Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 2

So, here’s the deal. I graduated last year, got my degree, did all the “right” things, and landed what was supposed to be a great job. You know, the kind of job everyone says you should feel lucky to have. But here I am, only six months in, and all I can think is, I want to quit my job.

Honestly, I feel like such a failure for even thinking about it. Everyone was so proud of me when I got this position—my parents, my friends, even my professors. It felt like this huge milestone, like i’d finally “made it.” But the reality? It’s so different from what I thought it’d be.

First off, the job itself is... boring. Like, mind-numbingly boring. All day, I’m just sitting at a desk, staring at spreadsheets, answering emails, and pretending to care about these endless meetings where nothing ever gets decided. I thoughtt I’d be doing something meaningful, or at least interesting, but instead, it feels like I’m just going through the motions.

And the worst part? The people. Everyone’s so serious all the time. No one jokes around or seems to actually like being there. It’s like they’ve all accepted this weird, soul-sucking reality, and I’m the only one who’s questioning it. I try to bring some energy, maybe lighten the mood, but it’s like I’m speaking a different language.

Then there’s my boss. Don’t even get me started. They’re not a bad person, but they micromanage everything. It’s like they don’t trust me to do anything on my own, which is ironic because I was hired for my “initiative” and “problem-solving skills.” I thought this job would give me the freedom to learn and grow, but instead, it feels like I’m being babysat 24/7.

I keep telling myself, “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I need to adjust or give it more time.” But how much time am I supposed to give before I realize it’s not going to get better? My friends keep telling me I’m lucky to even have a job, especially in this economy, but does that mean I just have to suck it up and stay miserable?

What really gets me is how much this job is affecting the rest of my life. I’m constantly stressed, even on weekends. I’m too drained to hang out with friends or do the things I used to love. I’ve even started dreading Monday mornings before Sunday is even over. It’s like this job is stealing all my energy, and I don’t have anything left for myself.

I know quitting isn’t an easy decision. I’ve got bills to pay, and let’s be real, I don’t have some amazing Plan B waiting in the wings. But the idea of staying here for years, or even just one more year, makes me feel so trapped. Like, is this really what my life is supposed to look like now? Because if it is, I’m not sure I’m okay with that.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m being too idealistic. Maybe this is just what “adulting” is—grinding through a job you hate because that’s what responsible people do. But part of me thinks that can’t be true. There has to be more to life than this, right?

If this was a reality show, I wonder what people would say about me. Would they think I’m just some spoiled millennial who doesn’t know how to work hard? Or would they understand where I’m coming from? Because right now, I feel like I’m the only one questioning if this whole system is even worth it.

I’ve been dating my current GF for about a year now. I do love her and we were friends for a few years before we started dating. But she recently told me that she is ace(asexual). I want to be physically intimate in that way with the person I am dating, but I thought I could give that up to stay with her.

Now that I’ve given it some more thought however if things become more serious between us then I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life with a partner who isn’t physically attracted to me in that way.

But if I do break up with her I’m afraid I might lose her as a friend as well. I don’t have very many other people in my life outside of my family who I am close with, and after recently losing some close family members I am hesitant to lose another person who I care about. My GF is also going through a rough time lately and the last thing I want to do is add a breakup on top of that.

I don’t really know what to do in this situation, and I also don’t know if I’m selfish for wanting to end the relationship over this. If anyone has any advice I would very much appreciate it.

I never thought my life would end up like this—fighting over every little thing with someone I used to love. The divorce has been dragging on for over a year now, and it feels like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. At first, I was angry, then sad, but now? Now I just want to know how to stop caring. How do you let go of something that consumes your every waking thought?

It started off civil enough—or at least, that’s what I told myself. We agreed to “keep things amicable” for the sake of our kids, but that plan went out the window as soon as lawyers got involved. Suddenly, it wasn’t about splitting things fairly—it was about who could one-up the other. I can’t even count how many sleepless nights I’ve had, going over emails from my lawyer or replaying arguments in my head.

The worst part is how personal it’s become. It’s not just about the house, the finances, or custody. It’s the way she twists every little thing I’ve done into some grand narrative about how I’m the villain. At first, I tried defending myself, writing long rebuttals to every accusation, hoping to prove my side of the story. But no matter what I said, it didn’t matter. The attacks kept coming, and all I got in return was more frustration and legal bills piling up.

My lawyer told me the same thing over and over: “Don’t let it get to you. Focus on the facts.” Easy for them to say—they don’t have to live with the emotional fallout. But they’re right. The constant back-and-forth has been eating me alive, and it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’ve become bitter, snappy with the kids, and consumed by stress. This isn’t who I want to be.

