Health and Wellness Failures Stories

WARNING: It can be triggering for people with ED, I am not sure tho, sorry this is my first time venting to someone.

I am a 17yo and ever since I remember I hated myself and wanted to lose weight, I was one of the largest girls in class and all my friends were skinny and beautiful. Nobody has ever loved me, called me beautiful etc.. I have been trying to lose weigh since I was 10 I thinks, but I can't, idk why. I hate myself so much, I hate the feeling of my body, I want to cry when I feel my stomach while lying on the bed. I want to feel beautiful but I can't until I lose weight, but I can't lose weight and it's makes me so depressed everyday.

Trigger warning: Loss and suicidal thoughts.

Being a 29 year old male, I fucked up my life so far.

I had depression and aniexty from my adolescent years that's been with me to this day. My mental issues has stopped me from finishing my college education, dating and working for most of my adult life. At age 19 I dropped out of college and threw away my close friends to become a gaming recluse. My parents worried for my future but I just just wasted my days away, planning to end my life at age 25.

At 20 I started taking care of my grandma who watched me in my younger years. She was the only reason I stayed alive. I was paid by the state to care for her, so I spent the next 9 years of my life caring for her as I became a hermit. I was with her for 5 days of the week; taking her to appointments, bathing, cleaning, and just checking up with her often. She cared for me back by feeding me, hanging out watching movies, talked, and gave me a grandparents' love.

At age 25 I fought the urge to kill myself. I contemplated a long time if I should still carry out my plan. In the end, I decided not to because of my grandmother. Without me, she wouldn't have help to live her own life. Around this time I reconnected with my friends and life seemed better.

At age 26 I needed better Healthcare insurance, so I started working another job. I was prepared to fail, become a social outcast, and be judged for being a depressed mess. I was wrong. I was more capable than I though; I excelled at my tasks and spoke to both colleagues and clients reasonably well. Sure, I had awkward first interactions and conversations.. But it wasn't all the time.

At 27 I got into a car accident that gave me a concussion. I still suffer side effects from this injury to this day. I'm not as mentally fast, more forgetful, and can't intake information nor speech from others well. My life is still spiraling down from this; with some of the aforementioned effects worsening some days.

At 29 my grandma moved away to live with other family; my dad wanted his siblings to do their part as her kids and care for her too. She passed 3 months after moving away. 4 months after she passed I resigned from my job. My work stress, depression, and aniexty was at a all time high. I was unable to sleep, suffered from chest pains/eratic heartbeats from stress, couldn't socialize with others well, and was not getting any work done.

I regret this decision.

Sure, I feel mentally clear now, but having no income and not able to find a job is worsening my mental again. I tried trading futures recentl6 but I only lost money due to my impatience.

Nowadays, I don't want to wake up. I spend my days lazing around in bed as I apply for jobs, attempt trading but to only lose my meager savings, and try to think of reasons to live. My current reasons are for my family and friends.. I can't imagine what they'll go through if I ever commit.

I hope to find a job by January; that's when my funds will be dried up. Until then, I'll try to start back a routine and care for my physical health again. Maybe I'll try running again.

Thank you for reading.. Oh, and if this story was on TV, would you watch it? Do you think the main character will enjoy life again and find a job? I hope he does, I don't want this story to end soon.

I just needed a place to rant this out without the other side being a loved one or friend….I’m not well, I go to therapy twice a week at this point and the more I’m aware of how my mind works, what makes me tic, the more my thoughts race and I close off from loved ones. My history with relationships hasn’t been a great one, littered with bad endings and abusive partners…it’s like I’m a magnet for negative energy. I’m trying to heal but with my recent finding of I’m going threw PMDD (just putting a name to the mental hell I was already going threw) I feel hyper away of my thoughts and my emotional spirals and I can’t help to think my loved ones lie to me when they say I’m not a burden and it’s ok….im sure they’d drop me for someone more stable who involved less work…so I sit here and cry thinking it would just be easer to be in another abusive relationship so I wouldn’t worry about being a burden…that it was just the treatment my broken mind deserved and I could forever just live in this chaos I seem to feel calm in vs being always unsettled in the tamed relaxed environment I’m finding in my recent relationships….its just easer to be used then loved is how my brain takes it…what would you do if your mind just wanted to relax in the arms of the ones who abused you?

