How I Survived the Chaos and Found My Peace

I’m sitting by this window, watching the sunset. The mountains and fields are blanketed in snow, and for the first time in a long while, I feel contented.   

On the month of October 2024, I was on the verge of a breakdown. My life felt like it was falling apart, and I was like a drowning man with no straw to clutch on. A lot of it, I’ll admit, was self-inflicted. 

I had long days filled with anguish, desperation, and a constant sense of being trapped. My mind refused to accept that I couldn’t do everything at once. I wanted to stick to my contract, take on side work to earn more money, go out and have a social life, travel, study for my exams, have time for myself, and plan for what came after the contract ended.  

Of course, I couldn’t manage it all. Eventually, I started feeling drained, deprived and deeply unhappy. Sometimes, while on the train, I’d have to fight the urge of shedding tears in public. The reality of being a foreigner and the many barriers stacked against me only amplified my feelings of powerlessness and anxiety.   

Looking back, this chaos was not new to me.  

My life has always been a whirlwind of activity. In campus, I held two leadership roles in highly demanding clubs. On top of that, I had academics to keep up with and two part-time jobs that kept me equally busy. I poured so much time and energy into them that I often faced breakdowns and burnout. Yet I couldn’t slow down.     

After campus, the pattern continued: I found a job, stayed active in debate competitions, and kept my remote part-time job. When one contract ended, I immediately started another, took on a major debate project, and continued working remotely. There were countless days of burnout and unproductivity that interfered with my performance, but I still couldn’t stop.   

The truth is, I liked the thrill of it all. That feeling of being multi-engaged, constantly challenged, and seemingly capable of doing everything. But, in reality, it was often just an illusion.   

Even during COVID, a time that could have been for decompressing and reconnecting with myself and others, I remained consumed by commitments. I burned out more than ever. I juggled debate tournaments from early mornings to late nights almost every week.   

When I came to France, the cycle continued. Barely a month in, I was already thinking about what came next. My contract came to an end and I secured another one. However, even with this new contract, my mind remained preoccupied with too much. It led to long days filled with anguish and desperation.

One day, I asked myself, “To what extent am I going to push myself just to have everything in order? Who is setting this bar for me?” 

I realized that at just 22, I couldn’t say for sure what I’d been doing over the years. I had a collection of achievements but no real memory of how I felt during those moments, or why I pursued them in the first place.  

They say that we should do everything when we are young, but the question that kept reiterating for me was if we don’t live in each of those moments actively then what’s the point? If we can’t tell whether we’re doing something because we truly want to or just because someone told us to, how will we take responsibility for the consequences when they come? 

These reflections in addition to the incontestable wave of unhappiness in me, led me to taking a risk. I left my contract, even though I had grown attached to the people and the social life I had built, and stepped into the fate of focusing on one thing at a time.   

And that’s how I ended up here, sitting by this window, looking out at the sunset over snow-capped mountains, surrounded by vineyards in a small village.  

Life here moves at its own pace. There’s no rush. I wake up to a beautiful sunrise and calming sunset.  

This slower life is slowly changing my perspective.  

I spend some of my mornings having a walk by the lake, some of my afternoons climbing a hill with a bike and some of my evenings sitting by this window, reflecting and meditating under the soft glow of my lamp.  

I’ve started journaling regularly, not just when I’m sad, but to document my growth and uncover truths about myself that I had long ignored.  

In the beginning, it was hard to come to this reality of a slow-paced life. However, slowly, my days started to feel lighter, my heart more grateful, and my mind calmer.   

It’s a process of reminding myself that it’s okay to do just enough, not more. Reflecting on the things I’ve done and trying to relive those memories to understand how they’ve shaped the person I am today.

Learning to appreciate the value of family, friendships, the small things, the long walks, quiet moments, and honest self-evaluation of how I’ve contributed to both my successes and failures. I’m working on my faith. 

I used to wonder why people would seem sad and depressed even when they had money, lived in cool countries and had built a life of accolades. I didn’t realize I had slowly become part of that statistic.   

Now, I’m being fully present in my life. And if anyone ever asks me at one point what I bring to the table, I’ll simply say, “Self-awareness.” 

We grind every day, make money, and follow what society says we should do, but just a reminder, all of this is vanity.   

As you gear into this new year, take a moment to pause and ask yourself: Why are you doing what you’re doing? The job, the studies, the relationship, why? If it truly fills your soul with joy, then keep at it. But if you don’t know why, find your window and take your time.  

I dare you to be YOU this New Year!