When I was younger, my life goal was simple and loud: I wanted to be a career woman.
Not just someone with a job—but someone important. Someone at the top. Someone who would walk into a room and be respected immediately because of her title, her achievements, and her independence. I wanted a title that spoke for me. I wanted people to look at me and think, “She made it.“
Back then, I was never afraid of reaching for that goal. With the energy of youth on my side, I believed success was supposed to look like long hours, tired eyes, and a calendar that never rested. And I was ready for it. I was willing to give my time, my sleep, even my peace—because I truly believed that one day, it would all be worth it.
Working hard never scared me. I was raised to survive before I was raised to dream. From my teenage years, I learned that if I wanted something, I had to earn it myself. That lesson didn’t come from a lack of love—it came from reality. My parents simply couldn’t afford much, but they did what they could with what they had. We lived in a household that was… just enough.
Enough food, though often shared.
Enough shelter, though money was tight.
Enough warmth, though life was hard.
I never called it being poor. Even in our hardest times, my parents made sure we were cared for in the ways that mattered most. Watching my mother hold everything together while my father worked tirelessly to provide taught me more than words ever could. When you grow up that way, you learn something powerful early on:
Gratitude is not about having more—it’s about having each other and seeing the value in what we already have.
My parents didn’t teach survival through lectures. They taught it through life. And that shaped me in ways I only understood years later. Still, life has a way of making you feel “less than.”
When I couldn’t further my studies as far as most of my friends did, I felt it—the quiet judgment, the unspoken comparison. I was looked down on, even when no one said it out loud. That was the moment I made a promise to myself: One day, I will be successful.
I didn’t know what that would look like yet. I only knew one thing—I refused to stop growing.
So I kept learning, just not in a lecture hall. I opened myself to experiences, explored new paths, and tried everything life offered. And no matter where life took me, creativity remained the only path that ever felt natural to me, with writing as the skill that has always lived in my bones. Numbers, formulas, or science have never been my strong suit. My mind lives in words, ideas, emotions, images, and meaning.
I once dreamed of studying law—I loved understanding systems, building arguments, and the way words can shape outcomes. But then I convinced myself that my time had run out—that I was too late. Instead of trying, I slowly stopped dreaming. Sometimes I still wonder what my life would look like if I had pursued it. Would it be completely different? Or was this always the path meant for me?
Growing up, I worked many jobs—more than most people know. I moved through kitchens, human resources, accounts, sales, public relations, customer service, and even ran a small handmade craft business. I also did some modelling, from magazines to catwalks and tv shows.
At one point, I almost became a flight attendant—until my mum stopped me from pursuing it. That broke something between my mum and me for a while. But strangely, that moment redirected my entire life. It led me to keep the finance job I’ve now been in for over a decade—a job I never truly loved, but one I am grateful for, because it gave me stability.
Looking back, I realize she saved me from a life I wouldn’t have wanted. Every time I travel and see flight attendants now, I know I couldn’t live that life. It looks glamorous from afar, but it demands more than I’m willing to give.
Age gives clarity. And clarity changes desires.
But one truth has become impossible to ignore:
I don’t want to be a career woman anymore.
There was no dramatic moment. The desire simply left.
I stopped wanting to impress people.
I stopped chasing approval, titles, or validation.
I stopped measuring my worth by productivity.
Not because I’m lazy, but because of a deep, soul-level exhaustion that comes from carrying responsibility, showing up, and trying to prove something for most of my life. I no longer have the energy for constant hustle.
All I want now is to live my life well.
I remember venting to my partner once and saying words I had never dared to say out loud before:
“I don’t understand why some women feel the need to be workaholics. I don’t want that. I don’t even want to work anymore. I want a quiet life. I want land, living on a farm far from the city. I want to take care of my family. I want animals—goats, chickens, horses. I want a garden, and food I grow with my own hands. I want to cook and bake. I don’t want to force myself out of bed every morning just to see the same faces at work, most of whom I don’t even like. I’m tired. I’m exhausted.”
People often say women must keep their careers even after marriage. I agree—but with one correction: having a job and knowing how to make your own money are not the same thing. Sometimes independence doesn’t mean climbing higher—it means choosing a life that truly fits.
As for me, I no longer want the career I once dreamed of to feel secure. What I need now is time, freedom and space to create. I want to write my own book at home. I want to earn money doing things I love—selling what I grow, baking for joy, creating without pressure. Perhaps even running a small private dining experience where I cook on demand. I want a life that feels mine, not borrowed by deadlines and expectations.
If I ever get married, I want a husband who becomes the partner who allows this life to flourish—a support, not a second battle. A partner who adds peace instead of pressure. I am not ashamed to say that I desire a man who can provide, who can lift my burdens, and give me the safety I need to finally rest—so I have the freedom to focus on what I love. A traditional life. A homemaker’s life. Centered on care, presence, and building a home that feels truly lived in and loved. A life where I am no longer living in survival mode.
With that freedom, I want to be surrounded by people who support me and truly feel safe and welcome in my presence. I want to host monthly lunches and dinners where loved ones gather not to impress—but to connect. I want to look in the mirror and see someone who looks rested, not worn down by survival. I want a healthy body and strong emotional and mental well-being, more than recognition or applause. I want to live that life—fully present, fully mine.
I also want more time to read. To travel. To observe. To learn people deeply.
Over the years, experience has shown me that life isn’t fully understood by simply following a routine—it comes from living, observing, and stepping back to experience the world on your own terms, with travel becoming one of the few things that allows me to feel fully myself again.
Travel has taught me humility, patience, and the art of adapting. The more places I’ve visited, the less judgment I carry, and the more I understand how little we truly need to be happy. Even when plans go wrong, I’ve learned to adjust, endure, and keep moving forward. These experiences have shaped my perspective, which I now carry into everything I do.
They say the more time you spend chasing money, the more life you slowly lose. Because by the time you finally have enough, your body may no longer allow you to enjoy it the same way. I understand that truth deeply. I’ve seen how painful it is to finally reach a moment you waited for, only to realize your energy, your health, or your spirit can no longer keep up.
And yet, I know we all need money to live. The key is not to chase it at the cost of your soul—becoming so obsessed that you lose your morals, your integrity, all for things you probably don’t even need. Looking back, I can see how much of my life I spent chasing money—losing time with loved ones, my health, and myself in the process. I pursued things that weren’t meant for me: procrastinating on what truly mattered and waiting for things I knew would never happen.
However, I also know that I have tried my best to live intentionally, to be the best person I can be, and to give myself the best life possible.
And at my age now, I understand something truly important: I am already successful.
Not in the way I once imagined—but in ways that truly matter.
✅ I own a home.
✅ I live without heavy debt.
✅ I eat well.
✅ I am healthy.
✅ I am safe.
✅ I am at peace with myself.
✅ I feel and look my best, even in my late 30s.
✅ I travel with my own money (often alone)
✅ I find joy in simple moments.
✅ Loyal friends protect my name.
✅ I am loved unconditionally.
✅ I have grown into someone I’m proud of.
✅ Resentment no longer weighs me down.
In fact, my life is filled with many of the things I once prayed for as a child. I am now in a deeper sense of calm than I ever imagined I could be. This, to me, is what true success looks like—something many people spend their lives chasing without realizing they already have.
Quiet. Grounded. Enough.
The success no one taught me to chase.
The success that doesn’t shout.
The success that finally feels like home.
And for the first time in my life, that feels like everything. 💘
—Auri Duham 🌼
