For a long time, I was focused on surviving rather than truly living, which meant I did not spend much time discovering what I actually enjoyed, what I felt passionate about, or what made time pass without me noticing. There was always something to do, something that required my attention, but rarely space to pause and ask myself what I really wanted.
It also did not help that during my childhood I had developed a strong fear of failure, which made it difficult for me to try new things. I always felt pressure to do things well. Simply trying, doing, or creating something without it needing to be good or something to achieve was not something I was familiar with.
My life felt quite defined. I worked in human resources, was in a long-term relationship, we traveled during holidays, and in my free time I exercised. That was what I knew. That was what filled my time. And although I was functioning, I was often not really happy in my work, which kept me in a sort of constant search for something that would feel different, something that would give me a sense of fulfillment.
When everything falls away
I remember this day and date as if it were yesterday. It felt as if my entire life was collapsing. During my last burnout, I was exhausted in a way that went far beyond simply being tired. In the beginning, I was still in a kind of denial, trying to continue with things as if nothing had really changed, but it did not take long before I realized that it was much heavier than I had allowed myself to see.
That realization became undeniable when I was supposed to go to a bachelorette party of a friend, and even the idea of leaving the house already felt like too much. Later, I also missed her wedding, as I chose to retreat and rest in a resort instead. The friendship did not survive that period, and somewhere along the way I came to understand this is part of life.
There were moments when even something as simple as going to the grocery store felt overwhelming. At the same time, I knew with a kind of certainty that I could not return to my job, as it no longer aligned with the life I wanted to live, with my ideas, or with the way I had started to see the world. And it was there that the pressure began to build.
Because if I was no longer that person, the one working in human resources, and if I could not rely on sports in the same way either, then what was left? What was I supposed to do? That question felt so heavy. It also felt urgent, something that needed to be solved soon. There was nothing else that felt available to me at the time. Not because it did not exist, but because I could not see it. I did not know what I wanted, and that made everything feel uncertain in a way that was difficult to sit with.
There were also constant thoughts about how I would support myself financially. The rising costs of living, rent, groceries, everything seemed to increase, and it kept running through my mind while I was already so exhausted. I could not see a future clearly, and I did not know if everything would be okay. My thoughts kept looping without giving me any rest.
Because I was on sick leave, there was also external pressure to figure things out from my employer, from the system around it, and also from within myself. I wanted clarity. I wanted something to hold on to. I wanted to feel reassured that I would be okay, that I would find something sustainable, something that would give me direction again. It seemed like such a simple question: what do you want to do? And yet I had no idea.
To start somewhere, I explored different paths. I started meditation, I had a couple of sessions with a holistic coach. I allowed myself to explore creative activities like working in a garden, stone painting, coloring, journaling. In the past, I had followed programs that promised to help you find your purpose, your ikigai, your calling. I felt like I needed a different approach this time.
The pressure to turn passion into purpose
Around me, people kept reflecting something back to me. They saw me as someone who could guide others, someone who could coach, someone who could support people in their process. It came up in conversations, in coaching trajectories, in feedback I received multiple times. And I understood why they saw that.
I enjoyed talking about life, about growth, about health. I liked being present with people. I liked inspiring others. But turning that into my work felt different. It felt heavy. It felt like something I would eventually drain myself in. Still, the suggestion kept coming back. Maybe this is your purpose. Maybe this is what you are meant to do.
At some point, I was told that my resistance might be fear, that I was holding myself back from something that was right for me. But what I felt inside was not fear. It was a very clear no. A steady ‘no’ that did not need to explain itself, even though I tried to question it many times.
During a session with the holistic coach, I was asked what I saw when I closed my eyes. What came up were images of nature, of flowers, of colors. It felt soft, open, and alive in a way I had not experienced before.
Because I had never really explored creativity, I decided to follow that direction. I started a graphic design course, and later a UX course, thinking that this might be a way to move towards something that felt better.
And in a way, it did. I enjoyed learning. I liked developing new skills and it gave me something to hold on to during that time. But when I imagined myself working in that field, I felt hesitation again. It would bring me back into environments that did not fully resonate, or require me to build something that did not feel aligned either.
I remember questioning myself. Had I made the wrong decision? Had I failed? I had invested time and energy into this, and still it did not feel like the answer.
The voice that kept pushing
There was a voice that kept returning. It told me that enough time had passed, that I needed to move forward, that I could not stay in this space of not knowing. The pressure from my employer was still there. And I also felt like I needed to tell the people around me what my plans were. Everyone asked about it, which made sense. If you leave your job, what are you going to do?
