Dreams That Aren’t Mine

 

Ever since I was little, I’ve heard stories—of great successes, of glorious victories, of bright worlds waiting to be conquered. I was raised with the idea that dreams are our guiding light, that they are the engine of life, that we move forward through them. But over time, I began to feel that some of those dreams weren’t mine. They seemed to belong to someone else, to an image built from the expectations of others—of society, of family. They were foreign to my heart, yet I carried them like armor that protected me but also weighed me down and held me back.

This was one of the most painful truths I had to accept—that many of the dreams I had chased weren’t born of my soul. They were someone else’s dreams, imposed by the outer world, by voices I heard before I had the chance to hear my own. At first, it was hard to admit this. We all want to be loved and accepted, and often we’re willing to sacrifice our own desires just to be approved.

My life felt like a journey guided by maps drawn by others. The roads were outlined by their dreams and ideals, and I walked them, trying not to get lost, not to disappoint. But the further I went, the more I felt an inner emptiness—the sense that I wasn’t living my own life, but someone else’s.

That emptiness showed up in moments of silence, when the world quieted down and I was left alone with myself. Then came the questions: “Do I really want this?” “Whose dreams am I chasing?” “Who am I, when all these foreign expectations fall away?” At first, I pushed the questions away—fear of rejection was too strong—but eventually, I began to search for answers.

The path to realizing that my dreams weren’t mine was long and full of inner struggle. I had to recognize the voice of my own soul amidst the noise of the world. I had to learn to listen to myself, to trust what I felt deep inside—even when it meant stepping away from what was accepted, being different, walking against the current.

Before that, whenever someone asked me what my dreams were, I would recite the ones I had been taught—to have a prestigious career, to live in a big city, to be successful and admired. But in my heart, those words rang hollow. They were like a mask hiding my true self—someone who longs for simplicity, for connection with nature, for creativity, for meaning that can’t be measured by material success.

That split within me was exhausting. Every day I fought with myself—between what was expected of me and what I truly wanted. I felt like an actress playing a role that didn’t belong to her, and that role was beginning to suffocate my soul.

But I couldn’t keep living in that lie. At some point, a quiet determination arose—to break the chains of other people’s dreams and start searching for my own. I began with small steps—with questions, with silence, with attempts to understand what makes me feel alive, what brings me joy, what inspires me.

In that process, I discovered that dreams aren’t always grand or loud. They can be quiet, gentle wishes—like creating a home that breathes with nature, writing, painting, making music, helping others find their path. They aren’t for everyone, they aren’t for show—but they are real for me.

At first, I met resistance—both within and from others. Some didn’t understand and asked why I was choosing something “small” or “different.” But I learned that true freedom comes when you stop justifying yourself to others and start living your own truth.

This path taught me that dreams are not something to prove or compare. They are an expression of the soul—a way to show our uniqueness and meaning in the world. When you follow them, even if they differ from what’s considered normal, you feel an inner peace and joy no outer success can give you.

Sometimes I look back at those “dreams that aren’t mine” and I thank them. Because it’s through them that I learned what truly matters to me. They helped me break away from imposed images and build my own path. Without them, I wouldn’t have this strength of awareness, of choice, of acceptance.

In life, we often carry dreams that aren’t ours—because of family, society, tradition. But the sooner we recognize them and take a step toward our own, the richer and more fulfilling we become. Because life is too short to live someone else’s dream.

I want to say this to everyone who feels lost in dreams that aren’t theirs: there is a way out. Silence, attention to yourself, and the courage to be different are the keys. You don’t need big plans to have a real dream. It’s enough to listen to your heart and let it guide you.

In the end, dreams are the language of the soul. When you follow them, your life begins to sing a new melody—a melody that’s yours alone. And even if the road is difficult and full of uncertainty, it is a path to truth, to yourself, to freedom.

So don’t be afraid to leave behind the dreams of others. Don’t be afraid to seek your own. In them lies your meaning, your strength, and your peace. They may not always be understood, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re real—your dreams, and yours alone.