Well, it’s a question that stirs a lot of emotion in me, not because I don’t have an answer, but because the journey toward this answer has been anything but easy.
You see, while most children grow up dreaming of becoming something, an astronaut, a doctor, a teacher, I, too, had a dream. I wanted to be an artist. My heart beat for colors, for creation, for expression. But if you’ve grown up in a traditional Indian household, you’ll understand how dreams are often weighed against societal expectations and parental ambitions. Like many others, my parents wanted a “secure” and “prestigious” future for me, a renowned government job, preferably in the medical field. Art, to them, was a hobby, a distraction, something that couldn’t “build a future.”
So, I dropped my dream. I took up biology. I was good academically. I always performed well in school. I gave my best, genuinely trying to walk the path they envisioned. But I couldn’t crack the medical entrance exam. That one result changed everything. It didn’t just shut a door; it shattered something inside me. The pressure, the disappointment, both theirs and mine, took a heavy toll on my mental health. I felt like a failure, even though deep down, I knew I wasn’t.
Eventually, I enrolled in a college for my bachelor’s degree, and somehow, without even knowing what it truly was, I chose Psychology, along with Botany and Zoology. That decision, though unintentional at the time, slowly began to change my life.
As I moved into my master’s program, psychology began to feel like a lifeboat. While I was still battling my own darkness, I started reading about techniques and theories. Out of desperation, I began applying some of those tools to myself, journaling, cognitive reframing, mindfulness, and they helped. Not entirely, but enough to make me breathe again. For the first time in years, I saw a flicker of hope. I started dreaming again, this time of becoming a counselor or a therapist. I wanted to help others the way I was slowly learning to help myself.
But fate, as it always does, had its own plans. I got selected for a PhD, awarded a fellowship. Everyone celebrated, except a small part of me that quietly mourned. The dream of internships, training in therapy, slowly started fading away. I got caught in a whirlpool of research deadlines, competitive exam prep, and relentless parental expectations.
And that’s when I broke, truly broke. There were days I didn’t want to wake up. Days I felt the crushing weight of purposelessness. Days I questioned if life was even worth continuing.
But then, my best friend stepped in. She listened. She reminded me that I mattered. That I had a voice, a soul, a story. That even if the world didn’t understand me, I could understand myself.
I started writing, not for anyone else, but for me. I wrote poems, raw, messy, honest. I poured my pain into words. And then, slowly, my words started healing me. I started a blog. I self-published a poetry book. And to my surprise, people appreciated it. My teachers, my peers, they saw something in me I had forgotten: my strength, my resilience, my spark.
Alongside writing, I found myself drawn to spirituality, not religion, but that deep inner connection with the self and with the divine. It brought me peace, a kind of calm I had never known. The suicidal thoughts that once haunted me became distant echoes. I was breathing freely again.
So now, when someone asks me what my career plan is, here it is:
I want to become an author, a blogger, a content creator, and eventually, I dream of running my own educational and healing YouTube channel. I want to merge psychology, spirituality, and creativity. I want to be the voice for those who feel unseen, unheard, and unloved. I want to write for them. Speak to them. Help them heal.
I know my parents and this society might never support this unconventional path. But I’ve made a promise to myself: I will never again let anyone compromise my mental health. If that means leaving home, stepping away from what’s familiar, I will. I have nothing but faith in God now. I believe He has a bigger plan. A kinder one. And this time, I choose me, my peace, my purpose, and the life I love.
The Thought Box 
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