I want to do things my way. Don’t we all? Ever since I was a child, I have hated being told what to do — What to study, what career path to follow. It often felt like I had little to no control over my life. If I could talk about why I lost my confidence, why I forgot I had a voice and why I kept diminishing myself, I could go on forever. Was it the education system? Growing up in a society that holds girls to impossible standards? Internalized misogyny? Narrow-minded expectations? Maybe all of it? But one day you decide you’re done and take all of it.

The truth is no one is going to fully accept that their choices hurt you. No one is going to truly understand you, no matter how much you try to explain. And if anything, blame is often easier than accountability. Being an eldest daughter wasn’t really my favorite thing, looking back I wonder if I ever really had a chance to be a child.

I remember summers when my cousins would visit. We’d play water games — laughing, pouring water on each other, not a care in the world. I even went along with it, telling them we could mop the floor later and everything would be fine. But even then, I noticed the difference between us. While they were carefree, I was already calculating everything — what we might break, which rooms should we avoid, when to stop before my parents come back. It felt like I was constantly holding the edges of everyone else’s freedom in place.

Moments like that would replay in my mind — like waves hitting rocks again and again. And that left bitterness, resentment and a deep sense of unfairness behind. That’s when I promised myself: I will start doing things my way. Especially when it means being called selfish. And honestly, that had been one of the most freeing decisions I’ve ever made. 

Figuring out what I wanted was never easy. I was constantly trying to separate my own desire from everyone else’s expectations — making sure I wasn’t absorbing someone else’s idea of how my life should look like. When I finally got to the heart of it, the answer was surprisingly simple — I just wanted to be a carefree kid again. Free from comparisons. Free from judgments. Free from constantly everything is under control.  I made up my mind that I was no longer going to people-please. I started becoming okay with being misunderstood, being labeled rude. Slowly I started to understand myself better.

I started by doing things I actually enjoy without guilt. I set my boundaries without apologizing for them. I began exploring my interests, deciding what I want in life, and when I want it. Do you want to know how it’s going?

Well for the starters — I messed up a lot. I still do. Everything felt new, unfamiliar and honestly scary. But I liked it. Because even if I make countless mistakes, they were mine. No one is telling me what to do. I no longer have to follow society’s “how to live” rulebook. And somehow, that made everything seem more beautiful. I have developed this new sense of gratitude toward life. Every day I try to understand my life a little better, and the world around me a little. Instead of blindly following things, I started questioning them — and in doing that I began forming my own perspective. It surprised me to realize how many ideas and beliefs I was carrying that were never even mine to begin with. The biological clock and the social clock — they don’t hold the same power over my peace anymore. My life is imperfect, but it’s completely unmistakably mine.

Yes, your independent choice carries weight. Sometimes you fall. Sometimes you mess up, pretty bad. You get confused, you question yourself, you start over again. But I trust this much: the day when my skin is wrinkled, and grey hair shows up more than black —I don’t think I’ll be drowning over mistakes I made. I think I’ll smile. Because I chose. Because I tried. Because I lived it my way.