Choosing the “right career” is something everyone talks about, and often it is something imposed on us. When I was a child, my mother never really asked me what I wanted to become, but my father wanted me to become the Head of Police because I never liked injustice. I always told the truth and had a furious side that refused to tolerate wrong things.
However, my personality kept changing throughout life. Sometimes I was delicate, sometimes furious, and sometimes somewhere in between. Now I realize that it often depended on the state of my mind and mental health. But if I describe my core personality, it is this: I dislike unreasonable boundaries, injustice, and lies. I will always fight against them. At the same time, I have also been vulnerable because of the severe depression I experienced. Somehow I managed to stop the medications, and now I am working on rebuilding myself.
Coming back to the point — when I was growing up, there were not many career options people talked about. It was usually teacher, doctor, or engineer.
The first career I ever wanted was to become a teacher.
When I was around seven, I told a teacher that a boy in class was cheating in an exam. Somehow, even though he was younger than me, he managed to manipulate the situation, and the teacher ended up slapping me instead. That day, I learned something painful: honesty is not always the best policy. Later, another teacher who knew me well came and comforted me, and because of her, the dream of becoming a teacher stayed with me for a while.
But another incident soon changed my feelings again. When I was eight, I checked my own homework and gave myself a good remark in my notebook. When my teacher saw it, she slapped me very hard. I had checked two notebooks, and I was slapped by two different teachers.
None of them stopped to think that I was just a child — a child who had at least completed her homework on time. I could never understand how someone could hit children so harshly. Children are delicate; they should be protected and encouraged.
My second career idea was to become a doctor, but that dream lasted only about six months. I do not even remember why it faded.
Then came my third idea: scientist. It was the first time I had heard of a career that felt different from the usual choices. Something inside me always wanted to be different. The idea of discovering and inventing fascinated me. I loved exploring new things, and my mind was always curious.
I was dedicated to this path until class 9, when everything changed. I got new teachers for science and mathematics. Only the physics teacher was good. I was scoring well in physics and wanted to pursue it further, but he retired soon after. The remaining teachers were discouraging. My chemistry teacher even told us he would not teach seriously until we reached class 11 and chose science. My marks started falling, and slowly my interest faded too.
Then came the fourth choice.
About one and a half months before choosing subjects for class 11, I still had no clarity. One day in the school library we had to pick a book quickly, and by chance I picked a commerce book. That accidental moment became a turning point.
For the first time I read something and immediately felt connected to it. Simple interest, compound interest, numbers, calculations — it was all there. It reminded me of the mathematics I used to enjoy before class 9.
I went home that day and told my mother I wanted to study commerce. She researched and told me that I could become a Chartered Accountant (CA).
That became my new career goal.
Many relatives opposed the decision because at that time “intelligent” students were expected to choose science, not commerce. My mother stood firmly for me and fought those arguments.
I still love commerce. I even started pursuing CA after class 12.
But when I was in class 12, my mother lost her battle with cancer.
After her death, everything changed. I was suddenly exposed to a harsher world. My paternal uncle would call me and demotivate me, saying I was not capable of becoming a CA. He wanted me to get married at nineteen and depend on a husband for money.
At the age of twenty, my father told me that he had already achieved much more when he was twenty.
I was already lost because I had lost the only person who truly supported me — my mother.
At that point I knew one thing: becoming a CA was a long journey. I felt pressured to take a shortcut.
That shortcut became my fifth career: banking.
I had just graduated in July 2016, and people often told me that I wouldn’t be selected in any exam — that I was intelligent, but not intelligent enough to crack it on the first attempt.
I prepared for public sector bank exams, for which millions of people apply. Within six months, I appeared for around ten exams. I cleared the first stage every time, except the very first one, but missed the second stage by a small margin.
Then came the final result — 1 April 2017 — when I finally got selected.
In my paternal family, talkative people were considered smart, while my brother and I, who preferred silence, were seen as naive.
I felt proud when I cracked the exam.
But deep inside, I knew banking was not truly me. The work required constant interaction with customers and colleagues, and I disliked depending on others to complete tasks. I always finished my work early, but my colleagues would roam around and even question why I worked so much. There was too much dependency — I would prepare a queue, and someone else had to pass it. Even that would take an eternity, and the lack of work ethic frustrated me deeply.