At the same time, I noticed that I was not only searching for a purpose. I was trying to escape the discomfort of uncertainty. I wanted an answer so I could relax again, so I could feel safe, so I could feel like I had figured it out. But the truth was that I was still exhausted. I did not have the energy to genuinely feel excited about something new. And yet, I expected myself to find clarity in that state.
At some point, I felt the need to change my environment, to step away from everything that felt familiar, and to see what would happen if I allowed space instead of pushing for answers. So I left with a one-way ticket to Bali, without knowing when I would return.
Trying to figure it out
Being there was both freeing and confronting. Even in a completely different environment, the same question followed me. What are you going to do? When I met new people, I felt uncomfortable when I said, ‘I’m unemployed’ or ‘I don’t know.’
I considered different options: working as a freelance project manager, working in social media, as a virtual assistant, or something in the coaching field after all? But none of it truly resonated. It all felt like something I was trying to construct from my mind.
It did become easier and easier to get used to not knowing. Despite that, after a few months, I reached a point where I felt stuck again. It felt as if I should have figured it out by now, as if I needed clarity. I felt stress, pressure, and the same worries returning. And that was the moment I realized that I had to let go even further. Not just of my job or my environment, but of the idea that I needed to figure it all out. In the end, the pressure mostly came from within myself. From wanting to know and being able to explain it to others.
Stepping into the unknown
I decided to go to India and join a ten-day meditation course in complete silence, Vipassana. It was something I had never done before, a country I had never been to before, and stepping into that experience brought up fear, curiosity, openness, and vulnerability all at once.
I went there without a clear expectation. I wanted to let go, to be with myself, without needing to find answers. It helped me to be in a place that felt completely different from what I knew. I also had no plan for what would come after India, and for the first time, I allowed that to be okay. The unknown slowly became less threatening.
I have written a blog about my experience during Vipassana. In the moment, it was not easy, but looking back, I can see how much it has given me. I still remember sitting there, without distraction, without expectation, in the emptiness, with myself. And then, without searching for it, something became clear. I want to write.
It did not come from thinking. It did not come from analyzing options. It came from a place that felt deeper, from my heart. As if it had always been there but had not had the space to surface before. It felt right immediately. Not because I knew what it would lead to, but because I could feel that it was true.
Starting without perfection
After the course, sharing this insight aloud made it real. Encouragement from someone I met there gave me even more confidence to act and to believe my stories could matter.
When I returned from India, I started writing. Not with a clear plan, not with a perfect structure, but simply by beginning. I focused on the content, on what I wanted to express and share, rather than how it would be received or how it looked.
Publishing it without everything being finished or perfect was part of the process. I did not want to wait. I wanted to move with what felt alive in that moment.
Rethinking the idea of purpose
Have I found my purpose? I am not sure if I see it that way. What feels more true to me is that life is not about finding one fixed purpose, but about allowing yourself to explore, to experience, and to follow what feels right in the moment.
I once believed that I needed to define it, to find the one thing that would give everything meaning. But now I see that the pressure to have a purpose can take you further away from yourself.
What made the difference for me was not searching harder, but creating space—space to rest, space to not know, space to let go of expectations. It was in that space that something new could emerge.
I also began to see ‘failure’ differently. Every step, every direction, every experience gave something. It showed what fit and what did not, and that alone was valuable, even when I decided not to continue with something.
My view on work shifted too. Work is not life or purpose anymore. It became something I can consciously choose, or choose not to. For me, work is now part of discovering and living life. It can be meaningful even if it is temporary, something that provides money, or a simple job that leaves space for what I truly want to do. There are many options, and at any moment, I can decide to explore something different. One job does not need to hold all of my purpose, nor define who I am.
Living life
The idea that I need to have a clear purpose created a lot of pressure for myself. It made me feel like I was behind, like I was missing something, or as if I was doing life the wrong way. But maybe there is nothing to find in the way I was thinking.
The most important thing for me was letting go. Letting go of a lot. Releasing the pressure. And then allowing myself to see and feel what is there.
I now think that life is not about defining one purpose, but about living, exploring, experiencing, and also allowing things to change over time. I see the things I do now as something that fits in this moment. And if that changes later, that is also part of it.
What I was searching for was already here: simply being, living, moving, reflecting, continuing. That may already be enough purpose.