When Success Feels Like a Cage.

For as long as I can remember, I was told I would become an engineer. My parents and teachers spoke only of college paths that led to engineering school. Other possibilities were never part of the conversation, and so I never truly had the chance to imagine a different future.

My parents never finished higher education, and my mother, an immigrant from Morocco, carried in her heart the hope that I would go further than she ever could.

When I once said that maybe I wanted to be a high school physics teacher, they replied, “After your engineering degree, you can teach at universities, it is better than being a high school teacher.” But that wasn’t what I wanted.

And when the time finally came to choose my path, my sister fell ill with cancer. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt my parents any further by rejecting the plan they had for me. So I followed the road they set before me, trying not to be one more burden in the midst of everything we were already enduring.

So year after year, I studied not really by choice, but by default. I chose every course, every specialization by default: what I could dislike the least, what could be useful for me. But never what I truly wanted. And it showed because for three years out of five, I would barely pass the classes.

Now, almost four years after graduation, I am not happy. I drag myself to work each morning with a heaviness I can’t shake. I already changed jobs once, but it didn’t help. The truth is, I simply do not like being an engineer, and I do not feel happy to do the same thing for forty hours a week. I can not imagine spending my entire life doing this.

Some nights I cry myself to sleep, and I get anxiety on Sunday evenings before going to work. I feel paralysed, in my bed with this weight on my chest.

This bitterness has seeped into my life, even into my relationship. My partner cares for me with patience and tenderness, even when I am short with him, even when I no longer recognize myself.

And yet, I still don’t know what I really want. I’ve been so carefully guided or rather, confined through engineering school that now I struggle to even imagine other possibilities.

I once jokingly said to my mum that I dream of opening a café where I could host debates, book clubs, feminist clubs. Because I need to do something as diverse as that. She laughed at me and said, "I didn’t pay for your studies for you to open a café."

Her words hurt me very much because I realize, even at 27 years old, she will not support my choices if she doesn't like them. I was hurt but not angry, because I know her expectations do not come from a selfish place but from her childhood and the chances she never had.

So I feel lost. I feel like I will never find happiness in what I do.

And I feel guilty because I have so many privileges, I have a diploma that is respected, a stable job, a salary that allows me comfort. These are things that millions of people dream of, fight for, sometimes never get. And yet here I am not being happy about my situation.

I still do not have any clear answers to how I could find happiness in work. Sometimes I even doubt that such a thing exists for me. My ideal feels unrealistic: I imagine a life with more freedom, with part-time work balanced by time for writing, reading, volunteering, learning. And yet, I fear that what I would truly love might be the exact opposite of what I do now : a world so far away from engineering that I cannot even picture the bridge between the two.

People often say, “You can be anything you set your mind to.” But I know that is not entirely true. The weight of reality is heavier: financial constraints, responsibilities, family expectations. I cannot simply quit my job and start over, at least not now, not in the next few years. And this thought frightens me the idea of being stuck in a life that does not belong to me, yet unable to step into another one.

What helps is starting to do things where I feel truly useful, where I can see the impact of my presence. Volunteering in different organizations gives me that sense of fulfilment.

Another thing that helps is trying to “better” myself but this time, in ways I genuinely choose. For example, writing this very text. I used to write a lot when I was younger, but I stopped during my studies. Picking it up again feels like reclaiming a part of myself. I dream of books and articles, so I start small: short texts, fragments, stories.

I also returned to reading. At first, it felt forced, like a discipline I had lost. But slowly, it became joy again. This year, I am already on my seventeenth book, while in the past eight years I barely managed one or two per year. I look for books that challenge and inspire me. I remember reading Maya Angelou saying: “You see, baby, you have to protect yourself. If you don’t protect yourself, you look like a fool asking somebody else to protect you.” I paused when I read that, and it really stuck with me. She is an inspiration to me.

I try to keep learning new things: languages, music, professional skills, art. Each small step feels like a stone placed on a path toward something I don’t fully see yet, but hope to discover.

And, maybe most importantly, I finally began therapy after years of rejecting the idea. I used to believe no one could really help me, because I thought I knew better than them what I needed. But maybe finally having someone to talk without feeling guilty or without feeling like I am burdening them is helping me.

I still feel lost, but less than before. I know I carry privilege, and that I cannot waste it on silence or resignation. If I do not yet know what I want for myself, I can at least keep searching, learning, and giving back to the community.

And maybe, in doing so, I will finally discover what happiness means for me.