Stuck in a never-ending three-month notice period? It's like being trapped in a slow-motion breakup with your job—draining your energy and burdening your workplace. But here's the kicker: this "extended farewell" is becoming the new norm for everyday white-collar workers in Britain, and it's sparking debates about fairness and productivity. Let's dive in and unpack why this is happening, what it feels like, and the controversies it stirs up.
It's been nearly three months since I tendered my resignation, yet here I am, still clocking in every day. Does that sound like a stretch? Believe me, it drags on forever. Once upon a time, these lengthy three-month notice periods were the preserve of top-tier executives. Now, they're popping up everywhere for regular folks in office jobs across Britain. And I've found myself right in the middle of it, a reluctant participant in this growing trend.
According to Clover HR, a consultancy firm, the number of job listings requiring a three-month notice has jumped by 8% over the past decade. But getting solid numbers is tricky because many employers don't advertise these long periods upfront—they keep it under wraps. A study from Incomes Data Research last year revealed that only 10% of bosses stick to the legal minimum of one week's notice for resigning staff, with most preferring to set their own terms.
Experts point to a rapidly shifting job market as the culprit. Generation Z, those born between 1997 and 2012, are notorious for job-hopping: young adults aged 18 to 25 have already worked for an average of six companies, matching the experience of those in their 60s and 70s, as per insurer Canada Life. Frustrated employers are responding by stretching out notice periods to keep things stable.
“Longer notice times used to be for high-level execs because recruiting for those roles takes forever and involves handing over a ton of knowledge,” explains Marie Hart, founder of Popoki HR. “But these days, three-month periods are showing up for everyone from mid-level managers on up. It's starting to feel like the norm.”
To give my current editor some reassurance, I should clarify that I'm leaving The Telegraph due to an exciting opportunity elsewhere. I genuinely enjoy my role here (honest!) and wasn't in a frantic hurry to bolt.
Still, the monotony of slogging through these three months has been a real eye-opener. Think about it: that's a full quarter of the year, roughly a third of the way through a typical pregnancy, or about one-three-hundredth of the average human lifespan. In that span, you could learn to drive, navigate the house-buying process, or even shed a healthy amount of weight—say, one stone and 12 pounds—without resorting to shortcuts (based on NHS recommendations).
But the toughest part? Over these 91 days, I've morphed into the epitome of inefficiency: a notice-period employee who's disengaged, disruptive, and downright embarrassing.
It's like watching a relationship crumble. Notice-period workers are often seen as a drag on their teams. Feeling detached and eager to escape, many (and if you're my editor reading this, definitely not me) slip into 'quiet quitting'—maybe even more openly than colleagues who still need that paycheck. This is where it gets controversial: are these employees really the problem, or is the system pushing them to disengage?
Obi James, an employment consultant, is increasingly called in to mediate clashes between departing staff and their hurt managers. “The moment someone resigns, they check out mentally. They lose interest, and that can rub off on the team,” she notes. “Meanwhile, bosses might take it personally, like a rejection, and retaliate by making things tough. It's reminiscent of a messy breakup: 'I'm not letting you walk away easily—I'll complicate everything.' Toxic dynamics thrive in this space.”
Workplace researcher and author Christine Armstrong echoes this. “These departing employees can stir up real trouble. The last thing a manager wants is someone lounging in the break room, venting frustrations. I usually advise employers: if someone is itching to go, just let them.”
Online forums like Reddit are flooded with chilling tales. One social media exec fears a mental breakdown if they don't exit soon. Another recounts being buried under impossible workloads, seemingly as punishment from their boss. A third laments how the notice period is sabotaging job interviews and offers elsewhere.
The common thread in responses? Advice boils down to: walk out and risk a lawsuit, or show up but do nothing productive. And this is the part most people miss—it's not just about the individual; it highlights a broken system where loyalty is rewarded with spite.
But hold on—employment lawyers argue that long notice periods aren't all bad. They're actually a safeguard for everyone. Emma Wayland, a partner at Keystone Law, says, “It's tough to argue against three-month notices because they benefit both sides. Employers get time to find replacements, and employees enjoy three months of guaranteed pay if they're laid off.”
Compared globally, Britain's embrace of three-month periods makes it an outlier. In the US, staff typically give just two weeks' notice, and with accrued vacation and sick days, they can often leave immediately (I once worked in New York, where it was routine for colleagues to pop into the editor's office and vanish within 20 minutes—no time for goodbyes or farewell cards). Australia and Singapore cap it at one month's notice after five years, and even less for shorter tenures.
After 91 grueling days, I've finally wrapped up at The Telegraph—freedom at last! And guess what? I'm heading straight into another role with... you guessed it, a three-month notice period.
What do you think? Are these extended notice periods a necessary evil in a fast-paced job market, or do they unfairly trap employees and breed resentment? Is it fair to punish someone for wanting to move on, or should workplaces foster smoother transitions? And here's a controversial take: maybe employers are using these periods as a subtle way to discourage job-hopping among younger generations. Share your stories, agree or disagree, and let's discuss in the comments—your perspective could shed light on this growing issue!
