In this chapter from Do Loss, Sue Deagle puts her newfound Playbook for navigating change to the test.

The real test of any tool isn’t whether it sounds good on paper. It’s whether it actually works. And life, being life, didn’t wait long to provide me with opportunities to try out these new tools.

In the years after I’d compiled my approach to moving through change, two more big losses came my way: becoming an empty-nester and ending my corporate career.

One I could see coming from miles away, the other was a near-term decision that changed my trajectory. Both gave me the chance to apply everything I’d learned about moving from avoidance to active navigation. Here’s how it went.

Round one: Empty nest

Three years before my youngest would leave for college, I was already planning for what came next.

Not just hoping it would work out. Actually planning. I’d been thinking about this for a while: when both kids left, did I really want to be rattling around in a house filled with memories of family dinners and homework battles?

So I started talking to Connor and Kendall about moving to a new house. Somewhere that suited me better. So when they both inevitably left for college, I’d have a place I actually wanted to be. We agreed to take the plunge.

There is no doubt people thought I was nuts. But I knew exactly what I needed: to be surrounded by trees. So I found a piece of land and designed a place built for solitude and peace, where I could actually feel excited about spending time alone instead of dreading the quiet. A haven to continue my move through this life change.

We call it the Treehouse. Not because it’s made from scrap lumber and rusty nails with a rope ladder and secret password, but because when you’re inside, the glass walls make you feel like you’re floating among the branches.

This wasn’t just about real estate. Thinking back to my regulators, I knew I’d need Nature – lots of it, all around me. I knew I’d need spaces for both Solitude and Connection – a cozy reading nook for quiet mornings, but also room for friends to gather. I was literally building my regulators into the architecture.

Connor, my eldest, left for college two weeks after we moved in, which was perfect timing to test the theory. The house worked exactly as I’d hoped. Instead of feeling sad about his empty bedroom, I felt... settled. Ready. But Kendall leaving would be different. That would be the real empty nest – just me and the trees.

As the end of her time in high school approached, I wasn’t about to just white-knuckle through those first brutal weeks alone. So I made plans in and around work for what I jokingly called my ‘Empty Nester World Tour’, starting right after I dropped her off. When I left her behind in her New Orleans dorm room to board my plane home, I felt the familiar punch to the gut. But I also felt something else: prepared. I had a plan.

First stop: a weekend with my beloved Aunt Judy and Uncle Joe in Texas – the kind of people who’d let me cry if I needed to but would also drag me to their favorite Tex-Mex place with the best margaritas and laughter galore. Then a personal trip to Munich for an ideas conference I’d been wanting to attend. A chance to meet new friends and learn new things in a city I hadn’t visited since my 21-year-old backpacking days. The last leg was a work trip to Greenland – because nothing says ‘processing major life change’ like watching icebergs calve into the Arctic Ocean.

The old me would have viewed this as a way to run from my emotions. The new me knew I was running toward what I needed: Connection, Curiosity, and enough new sights and experiences to keep my brain occupied while it adjusted to this new reality.

The ‘tour’ worked exactly as designed. I cried with my family in Texas, got inspired by brilliant minds in Germany, and stood slack-jawed at the raw beauty of Greenland. By the time I returned home, I was still lonely – that part was unavoidable. But I wasn’t devastated. I was ready to start figuring out what suited me during this next big change.

Round two: Corporate farewell

Thirty years into my corporate career, I made a decision that shocked even me.

It wasn’t like I hated my job. Actually, I loved it. Working alongside veterans, supporting servicemen and women at military bases around the world, growing a company – all of it felt meaningful. I’d learned so much about loss, and life. Plus, after all those decades of training and practice, I was good at my job. Growing revenue, mentoring people, getting things done.

But I was also getting tired. Burnt out. And with the kids launched and more space to think, I kept coming back to the same question: what if I could take what I’d been sharing inside my company about loss and moving through change, and spread the word to a bigger audience?

At the start of that year, something clicked. Maybe it was having the Treehouse as my safe landing pad. Maybe it was knowing I’d already survived bigger uncertainties than this. But I decided to take the plunge.

This wasn’t like the empty-nest transition, where I had years to prepare. This was me, sitting in my office one day, realizing I couldn’t keep putting off this nagging feeling that it was time for a change, time for something new. Something that would build on the writing I’d already been doing for a few years, but would mean going all-in on an entirely new career. I knew I could lean on everything I’d built in corporate America – connecting with people, speaking in front of crowds, understanding what motivated individuals and teams – but I’d be starting over in so many ways. Maybe this was my time to emerge.

Steel Town Sue would have talked herself out of it immediately. Too risky. What if I failed? What if I couldn’t make it work financially?

But I caught myself before those second arrows started flying. Instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios, I thought through what this transition would actually require. I’d need to ramp up my Connection regulator — I’d miss my work family terribly. And I’d need to create structure in my days without meetings and deadlines driving everything.

It was damn hard.

But instead of trying to power through the sadness or pretend it wasn’t happening, I let myself feel it. I honored what I was losing while also staying open to what might come next.

The first few months were exactly as awkward as I’d expected. I didn’t change my 6am alarm – some structure felt necessary even when everything else was up for grabs. I’d wake up without meetings to rush to, without emails demanding immediate responses. Some days I felt lost without the clear identity that corporate life had provided. Other days I felt giddy with freedom.

I found myself reaching for my regulators constantly. Again, Connection became crucial – coffee dates with former colleagues, group exercise classes, writing sessions with the editor of my blog, Leona. I cranked up Nature and Movement, taking longer walks in the woods. And I leaned hard into Curiosity, diving deep into books and podcasts about writing, about creativity, about anything that might help me figure out this new path.

What surprised me was how deeply I felt the loss of my work identity. For thirty years, I’d been part of corporate America. Now I was... what? Aspiring writer? Former executive? It took months to stop introducing myself by what I used to do.

But slowly, something new emerged. Not a replacement for who I’d been, but an evolution. All those skills I’d built – connecting with people, synthesizing complex information, speaking confidently – they didn’t disappear. They just found new outlets. 

These weren’t easy transitions. Both brought their own flavor of loss, their own challenges, their own moments of doubt. But what was different this time around was that I wasn’t flying blind. I had tools. I expected loss and knew how to work with it rather than against it. I had a mindset of openness, possibility, and action. I had plays to customize to my unique circumstances.

The empty nest taught me the power of planning ahead – of using knowledge about myself to actively prepare for what was coming. Leaving corporate life showed me that even change you don’t see coming from a mile away can be navigated with intention when you know what you need and how to get it.

Most importantly, both experiences proved that having a Playbook doesn’t eliminate the hard parts. I still felt lonely. I still struggled with identity. But I also felt capable. Prepared. Like someone who could handle whatever came next.

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Excerpt from Do Loss: A new way to move through change by Sue Deagle