I don’t even know where to start. Lately, I’ve been feeling so off, like no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to shake this heaviness. Everything feels wrong, and I keep asking myself, why am I so unhappy? On paper, my life isn’t bad. I have a decent job, friends, a place to live. But none of it feels like enough, and it’s driving me crazy.

Every morning, I wake up and feel like I’m already losing the day before it even begins. I hit snooze on my alarm way too many times, not because I’m tired (though I usually am) but because I don’t want to get up. The thought of going to work, dealing with people, and pretending everything’s fine is just... exhausting. By the time I actually drag myself out of bed, I’m already late, which makes me even more frustrated with myself.

At work, it’s the samee routine every day. Emails, meetings, more emails. Everyone around me seems fine—like they’re just going through the motions without a problem. But for me, every task feels like climbing a mountain. I can’t focus, and when I finally get something done, it’s like, “Who cares?” It’s not like anyone notices anyway.

Even my social life feels hollow. I have friends, and we hang out sometimes, but it’s like I’m not really there. We’ll go to dinner, and while they’re all laughing and catching up, I’m just sitting there, forcing a smile and nodding along. Half the time, I don’t even hear what they’re saying because my mind is somewhere else—usually spiraling into some weird loop of self-doubt and overthinking. Then I go home and wonder why I feel so lonely when I was literally just surrounded by people.

My family tries to check in sometimes, but it’s hard to talk to them about this stuff. They always ask, “What’s wrong?” but I don’t have an answer. It’s not like there’s one big thing I can point to and say, “This is why I’m unhappy.” It’s just this constant, nagging feeling that something’s missing. When I try to explain that, they either look at me like I’m being dramatic or tell me I just need to “think positive” and “be grateful.” I get it—they’re trying to help—but it makes me feel even worse, like I’m ungrateful for the life I have.

The worst part is, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I used to have hobbies, things I was passionate about. I loved drawing, hiking, and binge-watching trashy reality TV (ironically, right?). But now? Even the thought of doing those things feels exhausting. I don’t have the energy, and when I try to force myself, it just feels empty. It’s like I’ve lost the spark I used to have, and I don’t know how to get it back.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just broken. Like, maybe this is just who I am—someone who’s always going to feel unhappy no matter what. I’ve tried journaling, meditating, even exercising (though I gave up on that pretty quickly). Nothing seems to work. I’ve thought about going to therapy, but the idea of opening up to a stranger about all this feels overwhelming. What if they can’t help me either? Then what?

I wish I knew what was wrong with me. Is it my job? My relationships? Am I just not cut out for this whole “adulting” thing? I see people my age on social media traveling, getting engaged, starting businesses, and I can’t help but compare myself to them. It feels like everyone else has it figured out, and I’m just... stuck.

hat people would think if my life was a reality show?? Would they see me as the sad, boring character who’s always complaining for no reason? Or would they feel sorry for me, like, “Wow, she really needs to get her life together”? Honestly, I don’t even know which one is worse. Part of me thinks they’d just change the channel because, let’s face it, who wants to watch someone mope around all day?

If anyone out there feels like this too, I’d love to know how you deal with it. how do you stop feeling like you’re just going through the motions? How do you figure out what’s making you so unhappy when everything looks fine on the surface? Because right now, I feel like I’m stuck in this endless cycle, and I don’t know how to break out of it.

I don’t even know where to start. For as long as I can remember, there’s been this feeling deep inside me, a constant whisper that I’m not good enough. Every day, I ask myself, why do I hate myself so much? And every day, I come up empty. It’s like I’m stuck in this loop, and I can’t figure out how to break free.

The crazy part is, from the outside, you’d probably think my life is fine. I have a decent job, supportive friends, and a family that loves me. But none of that seems to matter when the voice in my head tells me over and over that I’m a failure. It’s not like I choose to feel this way—it’s just there, like a shadow I can’t escape.

For me, the self-hate started small. I’d beat myself up over little things, like saying something awkward in a conversation or getting a bad grade in school. Back then, I thought everyone did that. But over time, those thoughts got louder, and now it feels like they’re all I can hear. No matter what I do, I’m constantly second-guessing myself. Did I handle that situation right? Did I offend someone without realizing it? Am I even worth anyone’s time?

