Finding Your Own Way

One of the hardest (and most humbling) lessons I’ve had to learn?
How to find my way.

Not the path others assumed for me.
Not the one culture or polite expectations quietly paved.
Just mine.

God didn’t create us to blend in, tick boxes, or repeat family scripts.
He made each of us uniquely—to shine in the very specific way He designed.

Spoiler alert: that design often goes way beyond job titles, business degrees, or family legacy.

Pressure: Not from Family

I’m truly grateful—my family never pressured me to take over the business.

But society? Society had a blazer and business plan picked out for me before I even hit puberty.

Growing up as the eldest in a business-focused family, I heard it all:

• “Of course you’ll take over.”
• “Think you’ll ever be able to fill your dad’s shoes?”

Add that to the pressure I put on myself as an overthinker and people-pleaser… and you get the picture.

On paper, it all made sense.
Business talk and spreadsheets were breakfast conversation.
Business school in the U.S.? Logical. Strategic. Very on-brand.

But inside, I kept asking: Is this really me?
I didn’t hate it.
I didn’t love it either.
“Fine” was the default. And “fine” became heavy.

The more I tried to wear the roles people imagined for me, the less I recognized myself in the mirror.

Trying, Failing, Drifting

I tried different roles—finance, sales, admin.
I gave them a real shot.

Joy? Sparse.
Satisfaction? Patchy.

So I did what made sense at the time: I left the city, moved somewhere new, and tried something completely different—cattle farming. It always looks easy in the movies, right? Wide open fields, fresh air, simple life.

Fun fact: I was the only woman in this charmingly male-dominated industry in that town.
Which came with its own soundtrack:

• “Is there a man I can speak to?”
• “Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

Charming, right?

So there I was: city expectations pulling one way.
Town expectations pulling another.
And my own standards—the loudest of all—whispering that I might be failing at everything.

Even with my dad’s support, I felt boxed in.
Like I was acting a role I never auditioned for.

And no matter what I tried, the pressure to prove myself—to be “successful”—was always right there, following me.

The Breaking Point

It started to show.
Dad and I argued more—not out of lack of love, but out of my own frustration.
I wasn’t sure I loved what I was doing.

Panic attacks. Dark seasons. Distance from the faith that once steadied me.
That part deserves its own telling (I go deeper in the Faith Series if you want the fuller, messier account).

Eventually, I stepped away.
Not to rebel. Not to be dramatic.
But out of necessity.

I needed space.
To breathe.
To figure out who I was without the title, the imagined expectations, or the weight I’d let others place on me.

And to finally ask the questions I’d been avoiding:

• What do I actually want?
• Is this my calling—or someone else’s version of success?
• Who am I when no one’s watching?

They felt like huge questions.

A Detour that Changed Me

So I traveled. I journaled. I worked in places far from the “business blueprint.”

It wasn’t neat or strategic. It was messy. Uncertain. But it was honest.

I went from a life where I had everything, to a trip where I was scooping water out of a boat in Africa.
I trained as a scuba diver to face panic attacks, worked with sharks and monkeys, and slept in shipping containers without a mattress while teaching English to children with nothing.

It was humbling. And freeing.

(There’s more about those trips in the Travel Series if you’re curious.)

I loved the adventure. I rediscovered gratitude for everything I had back home.

Most importantly, I got to know me—without the noise.

In that raw, unfiltered honesty, I began to reconnect with purpose.
Not one that was inherited or assigned—but discovered.

And God? He wasn’t absent.
He was in the small, ordinary places of the detour.
In the questions. In the exhaustion. In the slow returning to prayer.

That season didn’t fix everything.
But it stripped away some of the noise.

The Heart of It So Far

If you’ve ever felt the weight of expectations…
If you’ve questioned your path, your purpose, or that haunting line—“Is this really all there is?”—hear me clearly:

You are not alone.

God isn’t scared of your questions.
He’s not disappointed by your detours.
And He’s definitely not confined to your social media profile.

In fact, I believe He uses those wilderness seasons—where nothing makes sense—to prepare us for something even more beautiful than we imagined.

So if you’re in that foggy in-between, keep walking. Keep listening.
You’re not lost. You’re becoming.

In this journey of family, identity, and calling, God rarely gives us the full picture upfront.
But He always gives enough light for the next step.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him,
and He will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)

So if you’re in the middle of figuring it all out—faith, family, future—take heart.
God’s not confused. He’s crafting something beautiful.

And spoiler: it doesn’t end at “I quit.”
In Part 2, I’ll share what happened when I came back and how I discovered my role.

To be continued.