I am a mother and a wife. At work, I am a professional woman; back at home, I am also a daughter and a daughter-in-law. Daily life is like constantly juggling many balls. I know very well that not a single one can be dropped, and over time, this has become the standard I hold myself to.

In the morning, I rush to drop the kids off at school, then hurry to work, switching between meetings and schedules, reminding myself to be punctual and professional so as not to disappoint my boss or clients. In the afternoon, I rush back and forth between the children’s extracurricular classes and tutoring, while also remembering family gatherings, birthday parties, and all sorts of arrangements that cannot be forgotten. At night, returning home, I am still the one holding the entire family together—taking care of sick children, managing household chores, and putting everyone else’s needs first.

This kind of life seems fine on the surface, and I always told myself that I was just a little busier. But only I knew that whenever I wanted to take a breather or put myself first for a moment, an indescribable sense of guilt would bubble up. It felt like if I just slowed down, I would be failing one of my roles.

I had already tried so hard, yet if a problem occurred in just one area, I felt like the whole world was going to collapse. Gradually, I realized that what made me feel the most powerless wasn’t the busyness or exhaustion, but an increasingly clear sense of loss—I seemed to be fulfilling many responsibilities, yet growing further and further away from myself.

I began to forget who I would be without these roles. Those dreams, expectations, and desires that once belonged to me had been packed away one by one, becoming blurry and distant, and I didn’t know since when. One day, I suddenly asked myself: “Why am I always living for others?” That wasn’t just an emotion, but a very clear moment. For the first time, I began to realize that I rarely stopped to think for myself. During all those years, I had just kept moving forward, but rarely asked myself where I was going.

“No longer just existing for others, I can also be the protagonist of my own life.”

Later, during the process at LifePilot, I wasn’t asked to change immediately, nor did anyone tell me who I should become. I was simply allowed to slow down, spread my life out to organize it, and re-distinguish what was important to me and which responsibilities could be put back into their proper places. It wasn’t a world-shaking turning point, but a very real beginning. It wasn’t until then that I slowly regained a long-lost feeling… I was participating in my own life, rather than just bracing myself to get through each day.

Today, I am still learning and still adjusting the rhythm of my life, but one thing is crystal clear: I no longer exist solely to fulfill all my roles. I, too, can make choices for myself.
— Rachel