My Body Crumbled And Made Me Realize That I Was On The Wrong Life Path

I always had to excel at everything.

Now I know it was because I always believed I wasn't good enough.

When I was 13 years old I wrote my first screenplay. I read it to my mother and told her that one day I will become a writer.

My mother laughed. She was certain that writing will never bring me money and therefore I would become a "failure".

My mother used to put me down a lot and so did other people.

In fifth grade, I was bullied because I was Serbian. In 1999, NATO bombed Serbia. Most of the western media portrayed Serbians as dangerous. The kids in my class called me various names and I had no friends.

There was a particular boy, let’s call him a "Little Boy", who just loved to pick up on me. One name he used to call me was a “murderer.” Now let that sink for a while.

"How do you think it made an 8-year-old feel?"

I excelled at sports.

I won a school marathon. This "Little Boy" came second. I stored my medal in the school locker and by the time my father came to pick me up, my locker was vandalized and the "Little Boy" stole my medal. Soon after my father decided to move me to a private international school.

I excelled at all subjects except math. At the age of 15, I already spoke fluently four foreign languages.

My favourite subject was the English language even though it was foreign to me. I worked hard: I had private tutors and attended after-school English courses.

I did all of that to be better than other kids.

I handled more assignments, wrote more essays, hoping to get the best grades. But I never did. My English teacher always found a mistake, even when there weren't any to find.

One day I took all my assignments to my private English tutor to review them and she found mistakes in my English teacher’s “corrections”.

The next day I confronted my English teacher and asked her:

Why do I always receive average grades on my assignements? I work more than the rest of the class...

Without looking at me she responded:

“A foreigner will never speak nor write better than a native speaker. That’s why.”

I never gave up, but I knew that my hard work and determination will not be appreciated just because I was a foreigner.

I continued to do my best. I kept writing and practising but I never received an "excellent" grade.

When I was 17, I applied three times to the prestigious film academy. To get accepted, one needs to undergo six rounds of interviews. Each time I qualified for the last round.

I had to receive a “yes” from all the professors. Somehow I never received a “yes ” from an old "scorned Lady", who was once a very prominent cinematographer. I confronted her in front of her colleagues.

What is the reason that You are always saying a "no" to me?

While smoking a cigarette, she responded:

“You are trouble. You don’t fit here. You’re too opinionated and you write about topics which are of high sensitivity such as World War II or Yugoslav Wars which you know nothing about…and I don’t like you.”

It hurt.

It did, and to be honest, still does. I felt like I wasted three years of my life applying to this university when all along they never intended to accept me.

Why did you let me undergo all the rounds? Why not eliminate me at the start?

This time another professor responded.

“We were curious what you would write… You write well, but as she says we are not sure if you are a right fit for us.”

I stood up, and before leaving I agreed with them: I wasn't a fit for this university.

Later that year I got accepted to another film university where I met an Oscar-winning cinematographer who knew this "scorned Lady". He had no kind words for her. He became my mentor and helped me improve my writings.

Just recently he wrote a letter of recommendation which has become priceless as he has just passed away. May he rest in peace...

But somehow I still gave up on writting as it didn't bring me enough recognition. To be more precise, it didn't bring me instant money.

Back then I wanted it all and I wanted it now.

So I can prove myself to "the Little Boy", "The English Teacher", "The Scorned Lady" and my to Mother.

I took a different career path. I entered the video games industry and for the last 7 years, I've worked as a business development manager on some of the biggest video game titles.

As a kid, I loved playing video games. My mother would get upset and curse me: “Damn you and those video games! They will be the end of you!”

I made a career out of video games. I represented several top video game companies, launched five best-selling games, and my suggestions and ideas shaped a few of them. I've made good money at times and received bonuses in my early twenties.

But I never fully "fit" into the video games industry and its corporate culture.

The hectic lifestyle, the nonstop travel, the crunches, the parties, the million-dollar deals, the pressure affected my mental health.

But I still kept pushing and climbing the ladder. I travelled 7 times per month. I've been to San Francisco, Tokyo, New York and Shenzhen in the span of one month.

But I keep going because I wanted to prove my mother wrong.

I will make money from playing and selling video games!

I was motivated and driven for all the wrong reasons.

I remember the day when my motivation shifted from empowering the video games community to getting money from them. It was the fear of becoming "a failure" that fueled it. I associated success with how much money I had in the bank account.

I used to gather video game communities, create meet-ups, do non-profit work. I made events for over 600 people. I baked cookies for them. I made introductions to the publishers just because I believed in them. I was proud of myself but it wasn’t earning me anything, but it had a deeper meaning.

Back then people respected me for doing the service, providing a place for like-minded developers and being generous. They loved me for being myself.

