A lot of us grow up with our futures already outlined for us. Not intentionally, not maliciously, just
quietly—through comments at family dinners, through comparisons to cousins, through the way adults
beam when a child says they want to be a doctor. It’s subtle at first. It feels harmless. But as you get older,
it turns into something heavier: a script you’re scared to rewrite.
For so many students, especially those from immigrant, racialized, or working-class families, the path
isn’t just suggested; it’s pretty much predetermined. Medicine. Engineering. Law. Careers that symbolize
stability, respect, upward mobility, and everything our parents fought for and sacrificed so we could “have
a better life.” The problem is that sometimes the life they imagine feels nothing like the life you want.
And no one tells you you’re allowed to question that.
No one tells you that if studying for the MCAT is draining the joy out of your weeks, or if the thought of
medical school makes your chest feel tight instead of excited, you don’t have to keep pretending you’re
fine. No one tells you that burnout isn’t a rite of passage, or that you don’t owe it to anyone to keep
pushing when your body and mind are screaming for air. We’re taught to treat exhaustion like a badge of
honour instead of a warning sign. But here’s the part most people learn too late: following a path you
don’t want just makes you lose yourself more quietly.
There was a time when I thought becoming a doctor was the only version of success I was allowed to
have. I had convinced myself that anything else would disappoint people. And when I finally let myself
step off that path, when I finally admitted it wasn’t for me, I watched people I truly thought were “my
people” look at me differently. They didn’t say it outright, but the message was clear enough: shifting
career paths meant I wasn’t as smart, as ambitious, or as capable as they thought. They made me question
my own intelligence, my own future, my own value. And for a while, I internalized all of it. I really
believed I might be ruining my life. But the truth is, the moment I walked away from a path that was
draining me, I walked toward one that feels like mine. I’m studying something I actually love, working
toward goals that align with my strengths instead of fighting them. I feel grounded, steady, and more
myself than I ever did trying to force a dream that never belonged to me in the first place.
When you’re being suffocated by expectations, it can change you. You start to see every assignment,
every exam, every grade, as proof of whether or not you’re enough. You start measuring your worth in
outcomes. And the worst part? It can twist how you view other people. Suddenly, someone else’s success
becomes a reminder of your own struggle. A friend’s acceptance letter feels like your personal failure.
Someone’s opportunity feels like evidence that you’re falling behind.
Pressure doesn’t just burn you out. It hardens you. It makes you resentful in ways you don’t want to be.
But that’s not who you are, and deep down you know it.
When we stay in the boxes our parents built, we don’t just limit our futures, we limit our ability to be
good friends, good partners, good people. When you’re constantly fighting to meet expectations that drain
you, you stop having space, patience, or compassion for the people around you. And then you feel guilty
for that too. It’s an endless cycle of not feeling like enough.
But here’s the thing no one ever says plainly: you are not responsible for living your parents’ dreams. You
are responsible for building a life you can actually live. That’s not disrespectful. That’s not betrayal.
That’s survival. At some point, you have to choose the version of yourself you’re willing to grow into.
Not the one that makes your family look good. Not the one that satisfies old expectations. Not the one that
keeps the peace. The one that makes your life feel worth waking up to.
Because the truth is, you are the one who will live this life, not your parents. You are the one who will sit
in a classroom you don’t care about, work shifts in a field that drains you, or wake up in a career that
leaves you empty. And the older you get, the harder it becomes to walk away. The more you feel like
you’ve invested too much to quit. The more you convince yourself you “owe it to them.”
But you don’t. Your parents’ love should not hinge on your suffering. And if it feels like it does, that’s
even more reason to choose differently; because you deserve a life where your joy isn’t something you
have to apologize for. So let yourself question the path you’re on. Let yourself acknowledge when
something isn’t right for you. Let yourself admit when you’re miserable, or lost, or simply uninterested.
Let yourself choose a major, a career, a lifestyle that you actually want; even if it’s not the impressive one.
Even if no one understands it yet.
Let yourself build something you’re able to grow in. Let yourself be excited about your own future. Let
yourself follow your gut instead of guilt. Let yourself love who you love, study what you want, pursue
what sparks something alive in you. Let yourself stop competing with people who aren’t living your life.
Let yourself breathe.
And most importantly, let yourself exist outside the box you inherited.
You don’t have to earn love. You don’t have to suffer to be worthy. You don’t have to become someone
you don’t recognize just to make someone else proud.
You’re allowed to choose yourself.
Not someday.
Now.