“Was It Ever My Choice?”

They told me I was free.

That I could be anything—
do anything—
if I just worked hard enough.

Every school speech, every motivational poster said:
“Make the right choices. Carve your own path.”

But somewhere along the way,
the choices didn’t feel like mine.

Go to college.
Pick something stable.
Don’t waste your talent.
Don’t disappoint your parents.
Don’t question too much.

And when I did question,
they called it a phase.
When I pushed back,
they told me I’d understand one day.

Even love—
was measured.
Filtered through community, compatibility,
and what will people say?

And when I paused to breathe,
to think—
they whispered:

"You’re falling behind."

So I ran.
I ticked the boxes.
Chose what was already laid out.
Even when it didn’t feel right,
I told myself:
“Maybe this is what growing up is.”

But was it?

Because somewhere between duty and desire,
I stopped hearing my own voice.

Everyone told me what the right thing was.
Not because they were cruel—
but because they cared.
Because they were scared.
Because they had once listened to someone else too.

And now here I am—
with a life that looks good on paper,
but pages I can’t quite relate to.

They say I chose this.

But did I?

Or was I just guided gently—
by love, by guilt, by expectation—
into becoming someone who wouldn't make a fuss?

Is that freedom?

Is a choice still yours
when every path comes with a subtle nudge
and a long list of consequences?

Because maybe that’s the real question.

Was it ever about the choice—
or about who I became while choosing?

Even if the outcome was inevitable…
was the journey still mine?

Was there meaning in the confusion,
in the hesitation,
in the quiet rebellion?

Or was I just following a map
someone else drew for me—
telling myself the footsteps were my own?