Who's the one who's sick: me or society?

There was a time when I believed I was responsible for everything happening around me.
If I just tried hard enough, if I was perfect enough, if I was kind enough to everyone, then surely life would become easier.
The anger I felt, I saved for home—served cold as passive aggression.

But the harder I tried, the more stuck I became. I was hurting myself without even realizing it. Not because I wanted to, but because I believed I had to be that way: always performing, always pleasing, always “strong.”
My body eventually shut me down through a burnout and chronic pain.

Back then, I saw it all as a personal failure.
I thought I was the one who had to recover.
I was the one who had to learn to “be different.”

And honestly: therapy, reflection, seeking help… it brought me a lot. It helped me realize I’m not broken—I simply carried beliefs that were never mine, beliefs reinforced daily by an environment that rewarded them.

And now that I’m recovered and walking around shouting, “Look! I’ve seen the light and I’m pain-free!” I see one person after another around me fall out with burnout, depression, back pain.
I can shout even louder, “Look at me! Just do it like this!” and still—it changes nothing.

Because there’s something else I’m beginning to see more clearly:

It’s not just us. The system is hurting too.

We live in a society that treats pressure as normal.
Where performance equals worth.
Where success is measured in efficiency, speed, numbers, visibility.
A house, a car, two vacations a year, dinners with friends—that’s when you’ve “made it.”

We talk endlessly about individual healing, but far less about the structures that push us so far that we need to heal in the first place.
It’s easy to say, “Go see a psychologist and work through your trauma.” I’ve written that many times in my own e-book.

But what if those traumas don’t just come from our personal history, but also from a society that never stops pushing?

What if the question isn’t only:
“What’s wrong with me?”
but also:
“What’s wrong with what we’ve accepted as normal?”

The perspective I sometimes forget

There’s also this:
I’ve never lived through war.
Never faced hunger.
Never endured mass loss.

From that position, it sounds almost absurd to tell others—or myself—
“Work on yourself, make sure you don’t feel pain anymore.”

Some people carry scars from realities far bigger than anything individual therapy could ever fix. And even those without “big” trauma still live in a society designed to generate constant pressure.

It’s far too simplistic to say all pain can be solved through enough self-care.
Sometimes self-care is nothing more than a bandage on a world that’s exhausted.

I still believe in personal growth.
In healing.
In therapy.
In relearning what you truly need.

But more and more, I believe we also need to ask a bigger question:

How do we build a society where people don’t have to break before they learn to set boundaries?
How do we create a culture where your value isn’t tied to your usefulness?
How do we stop burning each other—and ourselves—out?

Maybe the answer isn’t individual or collective.
Maybe it’s both.

What are we even doing?

We deserve a society that supports us, not one that drains us.

I don’t yet know what that looks like.
But I do know it’s time to rethink it.
For ourselves.
For each other.
For those who come after us.

Not long ago, I was at a dinner where the conversation turned to Gen Z. Apparently, there’s a course for employers on how to deal with Gen Z in the workplace. The waiter overheard us and jumped in:
“These young people, honestly. I had to work with them, but they refuse to work until the middle of the night. The restaurant even had to change its opening hours!”

Maybe Gen Z has simply figured it out already.
Maybe they’re refusing the race that left us— their parents—so tired.
No house, no two holidays a year, no car? Honestly, fair. It’s unaffordable anyway.

What if being content with staying home is enough?
With dinner with friends in a small apartment?
With time that’s actually ours?

Is a day in a big house really so different from a day in a small rented apartment?
Do people scroll less on their phones?
Play more with their children?
Laugh more on the couch while wrestling around?
Is love somehow bigger there or just the same?

I remember a conversation with a relative. We were talking about our kids and their future careers. I said I hoped my husband and I had taught our kids that it’s okay to work at the supermarket, to live an ordinary life—that they don’t need to chase something exceptional.
I literally said: “I hope we taught them that they’re enough as they are, whatever job they have, even at the grocery store. I think that is the essence of life: being content, wherever you are.”
To which he replied: “So you’re saying I’m raising my kids wrong because I want more for them?”  

Feel the energy shift?

Why is it delicate to express I want less for my kids?  Less stress, more fun.  Back to basics.

Meanwhile, the numbers keep climbing: burnouts, depression, back problems, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue…

So honestly:
What are we doing?