Am I a Person or Just a To-Do List With Legs?
When your LinkedIn is thriving but your soul needs a nap
Somewhere between back-to-back calls and unread emails, I looked up one day and thought, wait, is this who I am now?
Just a calendar full of meetings, a glowing screen, and a body that knows how to reply “noted” in three different professional tones?
When did I stop being a person?
Growing up, I was that kid. The one who filled her notebooks with stories and doodles. I had a flair for drama, playing in my gully until my mom dragged me home, and devoured books like they were mangoes in peak summer - messy, juicy, and completely immersive.
But then, somewhere around the age of “beta commerce le lo,” that girl slowly learned that joy doesn’t get you a stable career. That art won’t pay your bills. That sport is fine, but not serious. That dreams are good, but maybe for other people.
So I adapted. I got efficient. I learned how to meet KPIs, negotiate deadlines, lead teams, hit targets. I got really, really good at playing the part.
I was a high-functioning to-do list.
I was so productive, I forgot how to feel.
Then last year, I quit.
I left a job I was good at. A job that once felt like the dream.
And to be honest, it broke me a little. (Spoiler: not in a poetic way. In a messy, have-you-even-brushed-your-hair-today way.)
Because suddenly, without performance reviews, deadlines, and that dopamine rush of “well done,” I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I tried baking. I tried writing. I even rearranged my bookshelves by colour like some kind of Instagram-aspiring librarian.
But nothing felt like me.
And I couldn’t figure out why.
Here’s the thing no one tells you about slowing down:
It’s not peaceful. It’s confronting.
When the noise fades, your real questions get louder.
Who am I when I’m not performing?
Am I allowed to be many things: messy and driven, ambitious and tired, a cat mom and a curious soul?
Can I outgrow my dream job and still be proud of who I was in it?
And most hauntingly:
What if the younger version of me, the artist, the sportsperson, the girl with ink-stained hands, doesn’t recognize me anymore?
Healing isn’t this straight line. It’s more like learning how to be human again.
How to enjoy things without needing to monetize them.
How to sit still without refreshing your inbox.
How to rest without guilt gnawing at the edges.
I don’t have a grand conclusion here. I’m not about to pivot into a motivational reel or sell you a planner.
All I know is this:
I’m trying to be a person again.
Not a brand. Not a resume. Not a LinkedIn headline.
Just a living, breathing, slightly dramatic, chai-loving person.
And if you’re reading this while silently spiralling between your third coffee and your fifth task-switch of the morning, hi. I see you. You’re not alone.
Maybe we’ll both find our way back to ourselves.
Not with a bang.
But maybe… with a really good cup of tea and the courage to be unfinished.
Ashika R.
(Recovering overachiever. Aspiring person.)