I Resigned From My Dream Job Because of Its Slow, Destructive Impact

I believed landing my dream job would be the greatest achievement of my life. I imagined a sleek office with glass walls, a prestigious ID card hanging around my neck, and high-level meetings with influential people. That was my definition of success. But when it finally became real, I couldn’t recognize that behind the polished surfaces and friendly smiles, something was silently destroying me.

After graduating from university, I joined a multinational company. Everyone around me said, “You’re so lucky!” And cautiously, I believed them. I was young, earning a good salary, and working among top-tier professionals. I thought I had entered a dream life—like acting in a movie about success.

But very soon, I realized something was wrong.

Within just three months, I could sense something was deeply off. My working hours were from 9 AM to 9 PM—sometimes until 11—without any personal boundaries. Saying no to work requests was not an option. And then there was the silent undercurrent of competition in the office, behind polite smiles and subtle conspiracies. The office politics were exhausting and never-ending.

Gradually, I began to lose myself. I stopped connecting with friends. The smile that once came easily had disappeared. Most evenings, I was too tired to eat or even speak. Weekends became less about rest and more about recovering just enough to survive the next round.

Meanwhile, I began feeling dizzy at work. One day, my vision blurred and I nearly collapsed at my desk. The doctor told me my body was fine—it was stress, slowly suffocating me.

That was the moment everything changed. For the first time, I realized: my dream job was quietly destroying me from the inside.

I asked myself a hard question: Who am I doing this for? My family? Society? My ego?

Somewhere along the way, I had turned into a machine—efficient, silent, and emotionless. I couldn’t even remember the last time I wrote something creative or lost myself in a piece of music. I wasn’t living; I was just working.

Then one morning, I walked into my manager’s office and calmly said,

> “I’m resigning. I want my life back.”

He looked at me like I had gone mad. Maybe I had. Or maybe—I had finally made the right decision.

The first week after resigning was terrifying. I kept checking my bank account, asking myself: Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?

But then, something changed. I began to breathe—really breathe. I took long walks in the park. I reconnected with old friends. I rediscovered music. And most importantly, I started writing again—not for work, but for myself.

Today, I freelance. I earn less, but I sleep well. I laugh, not forcefully. And for the first time, I truly feel alive—far more than I ever did in that glass-walled office.

Quitting wasn’t easy. I spent many nights filled with doubt and fear. But over time, I learned that mental peace is worth more than any paycheck. Sometimes, the boldest and most professional decision you can make—is to leave.

Because not every “dream job” is really a dream. Some jobs are like quiet nights, dressed up with salaries and promotions.

If you’re reading this and feel trapped—if your body goes to the office but your soul stays home—I want you to know: wanting something better doesn’t make you weak. Craving peace doesn’t make you crazy.

Jobs will come and go. But once you lose yourself, it’s much harder to come back.