For a long time, I believed in the promise of a career. Study hard, make smart choices, keep progressing, and eventually you will feel successful, stable, and fulfilled. That was the unspoken contract.
This is the story of how I kept following the rules and ticking the boxes, only to discover that something essential was still missing. On paper, everything made sense. From the inside, it felt increasingly empty.
At some point, I began to realize that what I had been chasing wasn’t alignment, but approval. Not meaning, but security. Not fulfillment, but validation. That’s when it started to feel like a scam. Not because work itself is a scam, but because I was believing the idea of success that required me to disconnect from myself in order to achieve it. The problem was never just the job. It was the disconnection underneath it.
Choosing without feeling
When it was time to choose a study, I was completely disconnected from myself. I didn’t know what I liked, what I was good at, or even how to begin making a decision like that. My high school teacher told me it was time to enroll somewhere. Apparently, everyone had already done that except me. That alone made me feel behind.
I chose a general degree in Economics because it was considered a study with good career perspectives. It sounded solid and respectable, and somewhere in the background there was the thought that if I could do this, my environment would be proud of me.
I didn’t enjoy the study at all, but I didn’t question that either. Enjoyment didn’t feel relevant. I simply had to do it. Around the same time, I started working at an accounting firm. I was utterly miserable there. I barely dared to speak to my colleagues and spent my days doing exactly what I was told, trying not to make mistakes and hoping I wouldn’t stand out for the wrong reasons. Over time, the pressure became heavier. I felt like I couldn’t live up to expectations and was constantly afraid of being fired. I switched offices, hoping a different environment would change something, but experienced the same thing there. That was the moment I decided to quit my job and focus on finishing my studies first, even though it felt like a huge failure.
Somehow, I completed the degree. Looking back, that had everything to do with the pressure to perform. In my final class, which happened to consist only of men, I met three guys I felt safe with. They probably never realized it, but their presence made it possible for me to keep going.
Moving into HR
After graduating, I was confronted with the same question again: what now? I didn’t have people around me with whom I could openly explore that question. The only thing I knew was that I couldn’t imagine working in economics, and honestly, I couldn’t imagine working at all. At the same time, I still believed I had to build a “good” career.
I had always found human behavior interesting, so when I combined that interest with my business background, Human Resources felt like a logical next step.
A week after graduating, I started my first job. There was no break, no gap year, no space to breathe. It felt like the moment to perform had officially arrived. The truth was that I was already burned out, even if I didn’t fully recognize it at the time. The most I could handle was a relatively simple recruitment role for four days a week. I stayed there for two and a half years, and slowly, almost unnoticed, I began to recover.
When my contract couldn’t be renewed, I felt intense stress about being unemployed and even more stress about telling other people. Before I had time to process it, I had found another job and could start immediately. Once again, there was no pause.
A safe place, but not forever
This new role felt more serious. I joined an HR department where I was exposed to different areas of the profession and was given real responsibility. The team felt safe, and I was allowed to contribute ideas, which gradually built my confidence. For the first time, I noticed that I could initiate small changes and that they would actually be implemented.
After a few years, however, I saw the same annual cycle repeating itself. Policies were outdated, and there was little appetite for structural change. Although I had more energy than before, I started wondering whether this repetitive environment was really what I wanted long term. The thought “Is this it?” surfaced more often. At times, it felt like I had already entered a midlife crisis in my early thirties.
I spoke with a life coach during that period, but instead of truly listening inward, I listened to my ego. I felt I needed to progress, to take a bigger step, to prove something. When I was offered a position as a consultant at one of the Big Four firms, I felt flattered and recognized. It seemed like the kind of move that would finally validate my career, so I accepted.
The pressure of prestige
It didn’t take long before I realized I didn’t fit in. The culture was competitive and cocky in a way that felt forced to me. People openly spoke about their achievements and strengths, and vulnerability didn’t seem to have much space. Whenever I expressed doubts, the response was simple: you just have to do it.
I tried to adapt and become someone who thrived in that environment. Meanwhile, I was being sold as an expensive consultant and felt constant pressure to deliver at a level I wasn’t sure I could reach. It all felt off, but I didn’t know how to step out.
The real wake-up call came when I was diagnosed with the final stage before cervical cancer. I was recovering from surgery at home when I felt the pressure to return to work as soon as possible. The resistance in my body was overwhelming. Once again, I had no idea how to meet expectations, and the only solution I could see was leaving.