Social situations are the worst. I’ll be in a group, and instead of enjoying the moment, I’m obsessing over whether people actually like me. I’ll replay conversations in my head for days, analyzing every word I said and convincing myself I sounded stupid or needy. The worst part is, even when people tell me I’m fine or that I’m overthinking, I don’t believe them. It’s like my brain won’t let me accept anything positive about myself.

And don’t even get me started on my appearance. Some days, I can barely look in the mirror. I pick apart every flaw, every imperfection, and wonder how anyone could find me attractive. I know it’s unhealthy, but it feels impossible to stop. Social media doesn’t help either. I’ll scroll through Instagram and see all these perfect people with perfect lives, and it just makes me feel worse. I know it’s fake, but it still gets to me.

At work, it’s the same story. I could spend hours on a project, pouring everything I have into it, but as soon as I hand it in, all I can think about are the mistakes I might have made. Even when I get good feedback, it doesn’t stick. Instead, I focus on the one piece of criticism or the one thing I think I could’ve done better. It’s exhausting.

The thing is, I don’t even know where this self-hate comes from. I didn’t have a traumatic childhood. My parents were strict, sure, but they loved me and did their best. So why do I hate myself? Why can’t I shake this feeling that I’m not enough, no matter what I do?

I’ve tried all the usual advice—positive affirmations, journaling, even therapy. And while those things help in the moment, the feeling always comes back. It’s like there’s this wall between me and actually believing anything good about myself. I’ll write down things I’m proud of or things I’ve achieved, but they always feel small compared to the weight of everything I think I’ve failed at.

One of the hardest parts is how isolating it feels. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way—there are forums and articles and videos about it—but in my daily life, it’s hard to imagine anyone else struggling like this. Everyone around me seems so confident, so sure of themselves. Meanwhile, I’m over here just trying to make it through the day without falling apart.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever feel differently. Will there ever be a day where I wake up and don’t feel this weight on my chest? Or is this just who I am—a person who’s destined to hate themselves no matter what? I want to believe that things can change, but honestly, I don’t know how to get there.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same way, I wish I had answers for you. I wish I could tell you how to stop feeling this way, but I’m still trying to figure it out myself. All I can say is, you’re not alone. And maybe that’s the first step—just admitting that we’re struggling and trying to find a way forward, even if it’s messy and imperfect.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, I’m just trying to hold on to the hope that it doesn’t have to be like this forever. Maybe there’s a way to break free from this cycle. Maybe one day, I’ll look in the mirror and see someone worth loving. Until then, I’ll keep asking the question, why do I hate myself?—and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find an answer that helps me heal.

For the longest time, I’ve been stuck in this cycle of excuses. I’d wake up every morning telling myself I’d make changes, that today would be different, but by the time the day ended, I was back to square one. Whether it’s eating healthier, exercising, or even just cleaning my space, I keep putting it off. I’d tell myself, "I’ll start tomorrow," but tomorrow never seems to come.

Yesterday was my breaking point. I was scrolling through social media and saw an old friend post about running their first marathon. I remember how we used to run together, how much I loved it back then. And now? I can’t even jog up the stairs without feeling winded. It hit me like a ton of bricks—what am I even doing with my life? Why do I keep finding reasons to avoid what I know I need to do?

I looked around my apartment after that. Clothes piled up on the floor, dishes in the sink from who-knows-how-many days ago, and a gym membership card collecting dust on the counter. That’s when it finally clicked—it’s time to stop. It’s time to stop avoiding the hard stuff, time to stop pretending everything will fix itself, and time to stop being my own worst enemy.

I don’t have a perfect plan yet, and honestly, I’m scared I’ll slip back into my old habits. But I know I can’t keep going like this. If I don’t make a change now, when will I? Maybe writing this out will help me stay accountable. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re feeling stuck too, maybe it’s time to stop and take the first step. We’ve got this.

Last week, I underwent significant surgery. Currently, I'm convalescing at home, instructed by doctors to take a two-week break from work, with a suggestion to slowly resume normal activities over the course of four to six weeks.