A big well-known video games corporation approached me and I fell for the promise of “success”. They told me that if I join them I will never feel like a failure again.

Days, weeks, months and years went by and I lost the passion and started lying to my family, friends, colleagues and business partners.

I became someone else.

Instead of writting, I started counting money.

My mother died and left me with my insecurities. I was completely lost.

"Welcome to the family.”

I was told when I joined the latest video games corporation.

During lockdown I made a plan — I was about to write a novel, live off my savings and find my true self again. Now, when my mother was gone perhaps I could go back to writing?

But my plan didn’t work out and my savings disappeared due to unfortunate reasons, and I was forced to go back to the video games industry to keep my wider family afloat.

When I accepted the job, I told myself that this time it will be a “temporary gig” just until I save up enough money to pursue my initial dream. The dream that my mother never approved of. The dream that made her laugh so hard.

I made myself the promise that I didn’t keep.

When I started the job my manager kept telling me that I’ve joined a family and not a company, that they will take care of me, support me and that I should confide in them if I struggle with anything.

At first, I didn’t fall for it. I’ve had my bad previous experiences with corporations: I brought big partners, made million-dollar deals and in the end, I got fired because I was good at my job and was a threat to others.

But I needed the job, I need the money. I didn't need a new family. I already have a complicated Serbian/ English family — I don’t need nor want anyone else.

I did my job well: I brought good deals and made some exclusive collaborations but somehow I’ve kept my distance. I rarely socialized with my colleagues, I was inactive in our team group chat, and I didn’t go for lunch — I wished to go home early to spend time with my family.

During the pandemic peak, I worked remotely which suited me — I dislike working in the office. I am more productive working from home and my job can be easily done remotely.

I also needed to travel frequently abroad due to my family obligations — the company seemed understanding of my situation.

This summer the company changed policy regarding remote work and decided that everyone needs to go back to the office. I had to travel abroad to be with my family. I informed my managers:

"My family comes first."

“We understand. You can work remotely, for the time being...”

I was nicely surprised that we were in agreement.

I travelled to be with my family and attended to my job duties remotely: all was well. Upon my return I’ve realized that the company has gone through restructure — many employees decided to leave because of the new “office-only” policy, some have complained that I have been “allowed” to work remotely for a long period of time due to my unfortunate family matters and others have just decided to follow their dreams instead.

Maybe a few of them have also realized that the company isn’t their family after all.

I was still pursuing money. I was still being someone else.

Upon my return, I wasn’t asked how my real family was nor given any support instead I was told that I will receive a warning letter from HR.

“What did I do?”

I worked remotely to support my family in time of need, which was supposedly understood and supported by the corporation. But somehow during my time away perceptions shifted, management changed and someone had to be punished — me.

I was told that this letter is just a “formality” and I should not worry too much.

But how could I not worry?

I nearly believed that “we are family”.Their actions brought back all the initial reasons I never wanted to work in a corporation in the first place.

But it also made me realize that their initial attitude was deceitful. The company I worked for isn't my family and pretending otherwise is wrong.

My family doesn’t send me warning letters.

I’ve disappointed and angered my family in past, countless times but my family never gave up on me. They never fired me for “poor performance” or got upset because I wasn’t able to attend the “family reunion”. My family is loyal to me no matter what.

My father never made an example of me to my sisters to teach them a lesson.

My family gave me pocket money even when I didn’t contribute enough to the household and supported me when I was out of a job or feeling unwell.

Families don’t kick out people when a restructure happens — there are no restructures in healthy families. Companies do that.

My family loves me unconditionally.

The company can’t love me. When I opened up about my personal issues I was told that they don’t want to hear the details. Why?

Because then perhaps they might emphasize more with me and it would be harder for them to make “necessary” decisions. If they knew me inside out then perhaps they would feel remorseful about sending through the warning letter.

My family listens to my needs.

Since I’ve been back I’ve asked on multiple occasions to work remotely. I’ve backed it up with numbers and explained why and how I would be able to deliver more if I am able to work remotely. The company declined.

Companies don’t compromise.

The company acts like my toxic and angry mother standing on the doorstep and demanding that I do something. Why?

“Because I said so!”

So I kept doing what the company wanted me to. I started feeling sick.

I never believed in “burnout”. I thought it was just a new name for severe anxiety and depression. Or just another excuse for employees who hate their jobs and want to go on sick leave. At times I even considered a “burnout” an excuse for the lazy entrepreneurs.

"Burnout is made up!"

That’s what I thought until I’ve experienced it. To those who are conflicted as I was — trust me burnout is real and it can be devasting.