The illusion of security
During my recovery, I applied for a position at one of the largest banks in the Netherlands and was hired. Within the consulting world, this was considered a comfortable and prestigious move. The name alone carried weight, and part of me believed this had to be a wise decision.
Yet it didn’t take long before I felt drained again. The team leader created a toxic atmosphere, managers were replaced one after another, and expectations were unclear while the stakes were high. I was working with large payroll budgets where mistakes were not an option, but I had little guidance. I felt like a complete failure and eventually called in sick.
I stayed home for three months. I felt alone and minimized my situation, telling myself it wasn’t that serious. The guilt of not working was heavy. There was little support, so I tried to structure my days with walks and exercise, just to get through them.
Trying to find meaning
During that time, I became convinced that I needed a job where I could genuinely contribute something meaningful. However, I struggled to imagine a future outside my current employer. My environment kept reinforcing that I should be grateful to work for such a reputable organization.
When I applied internally to a department investigating money laundering, I wasn’t selected because they considered me too sensitive. In hindsight, they were probably right.
I returned after three months because that felt like the absolute maximum amount of time I was “allowed” to be sick. I went back to the same department, but with a new manager who turned out to be exceptionally understanding. He gave me flexibility, allowed me to choose projects, and supported me in working with a job coach and following additional training. I trained as a health coach and personal trainer, which temporarily gave me energy. But I realized that something can be interesting on a personal level without being your career. I didn’t want to be a health coach or a personal trainer.
Eventually, the familiar emptiness returned. One day, I called my manager and told him I wanted to quit because I saw no other way out. I felt empty, exhausted, and hopeless, and at the same time too guilty to call in sick again. His reaction surprised me. He told me they didn’t want to lose me and asked what I would like to do instead. I didn’t have a clear answer, only a vague sense that I wanted to make a difference for people. That conversation led me to a role in Employee Wellbeing.
A glimpse of alignment
Joining the new wellbeing team felt meaningful from the start. We were building policies to support employees across the entire bank, and when COVID hit, our work became even more relevant. The pressure was high, and I worked hard, but this time it felt different. I felt useful. My strengths were recognized within the team, even if my new manager didn’t always see them in the same way.
When we were informed that the department would be abolished because our job was considered “done,” the news hit hard. It came shortly after the end of my 11-year relationship and my move into a new home. Stability was fragile, and my instinct was to secure a new job as quickly as possible.
I succeeded again. A manager who appreciated my previous work hired me, and I threw myself into the role. For years, I worked harder than most colleagues, took on extra responsibilities, and told myself I was building my career.
The breaking point
A colleague became a friend, and together we started weekly “future-proof” meetings to imagine what a different life could look like. When her position was eliminated during a reorganization and I experienced undesirable behavior from my manager, something in me finally broke. I ended up in another burnout, but this time there was clarity instead of confusion.
I knew that this way of living and working was not sustainable for me, and that I was not willing to return to it ever again.
After a solo trip to Guatemala, something shifted. I returned and simply couldn’t continue in the same way. I felt empty and exhausted, and work began to feel completely meaningless. Good ideas were dismissed, toxic cases were covered, management didn’t really care about employees, and I felt increasingly unhealthy sitting behind a laptop five days a week.
Breaking free
When I look back, I see how little space there was for actually feeling what I wanted. My mind was filled with limiting beliefs about work needing to be serious, financially rewarding, and externally impressive. I focused on performing, earning, and progressing, while ignoring the quiet signals of misalignment.
From the outside, it looked like a solid career. From the inside, it was years of adaptation.
The scam was not the companies. It was the belief that success would automatically create fulfillment. The idea that if I just worked harder, achieved more, and secured the right titles, I would eventually feel right about my life.
Now I understand that I cannot build a professional life that is disconnected from myself. My body has told me many times and will continue to intervene until I truly learn that lesson. Not as punishment, but as protection.
For the first time, I am no longer trying to fix my career. I am rebuilding the foundation underneath it. And it feels like the first honest step toward something that truly fits.
I don’t yet know exactly what that looks like, and I’m learning to be okay with that uncertainty. What I do know is that I’m finally listening to myself, and trusting that following that inner guidance is the only way to a good outcome. Writing this blog is part of that process. It’s a way to explore my thoughts, share my story, and notice what resonates. It’s a small step, but it feels real, tangible, and entirely mine.