So, how do you stop caring? I wish I had a perfect answer, but I’ve been trying a few things. First, I’ve stopped reacting to every little provocation. Not every battle is worth fighting, and sometimes, silence really is the best response. It’s not about letting her “win” but about protecting my own peace.

Second, I’ve started focusing on what I can control. I can’t change her behavior or the things she says, but I can choose how I respond. Instead of dwelling on her accusations, I’ve been trying to put my energy into being there for my kids. They don’t need to see me angry and broken—they need a dad who’s present and strong.

Lastly, I’ve started therapy. I was hesitant at first because, honestly, I didn’t want to admit I needed help. But talking to someone who isn’t involved has been a game-changer. It’s helped me process my feelings and realize that letting go doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It just means I’m choosing to move forward.

This divorce has taken so much from me already—time, money, and peace of mind. I don’t want it to take any more. Learning how to stop caring doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. It just means I’m choosing not to let this define me anymore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first step to really moving on.

Growing up, I always thought being part of a group meant you’d never feel lonely. But even when I’m surrounded by people—at work, with friends, or even family gatherings—I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the outside looking in. It’s not like anyone is outright mean or tells me I don’t belong. It’s more subtle than that, but it hurts all the same.

Take last weekend, for example. A group of friends from work decided to get together for dinner. We’ve been working on the same team for years, and I thought I was close to them. But when I showed up, it felt like I was invisible. They were laughing about inside jokes, swapping stories from a night out I wasn’t part of, and talking about upcoming plans I hadn’t even heard about. I smiled, nodded, and pretended it didn’t bother me, but by the end of the night, I couldn’t wait to leave. The ride home was the worst. All I could think about was why they hadn’t thought to include me before—or why I couldn’t seem to fit in no matter how hard I tried.

It’s the same story with my family sometimes. During holiday dinners, my siblings will chat about things they’ve done together—movie nights, road trips, little moments I wasn’t a part of. It’s not like they’re trying to exclude me, but I always end up feeling like an afterthought. Even when I try to join the conversation, it doesn’t take long before it drifts back to something I can’t relate to. I sit there, smiling politely, feeling more and more like I don’t belong.

What’s frustrating is that I’ve tried so hard to be part of things. I’ve reached out, suggested plans, and done everything I can to show that I want to be included. Sometimes it works, but more often than not, I feel like I’m forcing myself into spaces where I’m not really wanted. And that feeling of not being wanted? It’s worse than being alone.

i’ve started to wonder if it’s something about me that pushes people away. Am I too quiet? Too awkward? Or maybe I just don’t have that magnetic personality some people seem to have—the kind that draws others in effortlessly. I wish I knew the answer because, honestly, I’m tired of feeling like this.

At work, it’s even harder. I see coworkers chatting easily during breaks, planning lunch together, or sharing little moments that bring them closer. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there, trying not to look like I care too much while eating lunch alone at my desk. It’s not like I expect to be everyone’s best friend, but being left out all the time feels like a constant reminder that I’m just... different.

I try to remind myself that it’s not always personal. People get busy.. They form closer bonds with certain people for no particular reason. But logic doesn’t make the sting any less real when you’re scrolling through social media and see the photos of the dinner you weren’t invited to, the group trip you didn’t even know about, or the inside joke you’re not in on.

The worst part is how isolating it feels. You want to talk to someone about it, but how do you say, “I feel left out,” without sounding overly sensitive or needy? Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in this loop of pretending it doesn’t bother me while quietly wishing things were different.

I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. Plenty of people have probably felt left out at one time or another. But when it happens again and again, it starts to feel like a pattern you can’t break. I keep telling myself that I need to focus on the people who do make me feel included and the moments where I genuinely belong, but it’s easier said than done.

I don’t have a neat ending to this story because it’s something I’m still figuring out. Some days, I feel hopeful—like maybe I’ll find my place, my people, and everything will click. Other days, it’s harder, and the loneliness feels heavier. But if there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that belonging isn’t always about fitting perfectly into someone else’s group. Sometimes, it’s about creating your own space where you feel seen and valued.

So, here’s to figuring it out—one awkward moment, one brave step at a time. If you’ve ever felt like this, just know you’re not alone. And maybe, just maybe, the people who matter most are waiting to find us, too.

As a father of four kids, you’d think I’d have the patience of a saint by now, but that’s just not the case. The tiniest things set me off, and I hate the way it feels. I love my family more than anything, but there are days when I catch myself snapping over something completely ridiculous and wonder what’s wrong with me.