I worked always. I worked when I was in high school, I worked in college — not just one job but three. I didn’t have to work, as I was blessed enough to come from quite an affluent family.

I worked to prove myself that I am good enough.

My father kept telling me to slow down, to rest. But I never listened to him, I still had my mother's critical voice stuck in my head on repeat.

I had to be a “successful woman ”. And if that meant working 24/7 then be it.

My travels stopped during the lockdown — but the demand for video games increased massively. I took no vacation during the first year of the pandemic and slowly but certainly I started to feel ill like my body was giving up. I was feeling more often exhausted.

I hoped that this feeling will pass over the summer when I finally took a few days off but instead it got worse. Back then I was in denial that I have it under control. But I didn't.

Other things that happened during the lockdown that contributed to my state worsening:

• My friend died at the age of 28 suddenly and I haven't processed it;
• I've lost my stepson in the custody battle;
• My beloved dog died;
• I was conflicted about working at the corporation as I wished to write instead;
• and I just could not grasp the “new normal”...

Everything was coming at me from all angles and I just couldn't admit it.

This November I ended up in the emergency room because I had a severe panic attack. The doctors said it was because of the chronic stress that I was experiencing. My general practitioner called it “burnout”.

I know it was an “awakening”.

Looking back, I realized that for the past few years I felt detached from the work I was doing. I used to come to the office and feel frustrated whenever the team spoke of our “achievements.”

The presentations, online conferences, small talks, office jokes — all felt ridiculous and pointless to me.

I always knew I didn’t fit in. At times I felt so angry for feeling this way — I really wanted to laugh at the stupid joke that was made during the stand-up, but I just could not.

I was cynical as well. When I felt my colleagues stressing over some deadline I wished to tell them, no — scream at them: “It doesn’t matter, because we will all die anyway! So who cares about the deadline?”.

The team was looking forward to team buildings, office parties while I just wished to go home and sleep. I was exhausted not just psychically but emotionally as well. I knew I’ve lost my spark.

I even started taking myself out on the dates to the Opera, theatre, cinema — hoping that would help me get “myself ”back. It worked — for a few hours until the next day I had to go back to the office.

The day the panic attack happened I felt like a failure. I swear I could see my mother standing next to me shaking her head in disappointment.

That evening in the emergency room I was certain I would die — I could not breathe, my mouth was dry, I felt a metallic taste in my mouth and my whole body was trembling and at times I could not feel my left hand.

I knew I was having a heart attack when actually I was having a panic attack.

When they let me go home I thought I came to the most obvious realization — no money will save you from death. While drifting to sleep, I’ve asked myself: “Why am I am working so much?”

I am very ambitious. I am very insecure. I thought that titles could cure my insecurity.

High achievers are the ones who are most at risk for burnout. My natural instinct is to pedal faster on the treadmill when I feel that I am getting tired.

I don't stop until I am stopped.

On top of that, I am under stress. There is the financial insecurity, the neverending pandemic, the annoying colleagues, the deadlines, needy children, old parents, noisy siblings...

My body is chronically on edge while my mind is on fire — trying to process all the information and respond to it accordingly and ideally as soon as possible.

So it’s natural that I've panicked — my mind overloaded.

I had no other option than to stop.

For the first time in my life, I went on sick leave and I feel better. I am still cynical and somewhat detached, I feel anxious and I fear that my panic attack will return. I need time to heal.

I need time to heal from being on the wrong life path for years.

I am also confused — if I am experiencing an “awakening”, is my body and mind telling me to pursue a different path altogether?

I started evaluating what I have been doing for the past few years in the video games industry.

To put it bluntly, I’ve been feeding addicts with drugs.

I worked on some of the most addictive video games and I’ve created marking campaigns and partnerships on how to make the players spend more time and money within these games.

I can do better than that. I don’t want to be a legal “drug dealer”. I would rather help people how to “regulate” the time they spend playing video games.

To be honest I can’t see myself “selling video games ” in 5-years time. I’ve been there long enough — I know I can earn well, I can earn more and that I can reach the top management easily. But do I want it?

No!

Then why stay there even a day?

For once in my life, I must be brutally honest with my needs and wishes.

I want to write. There it is, I’ve said it finally.

We all have a story to tell.

This is mine...

I think of my mother more often. My mother criticized me a lot. Nothing was ever good enough in her eyes.

Speaking four foreign languages. Becoming a published author at 19. Teaching at famous universities. Doing charitable work. Working at the most profitable companies.

My mother was unreasonable, too strict and demanding. At those times she wasn’t herself. She expected more, more and more. Maybe because she knew I could deliver more?

Now I know that my mother has taught me many things.

One of them is to do better.

Better than her.

Thank you for your support and reading.