Unexpectedly, yesterday evening, my partner revealed that his son is hosting a sleepover with five friends tonight. It's already Saturday here. I was completely blindsided by this information; he had agreed to the sleepover without discussing it with me first, and it wasn't even for any particular occasion.

When I confronted him, feeling quite disturbed, I questioned why he would arrange such an event without my prior consent, especially at a time when I'm recuperating from major surgery. He dismissed it by saying he didn't believe it would impact me and admitted he had simply forgotten to mention it.

Overwhelmed by emotions, I broke down, expressing how neglected and uncared for I felt, given my current state of health. He persisted in underestimating the situation, suggesting that if it truly bothered me, I could spend the night at my mother’s place. Unable to bear the thought of a noisy household, and despite medical advice against driving, I packed my bags and drove to my mother’s house.

He has since sent me texts accusing me of overreacting, still failing to grasp the gravity of the situation. How can he not see the disturbance caused by having five teenagers over in a house with only one bathroom, and their gathering space right next to our bedroom where I need peace for recovery?

Now, in the silence of my mother's home, I ponder, was it wrong for me to leave immediately? Shouldn’t he, instead, have postponed the sleepover to a more appropriate time?

Imagine this scenario playing out in a reality show setting—cameras capturing every emotional outpouring and the tension palpable in the air as disagreements unfold. Would the audience be split in their opinions, or would they rally behind me, empathizing with my need for quiet and rest during such a critical recovery period?

I’m currently in family therapy with my dad, his new wife, my sister, and my new stepsiblings. My dad remarried two years ago following my mom's death, which means I now live primarily in one household. Adjusting to this blended family setup has been less than thrilling for me, despite understanding that the choice wasn’t mine to make.

Ever since my stepsiblings—who all suffer from severe food allergies—came into our lives, many aspects of our routine have drastically changed. For instance, a beloved tradition of visiting the local noodle bar to celebrate academic events is now off-limits because the menu doesn’t accommodate their dietary restrictions. Even simple pleasures like bringing ice cream home or whipping up a sandwich have been curtailed; now only my dad and his wife handle all the cooking.

Birthdays are another domain where adjustments have been made. The dining out choices now cater solely to what’s safe for my stepsiblings, sidelining my sister's and my preferred eating spots. My dad often expresses gratitude towards these changes in the spirit of family unity.

However, a few months back, my dad’s wife picked up on the lack of enthusiasm from my sister and me. Our disengagement sparked a decision to initiate family therapy, prompted by noticing that my sister had excluded her and her kids from some family photos she displayed in her room. Once therapy began, we spent session after session dissecting the issues, with my dad frequently championing the perks of our new family dynamics.

The tipping point arrived during a recent session when the therapist inquired if I was genuinely okay with these changes. That question unleashed all my pent-up frustrations. I vehemently expressed how much I disliked these changes and how they felt unjust. I highlighted how no one considered my preferences during birthday celebrations and how restrictive these new rules felt. My outburst covered the entire session, oscillating between my rant and responses to the therapist’s questions.

Both my dad and his wife were displeased with my outburst—him for my tone and her because her children overheard the passionate objections, which inadvertently revealed that I had never embraced these changes. She seemed unnerved by my monopolization of the therapy time, although she also appeared to acknowledge my feelings to an extent.

If this episode unfolded on a reality TV show, the reaction from viewers might be split. Some might sympathize with my need to maintain certain traditions and others could think that I was harsh and disrespectful. Reality shows thrive on portraying drama and intense emotions, so my outburst likely would have been highlighted as a pivotal, controversial moment, sparking debates and social media buzz.

Am I wrong for voicing my discomfort in this situation?

My partner Eric, whom I've shared a loving companionship with for nearly a decade, has always been on the heavier side, tipping the scales at about 242 pounds (110 kg). He's sensitive about his weight and doesn't even like appearing without a shirt. We've been cohabiting for three years and his body image issues have always been a subtle undercurrent in our relationship.

Recently, I splurged on a pricey ergonomic chair that cost me over $1,500. It's a special chair designed for petite individuals like myself, and it comes with a strict weight limitation of 100 kg. Despite my repeated, gentle reminders, Eric sometimes uses the chair, which I reluctantly tolerate because he shares all his things with me without hesitation.