Take last night, for example. Dinner time at our house is always chaotic. Plates clatter, someone spills their drink, and there’s a constant battle over who gets the last roll. It’s the usual stuff, and I know it’s part of having a big family, but when my youngest accidentally knocked over the salt shaker for the third time in a week, I lost it. I raised my voice, and the look on her face—pure shock—hit me like a punch to the gut. It was just salt. Why couldn’t I just laugh it off like my wife did? Instead, I made her feel bad for a mistake that didn’t matter.

This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s not the big issues that get to me—it’s the little, everyday stuff. Toys left in the hallway, a sock that doesn’t have a match, a crayon mark on the wall... all of it feels like tiny needles poking at me until I can’t hold it in anymore. And when I snap, I immediately regret it. I see the way my kids look at me, the way my wife sighs and shakes her head, and I know I’m the one in the wrong.

I’ve been trying to figure out where this anger is coming from. It’s not like I want to feel this way. I don’t wake up thinking, Gee, I can’t wait to get annoyed at the world today. But by the time the day’s over, I’m worn out. Between work, bills, chores, and keeping up with four kids, it’s like my patience tank runs dry way too fast. It doesn’t take much to set me off after that.

I think part of it is the pressure I put on myself to keep everything together. I want to be a good dad, a good husband, and someone my family can rely on. But when things don’t go the way I expect—when the house is messy, or the kids are fighting, or dinner gets burned—it feels like I’m failing. And instead of dealing with that feeling, I let it boil over into anger.

Another part of it is how I grew up. My dad was the same way. He’d get angry over the smallest things—a shoe left out of place, a door left open, the TV being too loud. Back then, I swore I’d never be like that, but here I am, falling into the same patterns. Maybe it’s something I picked up without realizing it, but that doesn’t make it okay. I don’t want my kids to remember me as the dad who yelled over spilled milk.

I’ve started trying to be more aware of my triggers. Like, when I feel that frustration bubbling up, I try to pause and ask myself, Is this really worth getting upset over? Sometimes it works, but other times, it’s like the anger is faster than my logic. I know I need to find better ways to cope, but it’s hard to break a habit that feels so ingrained.

My wife has been incredibly patient through all of this. She’s the calm one in the family, the one who can laugh off the chaos and remind me to do the same. The other day, after I got upset about a broken remote control, she pulled me aside and said, “You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders, you know. It’s okay if things aren’t perfect.” I know she’s right, but letting go of that control is easier said than done.

The hardest part is the guilt. After I’ve calmed down, I think about how my kids must see me in those moments, and it breaks my heart. I don’t want them to feel like they’re walking on eggshells around me. I want them to feel safe, to know that mistakes are okay and that their dad loves them no matter what. But when I let my anger take over, I’m sending the opposite message.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same way, I want you to know you’re not alone. Being a parent is hard, and we’re all just trying to do the best we can. But I also know that getting angry over little things isn’t fair—to ourselves or to the people we love. It’s something I’m working on every day, and if you’re struggling with it too, maybe we can figure it out together.

I don’t have all the answers yet, but I know this: I don’t want to keep asking myself, why do I get so angry over little things? I want to find a way to let go, to focus on what really matters, and to be the kind of dad my kids can look up to. It’s not going to happen overnight, but I think acknowledging the problem is the first step.

Here’s hoping the next time the salt shaker falls, I can just laugh it off and keep going. Because in the end, it’s not about the salt—it’s about the love and chaos that comes with being part of a big, messy, wonderful family.

Ugh, I don’t even know where to start. Honestly, I hate my family right now, and I feel bad even saying that, but it’s true. They just don’t get me at all, and it feels like every single thing I do turns into a huge fight. It’s like they’re just waiting for me to mess up so they can jump all over me.

Take last night, for example. My mom asked me to clean my room, and yeah, it was a bit messy, but it’s my room, right? Why does she care so much if there’s clothes on the floor? I said I’d do it later, but she kept yelling about how I’m lazy and don’t respect her. Then my dad joined in, saying how I’m always on my phone and never help out around the house. Like, okay, sorry I have a life? It’s not like I’m doing nothing all day—I have school, homework, and trying to keep up with my friends.

And my siblings? Don’t even get me started. My younger brother is the golden child who can do no wrong. He gets away with everything. If he leaves his stuff lying around, no one cares. But if I do it? Suddenly it’s the end of the world. My older sister is just as bad. She’s constantly acting like she’s better than me, always pointing out what I’m doing wrong. “Why don’t you get better grades like I did?” or “You’re so dramatic, you just want attention.” Like, yeah, thanks for the support.

