Sometimes, whether at work or at home, I catch myself feeling completely disconnected from who I am. Everything might seem fine on the surface, yet deep down I’m drained, exhausted, and somehow… empty. Why is it that even when I’m living the life I’ve always wanted, there are moments when it still feels like something’s missing?

And in those exact moments, I realize this: whenever I start slipping from being the main character in my own life into a supporting role, this familiar gloom shows up — holding a “depression balloon,” ready to pop it right in my face.

But what does this role change actually mean for me? It’s when I spend my days ignoring my own emotions and my body’s needs, prioritizing the wants of others, and constantly adjusting myself to meet them. Every time I lose touch with my own self, life’s colors start to fade, my chest feels heavy, and my motivation for almost everything disappears. At some point, this lack of desire even pulls me away from my own search for meaning.

That’s when I know I need to pause and look inward.

What do I want today? What do I want right now?

Take a simple example — after work, my partner might want to watch the next episode of the show we’ve been following together. Even though I’ve grown tired of this routine, I say yes anyway, just to spend time together. I start putting off the things I truly want to do. And when that happens, I know the disconnect has begun.

Think about it — we already rent out eight or nine hours of our day to someone else in exchange for money. During that time, we leave most of our other identities at the door, swipe our card, and step into a completely different world. How much of our true selves can we really bring into that space?

Then, after we come home, we have maybe five hours before bed — time that quickly fills up with our unofficial responsibilities: being a spouse, a parent, a child, a cleaner, a cook… While trying to harmonize with the people we live with, we often push aside our own needs yet again.

For example, I’ve been craving long, quiet hours lost in the books I’ve recently bought — disappearing into their pages. But then I think, If I do that, I’ll barely spend time with my family today. So I use that as an excuse, mute my own desires, and in doing so, I hand over the steering wheel of my life. Sometimes that silence feels safe, but when I let it go too far, I realize my lines in my own movie are fading… and so am I.