Today, however, when he once again settled into my chair, my patience waned. I usually avoid conflict, but being under the weather and slightly irritable, I explicitly expressed my concerns. I explained that my issue wasn't him using my belongings, but specifically the chair that isn't built to support his weight, emphasizing how expensive it was and the lack of remedy if it were to break under him.

This revelation upset him profoundly. Now, Eric is avoiding eye contact and ignoring my attempts at conversation. I might have been direct in my wording, but was striving to clarify the rationale behind my repeated requests rather than hurt his feelings.

If this scene were part of a reality show, imagine the dramatic music and tension as the camera zooms in on our faces during the confrontation. Viewers would likely be on the edge of their seats, split between sympathizing with my concern for the pricey chair and empathizing with Eric's hurt feelings. It would be discussed fervently on social media, with people taking sides and debating personal space versus sharing in a relationship.

Am I wrong here for insisting on my point?

I've always been somewhat of a recluse, deliberately steering clear of social media and generally shying away from the spotlight. My wife knows this well, yet she refrains from uploading my photos online, though I’ve never explicitly forbidden her from doing so. I’ve always preferred simple, quiet celebrations for events like Father’s Day or my own birthday, keeping any unnecessary attention at bay.

Recently, I was diagnosed with a very treatable form of skin cancer. Detected early, the prognosis was excellent, with a negligible risk of serious consequences. As an engineer, I approached the situation with a level of detachment, comforted by the statistics and my doctor’s positive outlook. Naturally, I confided in my wife, who became overwhelmingly concerned despite my reassurances. We decided that it would be best to keep our children in the dark about my condition, sparing them any worry over something I believed to be a minor issue. My wife reluctantly agreed.

However, just days later my father contacted me, alarmingly inquired about my “battle with cancer.” It appeared that my wife had disclosed my diagnosis on Facebook that morning. When confronted, she defended her actions by claiming I hadn’t specifically asked her not to share it online, only to avoid telling our children. Frustrated but resolute, I convinced her to remove the post.

My treatment progressed smoothly, and soon, I was officially in remission. My doctor cheerfully informed me that while they avoid saying "cured," effectively, I was. Overjoyed, my wife and I hoped to move past this chapter. Or so I thought.

This past weekend, I arrived home to find a street bustling with cars and many more parked in my driveway. Confused, since no significant dates had come to mind, I entered the house only to be greeted by a surprise party celebrating my remission. I was completely taken aback – my wife knew my stance on surprise gatherings and yet had organized one for something I considered deeply personal. Claiming a sudden need to return to the office, I quickly excused myself, grabbed a few inconsequential files from my study, thanked the guests, and left. Later, my wife confronted me, leading to an argument where I expressed my disapproval of her turning a personal milestone into a public celebration.

Following the incident, there's been a noticeable tension between us. My brother even called me out, labeling me an 'asshole' for my reaction, suggesting I was too harsh.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality show. Viewers would probably be divided, some sympathizing with my need for privacy, while others might argue that my wife’s actions, though misguided, were rooted in love and deserved a more gracious response from me. It could have become a classic episode filled with conflict, emotional interviews, and maybe even a reconciliation scene, grabbing the audience’s attention with genuine, raw human experience.

Am I wrong for feeling upset about my wife's public celebration of my private health matter?

Three months ago, a new co-worker joined us at the office. We'll call her Sharon for anonymity's sake. Sharon quickly made a good impression, which is partly why I'm in a dilemma about the current situation.

At our workplace, we have a welcoming tradition, where after a new employee completes their initial probation period, we celebrate with a team lunch. Sharon recently passed her probation, and understandably, we organized a lunch outing to mark the occasion.

During the lunch, conversations flowed and eventually led to the topic of pregnancy and childbirth. Several colleagues shared their experiences, discussing the joys and emotional moments associated with their pregnancies. Though I participated in the conversation, I didn't share any personal stories. Sharon seemed to pick up on this and addressed me directly.

Sharon: “You had twins, right? That must have been incredibly special.”

I managed a smile and remarked on how I wished I had enjoyed my pregnancy and childbirth as much as everyone else seemed to have. Let me be clear, I wasn't sarcastic at all.