It’s not just the little things either. It’s like they don’t even try to understand me. Every time I want to talk about something that’s bothering me, they either brush it off or turn it into a lecture. One time I told my mom how stressed I was about school, and instead of helping, she went on about how I need to stop procrastinating and “take responsibility.” I wasn’t even procrastinating! I just needed someone to listen, but nope, all I got was more pressure.

They also have these ridiculous rules that make no sense. Like, why do I have to be home by 9:00 PM on weekends? All my friends get to stay out later, but if I even ask, they just say, “Our house, our rules.” It’s like they don’t trust me at all. And don’t get me started on my phone—they’re always checking it and asking who I’m texting. It’s so embarrassing. Can’t I have any privacy?

The worst part is that they act like they’re doing all this because they care, but it doesn’t feel like caring. It feels like they just want to control everything I do. And then, when I get upset or try to defend myself, they tell me I’m being “disrespectful” or “ungrateful.” How am I supposed to be grateful when they make me feel like this all the time?

Sometimes, I just want to run away. I know that’s dramatic, but I can’t help thinking about it when things get really bad. Like, what if I could just live on my own, do what I want, and not have to deal with all this? If this was a reality show, I wonder what people would think. Would they see me as the bratty teenager who’s overreacting, or would they realize how impossible my family makes everything? Probably the first one, knowing my luck.

I know deep down that they probably don’t mean to make me feel like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I just wish they’d actually listen to me instead of always assuming they’re right. I want to feel like I matter, like my opinions and feelings are worth something, but right now, it just feels like I’m constantly being judged and criticized.

Does anyone else feel this way about their family? Am I the only one who feels like no matter what I do, it’s never good enough? I know people say “family is everything,” but what are you supposed to do when it feels like they’re the ones making your life harder?

Hello everyone!

I'm gearing up for a wedding soon which will be attended mostly by my boyfriend’s circle of friends. My mom, having always been a stunner and a former model, offered to help me get ready for the big day.

Let me give you some background: my mom is absolutely breathtaking and has always been in fantastic shape. Both my brothers inherited her good looks, making them quite the dashing pair. Being the sole daughter, I guess there was an expectation for me to follow in her gorgeous footsteps.

Growing up, I steered clear of anything overtly girly and was squarely the tomboy type. Post-puberty, I put on weight, and though I wouldn't consider myself obese, I'm definitely on the plumper side – 78kg at 166cm. I don't obsess over skin care or makeup either; it's just not my thing.

Though I profoundly love my mom and I know the feeling is mutual, she hasn't always been the most supportive when it comes to comments about my appearance. Throughout my teenage years, her remarks about my weight and looks really did a number on my confidence. I can handle constructive feedback but not when there's an undercurrent of scorn or cruelty.

Things have gotten a bit better over the years. I confronted her once about how her words were affecting me, and she toned it down somewhat. However, she still slips up now and then, commenting on a pimple or mocking my hair, even suggesting quite bluntly how I might 'improve' my appearance. Sometimes it’s too much, even for me.

Cut to the current issue: my mom had a series of dresses for me to try for the wedding, and one of them was a gown she wore two years back at my graduation. It was a snug fit, to say the least. My mom and my aunt pushed and pulled to zip it up, but no luck - the zipper gave out. My mom couldn't help but exclaim, “Wow, you really are fat,” which set my aunt off on a teasing spree. I held back my feelings and stayed silent.

We sifted through more dresses and I finally picked one that was stretchy and fitted just right. Post the try-on session, my mom, in her typical fashion, asked if I had been skipping the gym and warned that I'd need to keep my stomach in during the wedding. That was the last straw for me. I decided I’d had enough and told her I would buy my own dress instead.

Now, mom feels I overreacted and I’m just wasting money on a whim. My siblings accuse me of being oversensitive about my weight, whereas my friends and boyfriend support my stance. Am I really being unreasonable here?

I wonder how this situation would unfold if it were on a reality TV show. Would the audience sympathize with me, or would they find humor in my family’s blunt commentary? Reality shows thrive on drama, after all. Could it be possible that viewers might side with me in seeking respect and emotional support from a family that puts appearance above feelings?

I'm feeling undermined by my family's comments about my weight. Am I overreacting?

