Every two to three years, I quit my job.

Not because I want to, but because I have to. Each time, it happens the same way. I start a new role full of energy, hungry to prove myself. I take on challenges, solve problems, streamline inefficiencies, and make a name for myself. I get noticed. I get promoted. I thrive.

Until I don’t.

From the outside, my career looks like a success story – fast promotions, big achievements, and clear talent. But on the inside, I’m slowly unraveling.

The same pattern repeats: I pour everything into my work, driven by a relentless need to fix inefficiencies and build something better. I notice all the ways a company could improve, all the missteps leadership is making, all the duct-tape solutions that will eventually collapse. I want to help. I push harder, thinking that if I just work a little more, a little smarter, I can make a difference.

But no one else seems to care. Leadership is happy with subpar work as long as deadlines are met. Developers are forced to build quick, fragile solutions instead of sustainable ones. Decisions are made to protect corporate politics rather than long-term success. And I see it all happening in real time, powerless to stop it.

At first, I’m frustrated. Then, I’m exhausted. Eventually, I reach a breaking point. One day, something small (a bad meeting, another last-minute crisis caused by poor planning, someone criticizing ME when all I’m trying to do is improve the shithole I’m in) pushes me over the edge. And just like that, I quit. No warning, no plan, just an urgent need to escape. My sudden departure shocks everyone.

To them, I was thriving. To me, I was barely holding on.

Phase 1: The Excitement and the Overperformance Trap

This cycle isn’t unique to me. It’s something many high-masking autistic professionals experience. We enter jobs with intensity, hyperfocus, and an obsessive drive for competence. We see inefficiencies faster than others. We hold ourselves to an unreasonably high standard. And companies reward us for it.

At first, this overperformance feels good. It earns promotions, raises, and recognition. But it also sets a dangerous precedent: we take on more and more responsibility, and expectations rise with it. No one notices that we’re burning out because we’re still delivering. The very traits that make us so valuable (our ability to problem-solve, our deep focus, our unwillingness to tolerate inefficiency) are also what set us up for collapse.

Phase 2: The Disillusionment Sets In

What makes this cycle particularly brutal for autistic professionals is moral injury: the psychological distress of witnessing or being forced to participate in incompetence, unethical behavior, or systemic dysfunction.

It’s not just that I see problems; I feel them. I can’t shut off the awareness that a bad decision today will lead to bigger problems later. I can’t ignore inefficiencies, because inefficiency isn’t just frustrating, it’s wrong.

Neurotypical colleagues seem to accept that “this is just how things are.” But for me, watching people make short-sighted decisions isn’t just annoying; it feels like a betrayal of logic, efficiency, and integrity. Over time, the emotional weight of witnessing corporate dysfunction without the power to change it becomes unbearable.

Phase 3: The Burnout & Breaking Point

At some point, exhaustion overtakes ambition. My work, once fueled by passion and logic, turns into a source of resentment. I feel trapped, forced to choose between compromising my values or continuing a losing battle. The burnout isn’t just about long hours, it’s about being in a system that actively resists better solutions.

And so, I leave. Not gradually, not strategically… suddenly and completely. What looks like impulsivity is actually survival. The choice is simple: quit or break down completely.

Breaking the Cycle

Recognizing this pattern has been both painful and liberating. It’s shown me that the problem isn’t just me, it’s the mismatch between my brain and corporate environments that reward short-term thinking and political maneuvering over meaningful progress.

But knowing this doesn’t mean I have to keep repeating the cycle.

The first step to breaking free is recognizing the early signs of overperformance. The moment I feel the pull to fix everything, take on extra work, or work beyond my limits, I need to pause. Just because I can solve a problem doesn’t mean it’s my responsibility to do so.

I also have to detach my self-worth from my job. Being an intelligent, capable person doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice myself for a broken system. Success isn’t just about promotions, it’s also about sustainability. Setting strict boundaries around energy and effort is critical. The goal isn’t to underperform, it’s to perform sustainably. That means saying no. It means resisting the urge to optimize every process I encounter. It means accepting that some inefficiencies aren’t mine to fix.

Finally, I need to redefine what success looks like for me. The traditional career ladder may not be the right fit. The goal isn’t just to get another job, it’s to find work that doesn’t lead me to another inevitable breakdown.

Moving Forward

For many years, I thought I was the problem. That I just wasn’t built for a long-term career. Now, I see the truth: I was trying to force myself into systems that weren’t built for me. If I want a sustainable future, I need to create one that works for me, not against me.

I don’t want to keep quitting jobs in desperation. I want to build a career I don’t have to recover from.

And for the first time, I’m making that my priority.