“What do you want?”

This question used to haunt me. When I started dating my partner, he’d ask it all the time. And I could never give him a satisfying answer. My default? A defeated: “I don’t know.” You’d think by 40, I would’ve figured that out.

But life had other plans. After the whirlwind of motherhood and the realization that I needed to return to work, I found myself deeply stuck. Unfulfilled. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, or even what I valued anymore.

I joined a female mentorship program to figure things out professionally, and suddenly I was staring down questions like: What are your personal values? What’s your personal brand? I froze. I actually had to Google “list of personal values” just to figure out where I fit. If you asked for a 30-second elevator pitch about who Shelley was… I’d just melt.

The truth is, putting myself first felt foreign. Growing up, I was never primed to centre my own needs. Most of us weren’t. Society hands us a blueprint: go to school, find love, get married, build a family, land a career, buy the house, retire. But what happens when that script doesn’t fit? Or you don’t want all of it? It felt harder to fit in when you didn’t follow that mold.

There’s this unspoken idea that productivity equals “worth,” that the busier you are, the more valuable you must be. But what if you’re not “productive” in the traditional sense? What if you’re not climbing a corporate ladder or posting constant wins on LinkedIn?

Especially as women, we’re often raised to seek consensus, not clarity. From daughter to wife to mother, there’s rarely room to pause and ask: What do I want outside of everyone else’s needs?

Add in cultural norms where you’re shamed for not fitting in, and it becomes even harder. Motherhood magnifies this. Your body, your mind, your time are no longer your own. You become the default parent: the one who gets the sick calls, packs the food, organizes the clothes and toys, and manages the emotional temperature of the house. How can you think about what you want when every day is lived for someone else?

That mentorship experience was exactly what I needed to remind me of who I am. I’d spent years feeling “not enough” every time someone asked, What do you do? And in all of that, I forgot what truly brings me happiness; the real blueprint of life.

I love and crave authenticity. I want to be present in my body and in my life. I want meaningful relationships that aren’t based on performance, but on presence. I want to feel joy without guilt, rest without shame. I used to think these desires were small or silly, but now I understand they are liberating. Especially in a world that rewards burnout, speed, and appearances.

Truthfully, I still have internal conflict fully embracing that. I still get caught in the trap of measuring myself against the wrong definition of success, and that shame runs deep. It shows up when someone asks, So, what do you do? as if that one answer defines my worth. I stumble over trying to sound relevant, because what I value doesn’t always sound impressive in a world obsessed with output.

But I’ve learned this: if someone thinks my answer isn’t good enough, they’re not someone I need to impress. I’m no longer interested in shrinking myself to fit into systems that never made space for me in the first place. I’m perfectly content living in that grey area.

Through mentorship, motherhood, and many quiet moments of questioning, I’ve started building a life that aligns with my values, not just my resume. I’m a work in progress, but I’ve found joy in connection, truth in being present and happiness in making others smile.

And if that’s not “productive” enough for someone else? I have to keep reminding myself, that’s their problem, not mine.