Eventually I left the job. Then COVID happened. My resignation was unaccepted. After one and a half years, they called me back, and because I had just come out of a bad relationship, I returned.
During the break I had tried other things — learning coding, starting a YouTube channel where I taught commerce through animated videos. The channel had potential, but again something inside me felt that it was not the right path.
After a breakup with a toxic person, I returned to the bank to move on and for financial stability, as I had to take care of my brother and couldn’t move beyond my city. My city also doesn’t offer many good opportunities for private jobs.
Soon after marriage, severe depression entered my life. Within three months I started becoming extremely sick. In four years of marriage, I believe I have felt truly well for only about three months.
In April 2025, my workplace environment had changed completely — new colleagues, a new manager, and a different culture. The culture was highly inefficient, which made me even more depressed. There was constant chaos — customers shouting, often believing that work only gets done if they raise their voices, and at times, that belief didn’t feel entirely wrong. At the same time, staff would shout at innocent customers, avoid work, complain about it, engage in flattery, or simply roam around instead of doing their jobs.
I couldn’t handle it anymore, especially as I had reached a point where even a single taunt or harsh word would deeply affect me.
In July 2025, when I could no longer handle my mind, I reached a point where I couldn’t even get out of bed or eat properly. I took a break from the bank and tried to help my husband build a business, because it was something I could manage even while lying down, and at that time, it felt like the only thing I was capable of doing.
I worked mostly behind a computer — coding, designing the online store, creating promotional images, editing videos, making cover pages, and running ads. However, my husband couldn’t fully understand what I was going through and began treating me like everything was normal, especially when the business wasn’t generating profit.
Eventually, I had to step away from it. But I didn’t mind, because somewhere deep inside, I knew I was still searching — and this wasn’t it.
My psychologist repeatedly suggested that I should paint to release what was inside me. I tried painting a few times but left it again and again.
Until one day I created Mind’s Storm.
In that drawing I poured everything I had been carrying inside me.
When I showed it to people, one told me that it was not ordinary work. He said there was something unique in it.
That was the moment I entered the world of art.
I still wasn’t completely certain, but what made me feel confident was that I hadn’t pulled back from it the way I usually do when something doesn’t feel right.
I don’t know where this journey will take me, but it feels like a place I was always meant to reach.
And when I look back, I realize something important.
Maybe this was always inside me.
As a child, I used to draw on walls. My mother never stopped me. I was never as fascinated by toys as I was by colors and drawing books.
But we could not afford expensive colors. My mother had spent her savings paying off debts that my uncles had taken because of gambling. I still remember looking at boxes of 36 or 48 colors in shops, while I could only buy the small 10-color pack.
Even then I kept drawing and writing on whatever paper I could find.
But because of financial struggles, I chose practical careers. Drawing and writing remained only hobbies. I wanted to support my family because they had suffered so much.
And when I finally became capable of earning, the people I wanted to help were no longer there.
Still, they were proud of me.
My mother always believed I was a different kind of child. Even when I was young, I used to lend her money that I had saved from gifts given by relatives. She would return it later with interest.
Money is another story for another time.
What I realize now is this: the right career for us might actually be something that has always been in front of us.
Sometimes life pushes us away from it because survival comes first.
I tried many paths before finally returning to what had always been there — writing and art.
As a child, I filled the backs of my notebooks with drawings. I wrote thoughts on scraps of paper. But I never believed those things could become a career.
And maybe life simply did not allow it at that time.
Back then I needed stability. Art and writing did not promise that.
But now I feel I have been given another chance to live life on my own terms.
For me, money no longer means what it once did. I always wanted to earn for others, and I still feel that way. If not, my life might feel like that of a sanyasi — detached from the world.
I have never truly lived for myself. I have always lived for others. And honestly, I do not feel ashamed to say that.
My life belongs to others.
Writing and art are things I do for myself, but even they are meant to be shared. Through them I want to share my stories, my thoughts, and my experiences.
So in a way, they also belong to others.
And if someone reading this is struggling to find the right career, my only suggestion is this:
Look back at your childhood.
Trace the things you loved before the world told you what you should become or before you were burdened with the responsibility of choosing certain paths.
If it is difficult, talk to someone. Reflect. Revisit those memories.
And if you still cannot find the “right career,” remember something else:
Life is not always about careers. Sometimes, it is simply about living and cherishing the small moments. Life is different for everyone, but if my experience can help even one person, I would be grateful.