Health and Wellness Failures Stories

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.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself a question I can’t seem to answer: why do I hate myself? It’s not like I want to feel this way, but it’s there, lingering in the background every single day. No matter what I do, that voice in my head keeps reminding me of every mistake, every failure, and every reason I’m just not good enough.

It’s not like there’s one big thing that happened to make me feel this way. It’s more like a build-up of little things over time. I’ve always been my own worst critic. If I mess something up at work, I can’t just move on—I replay it in my head over and over, thinking about what I should’ve done differently. Even when people tell me I’m doing fine, I don’t believe them. It’s like they’re just being polite, and deep down, they see the same flaws I do.

Socially, it’s even worse. I overthink EVERTHING. Did I say the wrong thing? Did I come across as weird or annoying? I avoid hanging out with friends sometimes because I’m convinced they secretly don’t want me around. And don’t even get me started on dating—I can barely look in the mirror without picking myself apart, so how could anyone else see me differently?

The worst part is, I can’t pinpoint why I feel like this. On paper, my life isn’t bad. I have a decent job, a roof over my head, and people who care about me. But none of that seems to matter when I’m stuck in my own head. I’ll wake up some mornings feeling like today might be different, but by the end of the day, that familiar feeling is back, telling me I’m not enough.

I’ve tried to talk myself out of it. I’ll make lists of the things I’m good at or the things I’ve accomplished, but it never feels real. It’s like there’s this wall between me and believing anything positive about myself. Instead, I focus on everything I’ve failed at—friendships I’ve lost, goals I didn’t achieve, and all the ways I feel like I’ve let people down.

Sometimes, I wonder if this is just how it’s always going to be. Maybe I’m wired to think like this, and no amount of self-help books or therapy will change it. But I don’t want to give up on myself completely. There’s a small part of me that hopes it doesn’t have to be this way forever.

If anyone else has felt like this, how do you get through it? How do you silence that voice in your head that’s always telling you you’re not good enough? I know I’m not alone in feeling this way, but it’s hard not to feel isolated when you’re stuck in your own thoughts.

Writing this down feels strange, like I’m admitting something I’ve been trying to hide for years. But maybe sharing it will help, even if it’s just a little. If someone out there has an answer to the question, “Why do I hate myself?” I’d love to hear it. Because right now, I just want to believe there’s a way to feel okay again.

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?

In my early twenties, I started working with a life coach named Lydia, who built her philosophy around achieving everything one desires despite feeling unfulfilled with her privileged background. Lydia, who was affluent with an upscale job, lived alone in a plush city apartment. She preached about manifesting one's dreams into reality, which resonated with me deeply.

I was drawn to her because she claimed that by manifesting our desires, we could attain perfection in all areas of life. Now, five years later, I realize I haven't achieved everything I envisioned, leaving me frustrated and skeptical. This experience has highlighted a recurring pattern in many promising messages from life coaches and inspirational books that claim one can 'have it all.'

Is it really feasible to achieve everything you desire, or is the concept far-fetched, especially coming from those who may not have experienced significant hardships or the trials of genuine struggle?

Imagine if I shared my frustrations on a reality show. The audience might resonate with my struggles or criticize me for following such idealistic advice. Would they empathize with the disillusionment, or judge the impracticality of chasing such a perfect life?

Do you actually believe you can 'have it all'?

I've been assisting my employer for nearly a year now, and after only two months into my tenure, I decided to resign from my weekend job at a local store. I wanted to reclaim my weekends, but when I informed my boss, he assumed it meant I was open to working occasional Saturdays—a commitment I never made. He has a quadriplegic condition, requiring around-the-clock assistance, which makes him very selective about his caregivers. Although I understand his need for choosiness, his excessively small team doesn't afford him that luxury. We’re just five in the schedule, which becomes challenging. As the youngest, the responsibility frequently falls on me to cover Saturdays when others are unavailable. This month alone, I've worked nearly every Saturday, leading to severe burnout. I've also started to believe I might be on the autism spectrum, which could explain the intensity of this exhaustion. I need a few days to recuperate after a week's work, but at 20, expectations on me are immense.

Besides work, my social support is dwindling. My best friend since second grade recently moved to Montreal, and my other close friend lives far enough that I’m too spent to visit. My boyfriend’s place is where I spend most of my free time, as socializing has become too taxing due to my job. My boyfriend often compares his factory job, saying his 10-hour shifts are tougher, which feels dismissive. After prepping my boss each morning and getting him into his wheelchair, my job isn't tough—handling his home and yard. However, it feels overwhelming when sleep-deprived, especially when he, possibly unwittingly, says things that upset me. It's been tough getting any validation for my feelings about my work; instead, they often get downplayed or ignored. I just wish for my Saturdays back; the rare weekends off aren’t enough for me to feel truly recuperated. It’s as if my feelings are invalid, though I know they’re not. He subtly makes us feel guilty for not taking shifts, knowing well he needs us, but I can’t sacrifice my well-being anymore. Does this make me selfish?

If my situation were showcased on a reality show, I wonder how the audience would react. Would they see my side and the exhaustion I feel, or would they deem me ungrateful for not dedicating more to someone in need? Reality TV often amps up emotions and maybe my genuine stress would resonate with viewers, or perhaps they'd judge me harshly, influenced by dramatic portrayals and edits.

I'm currently residing in a different state from my friend, Jennifer (33F), who is in her own state. We were neighbors before life and circumstances led us to different places, and though we maintained a close-knit bond over the phone, it wasn't the same as meeting in person. Despite our enduring friendship, Jennifer has always had a tendency to stretch the truth, which complicate things sometimes.

During one of our usual text conversations, she mentioned feeling unwell and listed a few alarming symptoms including high fever and unusual bleeding. Naturally, I urged her to seek medical help, but she stubbornly refused. With growing concern, I contacted her cousin, Mike, who also happens to be a good friend of mine, to check on her since they live close to each other. Surprisingly, it turned out she had stopped communicating with him recently for reasons unknown. After multiple attempts to convince her to visit a doctor proved futile, I warned Jennifer that I might have to request a wellness check.

She finally agreed to let Mike visit to confirm her well-being. Shortly thereafter, she messaged that Mike had been over and confirmed she was okay. However, due to her history of lying, I felt compelled to verify this with Mike, who revealed he hadn't seen her in weeks. Confronted with her silence when I requested a video chat, I proceeded with the wellness check. Later, I received an irate text from Jennifer scolding me for my actions. Subsequent updates revealed she was actually fine, which left me bewildered and hurt by her deception. The day concluded with an aggressive message from her supposed "mother," threatening legal action, which I chose to ignore by blocking the number. It's been about a year, and communication has ceased, leaving me with lingering thoughts about the entire ordeal.

Imagining this scenario playing out in a reality show, the drama and intensity would likely heighten. Cameras following the frantic phone calls, the suspense of the wellness check, and the eventual confrontation could captivate an audience. Viewers might speculate on motives, discuss Jennifer's deceit, and perhaps even side with her for feeling violated. The reveal of her actual health status would be a pivotal moment, possibly leading to public debates about privacy versus concern in friendships.