You Don’t Have to Become Your Dream

There was a time when I thought I knew exactly who I was becoming. I envisioned a radiant image of my “future self.” She was confident, steady, unshakable—a woman who walked through life with elegance and certainty, untouched by chaos or self-doubt. I believed that by simply checking the right boxes, I would eventually transform into her. Life felt like a straight path, a project to be completed. But when I achieved some of those long-awaited milestones, something unexpected happened: I felt emptiness instead of pride.

For the first time, there was no plan in place. I had to create the map myself, and that’s when the confusion began. The road morphed from a line into a maze. No longer was I asking, “How do I keep going?”—I was questioning, “Who am I even moving towards?”

When the Dream Doesn’t Match the Reality

Eventually, I had to confront a hard truth: I no longer mirrored the girl I once dreamed I’d become. I wasn’t flawless; I wasn’t always focused. Instead, I was tired, made mistakes, and shifted direction more often than I’d like to admit. Was this a failure? Had I betrayed my cherished ideal?

Anxiety crept in, whispering, “Everyone else is ahead. Everyone else figured it out. Everyone, except you.” Even in moments of achievement, I felt like the sole one falling behind, and that quiet feeling of being “not enough” lingered for years.

Redefining What It Means to Grow

I once thought maturity meant becoming more like the girl I imagined, but now I realize it means letting her go. It’s about standing before that old dream and saying: “I loved you. But you were a dream. I’m not here to be perfect. I’m here to be real.” During dark times, I searched for clarity and eventually learned: the light comes from within. Yet inside, I was scattered and lost in a storm of expectations, comparisons, and silent rules I had never agreed to follow.

So I began exploring more profound questions: Who am I without the dream? What do I want—not for applause, but for peace? Which parts of me are genuine, and which were planted by someone else?

Writing Was My Way Home

With a million pieces of myself drifting in different directions, I needed something to hold me together. That something was writing. It didn’t seek to fix me or provide all the answers; it simply helped me stay present with the questions—without running away. Writing welcomed my confusion and allowed me to embrace the messiness of becoming, instead of pretending I had already arrived.

I Didn’t Fail. I Changed

Some days, I still long for that old version of me—the voice that whispered, “Hold on, we’ll get there.” And, in a way, I did get there. But it wasn’t the destination she imagined. It was a softer, more honest space—a realm where I didn’t need all the answers, and where success became a feeling, a heartbeat, a breath, a voice—mainly when I write.

The actual failure lay not in not becoming my dream, but in judging myself for not accomplishing it. It was in holding today’s self to the impossible standards of a 17-year-old girl who hadn’t yet grasped life’s complexities. We grew up on grand tales—movies telling us to chase greatness, fairy tales promising magic, all whispering that “ordinary is not enough.” So we ran—hard. Yet reality doesn’t unfold in shimmering grand finales, but in quiet moments: the shimmer of dew, the warmth of afternoon light, the softness of just being.

Becoming the Truth

Today, when I look at myself, I don’t see a failed dream; I see someone who has truly lived. I am someone who has stood at crossroads with no signs and continued forward. No, I’m not who I once dreamed I’d be. I am something better: I am the truth. My most significant success isn’t visible on paper; I’ve learned to calm myself, slow down, and rediscover wonder in the most minor things. From that wonder, I’ve found peace.

And writing? It continues to hold me, giving my scattered pieces a voice and reminding me that wholeness isn’t perfection—it’s presence.

Letting Go Is Not Giving Up

This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped dreaming. I’ve learned to dream differently—dream without punishment, rest without guilt, and grow without needing to prove my worth through productivity.

I’m sharing this today for you—and for the part of me that sometimes forgets: You are not required to become your dream. You are invited to become yourself. Because somewhere within you lies a seed that wasn’t part of the original plan—and that seed might be the most precious thing you’ll ever cultivate.

So if you’ve gazed into the mirror and thought, “I’m not who I thought I’d be,” let that moment be the beginning. Not the end.