The truth is, my own experience was far from pleasant. Instead of magical, it was a nightmare filled with severe morning sickness known as hyperemesis gravidarum, excruciating migraines, and constant metallic taste that seemed to linger forever. The birth itself wasn't any easier—complications kept me hospitalized and away from my newborns during their first critical days.

Needless to say, I found no joy in those moments. However, I chose not to delve into these details with Sharon, giving only a vague response. Afterward, Sharon's demeanor towards me changed significantly. She became rather curt, and when I confronted her about her behavior later on, she accused me of being insensitive and undermining everyone else's experiences.

Since then, Sharon seems to have calmed down somewhat. However, she did organize a ladies' night last week and conspicuously left me out of the invitation list. I'm not particularly upset about not attending, but her deliberate exclusion has definitely made things uncomfortable. I'm not keen on stirring up more drama—life's already too full of that—but I can't shake off the weirdness of the situation. I wonder, was my comment genuinely insensitive? Did I unintentionally belittle their experiences?

Thinking about it, if my life played out like a reality show, how would viewers react to this fallout? Would they side with me, feeling empathetic towards my tough pregnancy, or would they criticize me for my lack of openness, possibly perceiving it as standoffish or unsocial?

Just trying to gauge the situation from all angles. Was my response at lunch really that bad?

Just the other day, my partner Sarah and I had one of our first big disagreements since moving into our new studio apartment together. It’s a cozy setup—just a single bedroom and bathroom—that had been working out pretty perfectly for the both of us until this issue popped up.

The conflict arose unexpectedly one evening as I was getting ready to call it a night. Sarah approached me, quite seriously, to discuss something that, to me, seemed rather odd. She expressed that she really wanted me to stop urinating while standing up. Her reasoning was that it’s unhygienic and she disliked the idea of possibly stepping into accidental spills.

I’ve always been considerate about making sure the bathroom remains clean, especially since we share such a small space. I'm careful not to leave any mess, always ensuring that nothing escapes the toilet bowl, and I make a point to flush with the lid down to keep things sanitary.

Nevertheless, Sarah was adamant. She wasn’t convinced by my assurances and reiterated her stance against me standing up to pee, branding it as gross regardless of how clean I kept things. This is where I found myself puzzled. After all, we split the rent equally, and it’s as much my home as it is hers. Surely, I thought, I should have the freedom to use our bathroom in a way that I find comfortable, especially if it doesn’t compromise cleanliness.

Imagine how this would blow up if it were captured on a reality TV show! The viewers would probably be divided, with some sympathizing with Sarah for advocating for cleanliness and others rooting for my right to convenience in my own home. It would definitely spark debates on living together etiquette and personal space.

Now, here I am, caught in this peculiar dilemma, questioning whether such a small aspect of our daily lives should really be causing such a big stir. It just seems somewhat ridiculous to me. What do you think? How would you handle this if you were in my shoes?

I’ve always been somewhat paranoid about food hygiene – blame it on years in food service plus childhood memories of getting sick from our granny’s meals. My partner, however, tends to dismiss my concerns about food safety, only really embracing the culinary arts himself the last few years. Although he’s pretty competent, he occasionally disregards my cautious food advice, opting instead to trust the general advice online, which tends to annoy me.

A couple of weeks ago, while we were putting away groceries, I noticed that one of the bottles of sauce didn't look quite right—it was unusually dark and the oil had separated. I suggested he take a picture, request a refund, and discard it. Although he agreed that something seemed off, he just put it back on the shelf. Over the next several days, I mentioned the sauce a few times, concerned that he had not yet thrown it out. After some repeated discussions, I gave up.

Then, out of nowhere, he messages me to say he had to stop working due to vomiting. He hardly ever gets ill, so I immediately worried. It turned out he had consumed the suspicious sauce and was suffering the consequences. Despite my frustration, I helped him settle down with electrolytes and his video game, mostly because I had a doctor’s appointment the next day which he’d promised to attend with me, and now everything seemed more complicated.

