Ever realized that in your life, you might not be the hero you thought you were?

Well, I have!

Rewind to my college days — the unofficial graphic designer of the campus. Whether it was posters for theatre events, cultural fests, or even T-shirt designs, that was me.

My work was everywhere, yet something crucial was missing from each piece — my name.

I believed leaving my name off was a sign of humility. “It’s about the fest, not me,” I’d argue, even when friends and professors nudged me to claim my work. I wore my anonymous artist hat like a badge of honor, oblivious to the opportunities slipping by.

But hey, I was the ‘humble guy,’ right?

Fast forward a decade. Here I am, a seasoned Product Designer and UX Engineer, still playing the humble card. I’ve probably missed out on promotions, recognition, even salary bumps — but who’s keeping score? I wanted to believe that I was above the chase for credit, content with doing great work in the shadows.

“I’m not one of those praise-hungry folks,” I’d tell myself, but was I really that different?

The truth was I still craved recognition. I just didn’t want to seem drooling for it.

I was content playing the humble guy, as long as a trickle of credit found its way to me — no matter how sparse or delayed. I remained oblivious to this internal conflict, until it inevitably found its way into my personal life and started to hurt my mental health.

The illusion I’d built around myself started to crack when my passion project, a video game I poured years into, went unnoticed. The harsh world of marketing and audience apathy hit me hard. I felt cheated, unrecognized.

This was followed by a stint in social media, where hours vanished into crafting content that barely gratified me. It started as a self-branding effort but quickly turned into a voracious time-eater, devouring moments I yearned to spend on my true passions — crafting games, apps, and stories. With each post, a piece of my authentic self seemed to fade, and the recognition I sought remained just out of reach.

But the real wake-up call came watching my wife, once a whirlwind of joy and energy, spiral into depression. I was no stranger to the ebb and flow of depression, but facing her depression was a battle I felt ill-equipped for.

I tried, with all my might, to be accommodating, encouraging, supportive — but my resolve would waver within days. The realization that my own life was being overshadowed in this process added layers of complexity and guilt, especially when my frustrations unintentionally deepened her struggles.

In my mind, I had always aspired to be her steadfast rock, her unwavering support system. Yet, the reality was starkly different. The challenges weren’t Herculean; they were in the minutiae, the everyday sacrifices and adjustments that, cumulatively, felt like moving mountains.

During this turbulent phase, a sense of isolation crept in. I yearned for someone to acknowledge my sacrifices, to understand my side of the story. There was this gnawing loneliness, a feeling of being unappreciated and unsupported, even as I tried to support her.

I was not getting any credit!

It was in this whirlpool of emotions that I faced a tough realization —

My version of humility was a façade.

True humility, I learned, isn’t about diminishing your voice but about thinking less of yourself for the sake of others. It’s a concept I’d read about and thought I understood, but living it was a different ballgame altogether. It meant making decisions that weren’t about what I wanted or needed in the moment, but what was best for us, as a couple.

Adopting this mindset wasn’t an overnight transformation. It meant reprogramming years of ingrained habits and thoughts. But the change was profound.

Each time I set aside my plans for her, it wasn’t with a sense of loss or irritation but with a focus on how I could be a pillar for her. This shift in perspective wasn’t just about supporting her; it was a journey towards genuine selflessness and contentment.

As I shed my misconceived notions of humility, I also began to see how I had unknowingly burdened my other endeavors with hefty expectations. This awareness brought a newfound clarity — managing expectations more realistically, acknowledging that… it’s okay to hope for returns, but with honesty and openness.

This shift in mindset, though subtle, played a significant role in easing the pressures I had imposed on myself. It’s a more honest way of navigating both my personal and professional worlds, and it has been surprisingly liberating for my mental health.

My ambitions didn’t disappear; they just found a new rhythm, a balance where I could be true to myself and be there for her. I’m learning, each day, to focus less on ‘me’.

It’s a continuous journey, one where I’m slowly but surely finding a deeper sense of fulfillment and happiness.