With a little luck, someday I will be the man my mother expects me to be.
I am 27 years old and have a decade of experience in marketing, but the road has not been easy. Last October, I quit a job I had held for three years—a position that, despite its "prestige," left me feeling exploited. Although I consistently exceeded my performance metrics, my requests for a raise were met with reproaches regarding my mistakes. Out of a sense of dignity, I decided to leave and start my own chocolate business.
Although my venture has gained some traction, it is not yet financially sustainable. Today, I live under my mother’s roof and depend on her for life’s essentials. I am overcome by a sense of defeat when I see young people—ten years my junior—amassing fortunes, while I, despite holding a professional degree, barely manage to cover my operating costs. I feel as though my marketing skills, my command of several languages and some solid computer knowledge are simply not enough to pull me out of this hole.
Added to this is the emotional burden of a distant father and a religious upbringing in which I seek refuge, even as my own mental and emotional state continues to deteriorate. I feel as though every risk I take only serves to sink me deeper. My mother is loving, but she has zero tolerance for failure. I see her desperation, and—though she may not admit it—I sense her disappointment.
Today, I write from a place of guilt. After eight straight days of working without rest—from 10:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m.—I decided to take the morning off. When I finally arrived at my workshop—a kitchen she allows me to use within her office—she called me lazy and reproached me for my mindset. I know that if I were financially successful,
I would no longer be a burden; she would finally be proud of me.