And it’s weird—because I’m not confused about what I can do. I know what I can do.

I went from being a laborer… to team lead… to manager… to business owner. At one point, I had ten people depending on me. Near the end, it was seven. Payroll. Scheduling. Invoices. Client expectations. Staff issues. The store. The standards. The constant feeling that if I drop one ball, somebody else pays for it.

And now?

Now I’m applying for work, I already know I can do with my eyes half-closed. Cleaning. General labor. The “grunt” work.

And I’m not saying that like it’s an insult—I’m saying it like it’s a relief.

Because there’s a kind of peace in going to work, doing the job, and coming home. Coming home and actually being home. Not still at work in your head. Not carrying other people’s rent money in your bloodstream. Not wondering who’s going to quit, who’s going to snap, who’s going to call in, who’s going to blame you for something you couldn’t control.

I don’t want to be the operator right now. I don’t want the steering wheel. I don’t want the title. I don’t want the “opportunity.”

I want stability. I want survival.

But here’s the conundrum: the moment employers see “business owner,” something changes in the room—even if the room is just a screen.

They don’t read my resume as capable.

They read it as dangerous.

Overqualified.

And I get it, in a cold, mechanical way. They’re trying to predict the future. They see owner/operator, and they assume: “He’ll leave. He won’t stay. He’ll get bored. He’ll want to run things. He’ll jump as soon as something better comes along.”

They can’t see what’s actually true:

That I’m not chasing status right now.

I’m exiting a role.

I’m stepping out of something that nearly burned me to the ground, and stepping back into something that lets me eat, sleep, and keep my life from collapsing further.

And that’s the part nobody prepares you for—this social rule that says you’re allowed to climb… but you’re not allowed to come back down on purpose.

Like, downward movement has to mean failure.

Like choosing less responsibility must mean something’s wrong with you.

But what if it’s the opposite?

What if it’s clarity?

What if it’s my nervous system finally putting its foot down and saying: Enough?

Because this isn’t me giving up.

This is me choosing autonomy—work stays at work.

This is me choosing competence—do the job, do it well, go home.

This is me choosing a life that doesn’t require me to be on-call for seven other people’s emergencies while my own health quietly breaks in the background.

So yeah—if you’re reading this and you’ve been here too… if you’ve had to step down to stay alive…

You’re not “overqualified.”

You’re just carrying signals people don’t know how to interpret.

And you’re not going backwards. You’re exiting a role that has become unsustainable.

You’re taking the wheel back from the story that says “up is the only direction that counts.”

For the blog, I’m tagging this under Work, Power & Systems—because that’s what this is. Not just personal. Not just feelings. A system that doesn’t understand voluntary descent. A system that reads survival as suspicious.

And I’m saying it out loud so I don’t internalize the wrong lesson:

I’m not begging for a crown.

I’m asking for a shift.

A job.

A way to live.

A way to come home.