I’ve wanted to write about this for a while, but I wasn’t sure how to approach it. I’ve been concerned with the ramifications that could occur from writing about my career. Not so much my new one but more my old one. I was concerned with burning bridges, but I’m pretty sure that’s not an issue. And until recently, there wasn’t really a proper ending to this. I’m still not sure if I’ll ever hit “Publish” but getting writing the words might be what I need.

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A little over a year ago I did an about-face and switched careers. I was a magazine editor for 16 years. I started at the bottom and worked my way up to a fairly senior-level position. I worked my ass off and thought I was good at what I did. I loved everything about publishing. I got so much satisfaction out of it. I loved being involved in planning issues from conception to printing. I felt lucky that I actually liked what I did and couldn’t believe I got paid to do it. (Cue the little birds chirping and Snow White singing “Whistle While Your Work.”) Although I knew the rhythms and the cycles of the job every issue was a new challenge. But I reached a point at which I felt I needed a change. Some of the reasons were legitimately related to the work in general, but one of the reasons—a huge reason—I left still chaffs me a bit.

What finally pushed me to find a new job was when someone I used to consider a friend purposefully and deliberately sabotaged me. He did everything he could to make it impossible for me to effectively do my job. He worked tirelessly to drive me out. And what’s worse, our boss knew what was going on and allowed this to happen. This asshat ex-friend and I used to make a good team—but only as long as I worked for him and not with him, which became clear after some changes occurred and he and I were working on a level playing field.

So when this other opportunity—the job I’m in now—came up, I embraced the idea of change. In fact, I sought it out. I worked hard to get this new job. When I gave my notice, my boss seemed genuinely surprised. I don’t think he wanted me to leave but he didn’t want to address this bigger issues that would have made me stay. He’s a head-in-the-sand kind of guy and he had his own problems to deal with, his own battles to fight. So it became easy for me to make it about money. I knew they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) meet the new salary, so I allowed that to become my reason for leaving. It was easier to let my boss and co-workers think I sold out, than it was to admit that I gave up fighting. I sold that story so well that even my friends from that job still think it was about the money. But it never was. Never. I would have stayed if someone had just stood up for me, if someone told me they valued what I contributed. It was wishful thinking and it didn’t happen. I could have stayed. I could have collected a paycheck and rode it out with little to no real responsibility. But that’s not who I am. I want more for myself than that. I hate employees like that. The bottom line is, it wasn’t a battle that I was going to win, so I cut my losses, gathered up my remaining self-respect while I still had some, and I moved on.

It was a rocky transition. Although the skills I need in this new position are very similar and make the change easier, I was still thinking like an editor. I was trying to force this new job into something it was never going to be (square peg in a round hold, anyone?). Although I was glad to be rid of the bullshit and the backstabbing motherfucker of a former friend (whom I’m clearly still angry at), I missed the actual work that I used to do. I kept hoping I would get the phone call begging me to come back. But that just doesn’t happen in real life.

I questioned myself. I second-guessed my decision. Part of that stemmed from the fact that over the years, I allowed what I did for a living to define me. We weren’t curing cancer or performing brain surgery, so to my friends in the real world who read this, who know some of these details, it’s probably going to sound stupid for me to say that I wondered sometimes who I was if I wasn’t an editor. It’s silly and sounds dramatic. I get it. But I don’t have kids and I never will. My career was everything to me, which made this so much harder. And very personal.

So this week was sort of bittersweet for me. The boss who wouldn’t fight for me left his job and the company this week. The piece-of-shit backstabbing “friend” who wanted my job so badly, left a few months ago. I guess taking my job from me wasn’t all it was cracked up to be after all. (I could have told him that. It’s not like he got a promotion. He just got double the work. Dumb-ass.) That stings a bit because, to me, it comes off more like a vendetta than ambition. I’m sure I could have started to fight back, play dirty. But behaving like that is just not who I am. I survived in my career by keeping my head down, doing my job and trying to be supportive of the team. I never sought anyone out to actively dismantle everything they worked for. I don’t think I ever let my ambition hurt anyone.

I am not angry. Not now anyway. I am very lucky to have the opportunities that I have now. I work for a much smaller company, which means by necessity, I’m doing a lot of different things, giving me experiences that I would have never had at my old job. It’s challenging me and it’s exciting sometimes. And although it has been rough (I’ve been in tears more than a couple of times) I don’t regret making the move. I feel good that I left my old job on my terms.

But there’s a part of me that hopes my old “friend” finds himself in position similar to the one he put me in, and thinks about—even if it’s for a millisecond—what he did and actually feels bad. I think I’m giving him too much credit (you know, for the having feelings thing), but I believe that what goes around comes around. I believe payback is a bitch. And I hope that bitch comes in the form of a vindictive co-worker disguised as a friend.

Mature? Nope. Healthy? Probably not. Do I give a shit? I do not.