Sometimes the hardest part of growth isn’t starting something new — it’s letting go. From kitchens in India to the newsroom at USask, learning when to leave a position can open space for others to shine and for ourselves to grow in unexpected ways.

There’s a particular kind of grace in knowing when to leave.

Not because you hate where you are. Not because you’ve failed. Not even because you’re bored. But because you understand that staying forever — even in something you love — might prevent the next thing from beginning.

I started thinking about this on a recent trip to India. One afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the cool tile floor of my great-aunt’s home, she told me something that has not left me since. We were talking about family dynamics, specifically the often-infamous relationship between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. She laughed at the stereotype — the hovering matriarch who stands in the kitchen doorway saying, “No, not like that. Do it this way.”

Her secret, she said, was simple: she no longer runs the kitchen.

That role now belongs to her daughter-in-law, who now manages the household. She doesn’t loom. She doesn’t micromanage. She doesn’t insist that her way is the only way. Instead, she has stepped back. She has made space.

The most surprising part is she is enjoying this new role.

She spoke about freedom and how she no longer carries the weight of daily household responsibility. She gets to participate without controlling. She gets to guide without overshadowing. In her words, every generation deserves the chance to lead, experiment, make mistakes and redefine what came before them.

Listening to her, I realized how rarely we talk about the grace of stepping aside.

We glorify ambition. We glorify holding onto positions, climbing higher, staying relevant. However, we don’t often celebrate the wisdom of saying, “It’s your turn now.”

Over the past three years, I’ve grown up inside The Sheaf. I started as a staff writer. I became the News Section Head Editor. And now, I serve as Editor-in-Chief at The Sheaf.

I have loved every second of it.

I love writing. I love editing. I love chasing stories and having people share parts of themselves with me. I love connecting with students through journalism — watching a byline turn into a conversation. This year, as Editor-in-Chief, I’ve discovered how deeply I love leadership. I love building a team around a shared vision. I love watching someone submit their first shaky draft and then, months later, file a piece that makes me sit back in awe.

I even love the administrative side — the emails, the meetings, the spreadsheets, the bylaws. (Yes, really. The boring stuff is exciting to me!)

So when I realized I only have three months left in this position, it hit me harder than I expected. I don’t want to leave. Quite frankly, I am having too much fun. I have a thousand more ideas. I want another year.

Before The Sheaf I wasn’t even sure I wanted journalism as a career. I liked reading the news. I liked watching it. But as a profession? I didn’t know. Then I joined, and now I can actually see myself doing this long term.

The pattern, I’m realizing, is familiar.

Before The Sheaf, I worked at Staples as a print and marketing associate. I loved that job too. I loved helping customers bring their ideas to life. I loved the rhythm of service work, the camaraderie of good coworkers and the simple satisfaction of solving someone’s problem. Leaving was hard.

Just a few weeks ago, I found myself in a spiral over job applications. A summer camp I’ve worked at for the past two summers posted an assistant director position. My first thought was: I would love this. I adore working with kids. They are some of the purest souls I know. Being around them forces you to grow — to explain concepts clearly, to examine the holes in your own understanding, to become the kind of adult you wish you had growing up.

The job would have been a safety net, too. A steady income. Familiar faces. A chance to keep building leadership skills while I figure out what happens after graduation.

At the same time, I saw a posting for a journalism internship. A long shot. Uncertain. Potentially transformative.

I went back and forth.

The question wasn’t, “Which job would I enjoy?” I knew I would enjoy both. The question was: What am I willing to leave in order to grow?

If you never leave a position, you’ll never reach the next one. The next one might bring you just as much joy, if not more.

I think about my time as the News Editor last year. The person who stepped into that role after me transformed it completely. He brought a sharper lens to institutional critique. He asked harder questions of university administration. He wrote about events in departments I had barely paid attention to. He redefined what the news section could be.

If I had stayed in that position — if I had hovered over his shoulder saying, “Well, this is how I used to do it” — The Sheaf would have missed out on that growth.

Leadership is not about imprinting yourself permanently onto a role. It’s about strengthening it enough that someone else can take it further.

The same is true now.

Over the past year as Editor-in-Chief our team has grown the paper significantly. Our physical edition is three times the size it was when I first joined. We have committed volunteers. We publish daily online content. We have an active social media presence. We are covering stories students genuinely care about.

I am incredibly proud of that and deeply grateful to the staff team who made it possible, because none of this was a solo effort.

However, here’s the truth: if my predecessors hadn’t stepped down when their terms ended, I would never have had the chance to push the paper in this direction. The growth we’ve seen exists because someone else made space.

Do I want to keep being Editor-in-Chief? Absolutely. A thousand percent. I have ideas every single day. Just recently, I decided we should redecorate the office, a dusty space with a microwave that hasn’t been cleaned in years. Some might call it unnecessary this late in my term. I call it finishing strong.

Stepping down does not mean coasting.

You better believe I will push myself and this team until my very last contracted day. I don’t want to leave with “I should have” or “I wish we had.”

I will leave though.

Not because I’m ready. Not because I’m done loving this. But because it will be someone else’s turn.

There is something beautiful about imagining next year’s Editor-in-Chief sitting in this chair, seeing possibilities I can’t yet see. They will have their own vision. Their own priorities. Their own blind spots and breakthroughs. The Sheaf will change again.

That’s not a threat to what we’ve built. It’s proof that it’s alive.

My great-aunt doesn’t run the kitchen anymore. This has allowed her daughter-in-law to discover her own rhythm, her own recipes, her own way of hosting a home.

Leadership, at its best, understands when to loosen its grip.

So here’s to leaving well, making space and trusting that what you’ve built is strong enough to evolve without you.Here’s to the next team at The Sheaf. I cannot wait to read every single article.