Thankfully, he recovered quickly—fast enough to accompany me as promised. However, as he was feeling better and began to prepare himself something to eat, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer and pointed out that this incident wouldn’t have happened if he’d heeded my initial warning. This sparked a bit of a heated debate where he insisted it was just a bad luck incident, while I felt vindicated in my caution.

Now, we’re locked in disagreement; if you think I was harsh for confronting him when he was nearly recovered, I’m prepared to say sorry. If not, I stand by my stance.

One has to wonder how this episode would’ve unfolded if it were being filmed for a reality show. Imagine the dramatic zoom-ins and suspenseful music as I inspect the sauce and declare it bad, cut to him eating the sauce against a backdrop of ominous tunes, and then the inevitable 'I-told-you-so' showdown. Would the audience side with me, or see my nagging as over the top?

My sister recently purchased a house that desperately needed renovating. Knowing that I had some skills in this area, she asked for my help, and I agreed under the condition that I’d be provided with daily meals and the necessary supplies. So here I am, trying to balance my health with the demands of heavy physical labor.

To give you a bit of background, I've struggled with anemia for much of my life. This condition often left me fainting, particularly during my childhood. To manage it, I stick to a diet rich in protein, usually incorporating meat into almost every meal to maintain my energy levels, especially given the labor-intensive nature of the work I’m doing.

However, an issue arose with the meals prepared by my sister. They were too light and lacked sufficient protein, which left me feeling hungry and lightheaded by the afternoons. I tried bringing my own food one day, and everything was fine, so I thought it'd be a simple fix. I suggested to my sister that she serve meals that were more aligned with my dietary needs. Unfortunately, she hasn’t made the necessary adjustments.

Things came to a head yesterday when I actually fainted due to low energy. After recovering, I explained to her once again that I desperately need meals that include meat, or I can't continue with the remodeling. This led to her thinking I'm being unreasonable, insisting that I’m asking too much of her. However, I see it differently; I’m already doing her a significant favor by remodeling her home. Despite this, I have decided I won’t be bringing my own meals either; it just doesn’t seem fair to me.

Imagine if this was all playing out on a reality TV show. Viewers would likely be split with some sympathizing with my dietary needs and efforts, and others possibly siding with my sister, thinking that my demands are too much and that I should be more adaptable. The drama of the situation would certainly be heightened, complete with confessionals and dramatic music!

If this situation were part of a show, how do viewers usually react?

Hello everyone, I'm currently facing a bit of a dilemma regarding my wife and upcoming house guests.

My wife, who is 31, and I, aged 36, have been happily married for 2 years. She has always been deeply committed to her wellness and mindfulness regimen. Her routine is iron-clad: waking up at 5am for yoga in our guest room, followed by a brisk run, and then making a noisy but healthy smoothie with her powerful blender. She also uses this time for meditation and journaling. It’s her sacred time, and she’s been upfront about its importance since before we married. I’ve occasionally hinted at using that room for my PC to clear up space elsewhere in the house, but she was clear about keeping that space for her routine since it was established long before I moved in.

Now, my sister, her partner, and their little 6-year-old are planning to visit us soon. To help them save on expenses, we agreed to let them stay with us. My wife suggested they could sleep in our living room that has an array of comfy sofas. However, I proposed setting up air mattresses in the spare room used by my wife and asked if she could perhaps hold off on her early morning blender use to avoid waking our guests too early.

However, my wife strongly disagrees with changing her routine or giving up her space for the duration of their visit. She argues that the room isn't guest-friendly due to its lack of carpets, large windows, and walls covered in mirrors. She believes I’m using this request as a pretext to interfere with a routine I dislike, which isn’t true as I’ve always respected her space and rituals. Now, we’re at a standstill with her even suggesting that my sister should rather book a hotel. This feels excessive to me, especially since it’s just for three days. Am I unreasonable here? I feel that a short break from her routine for family could be manageable.

Imagine if our situation was featured on a reality TV show. The cameras would capture every disagreement and every compromise attempt, possibly blowing the situation

out of proportion. Viewers would likely be divided. Some might argue that personal space and routines are sacred and shouldn't be compromised, while others might see my request as reasonable family accommodation. The tension and drama would certainly make for compelling television, but I wonder if the public scrutiny would help us reach a consensus or just fuel more discord.

What should I do in this situation? Any advice?