Health and Wellness Failures Stories - page 4

Im struggling, but they tell me it’s an excuse and im just lazy. Sure im lazy on terms but it’s more than that. They say they understand but they clearly don’t when i tell them why they just tell me im making up stuff. I suffer from Diagnosed ADHD and I haven’t been diagnosed for depression but im pretty sure I have it. I have no motivation to do anything anymore, well not anything but you know. A lot of the things I used to enjoy it takes effort to do. And I’m failing classes, but I don’t know how to explain it I just can’t find the motivation to do anything outside of school, including homework. I have to legit force myself to do homework. And then my parents pressure me by threatening to take my phone away, which, valid, but for me it’s my only safe place because I have a lot of friends on here who actually understand and know things that my parents don’t because they would accept me. I feel like crying everyday but there’s no tears that come out. I just wish my parents knew how my brain worked and what I was feeling even though I still don’t fully understand. I guess life really isn’t fair.

i don’t even think i can put into words how fucked i am, am i really doing this to myself? i want this to be fake and im just doing it for attention but for who? i dont tell anyone shit and when i do i just end up feeling like a burden, it’s just fucked having to tell someone you care so much about that you just want to go away forever, medications don’t make it any better , i’m now on the 4th antidepressant hoping it’ll work it’s been a couple weeks and nothing, this just makes me feeling like maybe i am faking maybe this all because some reason i don’t know yet, i don’t wanna do this anymore i want this to be fake , maybe im in a coma and ill wake up soon or something, it’s like and indescribable parasite is latched onto me sucking the life out of i feel like there’s a huge pit not in my chest but whole soul i feel like times is passing slower around me and i can’t even move sometimes , im just paralyzed with this cloud of despair, i can’t even cry how i want to, i just want some sort of release and to stop this hate i’ve had for myself all my life i just want to be someone else or to be outside of this body for just an hour or two just feel ok

I'm at the point in life where I don't really know what I want in my life anymore. I'm still in highschool, a senior to be in fact, I should have had my plan already ready by now but it's not.

I honestly didn't think I made it this far but here I am I guess.

Anyway, yeah. I don't know what I want in life anymore. I want to become a doctor or an engineer yet my family doesn't have enough money for either, plus they would have preferred if I had just focused on preaching. So my dream jobs are clearly out of the way.

I'd be an artist but that doesn't really get you anywhere does it? Especially with the rise of ai 'art' and so many better and more talented artists- it'll be nearly impossible to make a name and a living.

Writer? No. I used to love writting but now I have no passion for it as much as I used to. Plus my writting is mediocre, boring and plaid even.

Maybe a family women? No. I'm not exactly good enough to be a trophy wife or a housewife.

Religion? Well I don't know. I do love God. I really try to but the thing is that religion kinds destroyed my relationship with God. Does that make sense? I love God, I just don't like what some (or most) of his people had done to his name.

Suicide? I don't know. My religion has only ever taught me that death is death. Nothing happens. You don't go to an afterlife, or hell or heaven not you don't get reincarnated. You just go to a deep slumber.

And as much as that sounds good to me, it scares me.

So yes. There doesn't seem to be a path for me anymore. I guess to put it simply; I'm lost. Very very lost.

It isn't helping that graduation is coming up soon, that means my time to make a choice is limited.

To be honest, I really do just want to best for me and others. So I hope to whoever is up there to lead me to it

I've been told how to live a life. I've been told the steps on how to have a happy life. I've heard stories of success. After following directions for so many years, I just can't bare it anymore. The things that I've once found joy are now just things to pass time. I can't even complain about my situation to close friends as there's nothing wrong with my life. The only thing that's wrong is me.

I have a family that takes care of me, but that just hurts me more. While I'm in their eyes, I won't let myself die for them. I've told lies to keep them happy and what they want to hear so they don't have to worry. Recently they told me that they were worried for my future as I didn't do anything for awhile. They aren't wrong, I didn't do anything but I just can't bring myself to do anything. I know the things that I'm supposed to do. The expectations that I'm supposed to meet. The person that I should be. I know that they are trying to look out for me but sometimes I wish they would just forget about me. I never have an answer for them when they ask about what I want to do. I usually tell a lie and count the time.

I just want something to bring everything to an end. Something to remove my existence. Something to free me from my own hell. I can see my self-sabotage but that's all I have. To continue doing the same thing that I've done for the entirety of my life. The pain isn't something healthy but it's something. Some days I wish I was numb and to do everything like a machine. How easy things would be to not feel anything.

What would be the thoughts if this was seen on a TV show? Probably mild resentment... "How could you be sad if everything was handed to you?" or "How can you be sad if you got everything that you wanted?"

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?