I never thought I’d be the kind of person to say this, but here I am, typing the words I’ve been too ashamed to admit out loud: I hate my wife. Even writing it feels wrong, like I’m betraying the vows we made on our wedding day. But the truth is, I don’t even recognize the person I married anymore—and maybe, I don’t recognize myself either.

We’ve been married for five years, and somewhere along the way, everything changed. It wasn’t always like this. In the beginning, she was my best friend. We laughed at the same jokes, stayed up late talking about everything, and I couldn’t imagine a life without her. But now? Now it feels like we’re just two strangers living under the same roof.

The little things started piling up first. She’s always criticizing me—what I wear, how I do chores, even the way I talk to people. It’s like nothing I do is ever good enough for her. Last week, I came home after a long day at work, and instead of a simple “hi,” she just started yelling about how I didn’t take the trash out the night before. It’s always something. And yeah, I get it, I’m not perfect. But does she have to make me feel like a failure every single day?

It’s not just the nagging, though. It’s how cold she’s become. We barely talk anymore unless it’s about bills or what’s for dinner. She spends most of her time scrolling on her phone or watching TV. I’ve tried to suggest date nights or even just going for a walk together, but she always has an excuse—too tired, too busy, or just flat-out not interested. It’s like she doesn’t even care about us anymore. And honestly? I’ve stopped trying because rejection hurts too much.

I hate how I feel around her now. It’s like walking on eggshells all the time, trying to avoid another argument. But even when I keep my mouth shut, she still finds something to be mad about. I’m starting to dread coming home because I know it’s just going to be more of the same. I feel trapped, like no matter what I do, I’ll never make her happy.

I’ve tried talking to her about it, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. Whenever I bring up how I’m feeling, she either gets defensive or turns it around on me. “You’re just overreacting,” she’ll say, or, “Maybe if you actually listened to me, things wouldn’t be so bad.” It’s like my feelings don’t matter to her at all. How are we supposed to fix this if she won’t even admit there’s a problem?

The thing is, I don’t want to hate her. I want to fix this. I want to go back to the way things were when we actually liked each other. But I don’t even know where to start. Sometimes I wonder if she hates me too, and we’re just both too scared to admit it. Is this what marriage is supposed to be like? Because if it is, I don’t know if I can do this for the rest of my life.

I’ve thought about leaving, but the idea terrifies me. What if I regret it? What if this is just a rough patch and we could’ve worked through it? Plus, there’s the guilt. I made a promise to her, to stay through better or worse. But how much worse am I supposed to endure before it’s okay to say enough is enough?

And then there’s the practical stuff. We’ve built a life together—shared bills, shared friends, and even a shared dog. Untangling all of that feels impossible. I don’t want to be the bad guy, the one who gave up on our marriage. But at the same time, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling this way.

If this was a reality show, I wonder what people would say about me. Would they see me as the villain, the ungrateful husband who can’t appreciate his wife? Or would they understand that I’m just a guy who’s trying to figure out where things went wrong? Honestly, I don’t even know what to think anymore.

If anyone’s been through something like this, how did you deal with it? Did you stay and try to fix things, or did you walk away? Right now, I just feel stuck, like no matter what I do, I’m going to hurt someone—her or myself. All I know is, I can’t keep living like this. Something has to change, but I don’t know if we can make it work.

I don’t even know how to start this, but it’s been bothering me for a while now. I keep asking myself, why don’t people like me? Like, what am I doing wrong? I try to be nice to everyone, but it feels like no one really wants to be my friend. And honestly, it’s starting to feel really lonely.

In school, it’s like I’m invisible most of the time. I’ll sit with people during lunch or in class, but I’m never the one they actually talk to. It’s always someone else. When I try to join the conversation, it’s like they don’t even hear me, or they just give me this fake smile and move on. I can’t tell if it’s something I said or if there’s just something about me that makes people not want to hang out with me.

I thought maybe I’m too quiet or awkward, so I tried being more outgoing. Last week, I went to this party that I wasn’t even sure I was invited to (I overheard someone talking about it and decided to just show up). I tried talking to a group of people, but they kept looking at their phones or each other like they were waiting for me to stop talking. One of them even got up and walked away while I was mid-sentence. It was so embarrassing. I ended up leaving early and crying in my car for like an hour.

My mom keeps telling me, “Just be yourself, and the right people will like you.” But what if being myself is the problem? Maybe I’m just boring, or annoying, or too weird for people to care about. I mean, I see other people with their huge friend groups, laughing and posting about all the fun stuff they do together, and I just feel so... left out. It’s like there’s this secret code to making friends, and I didn’t get the memo.

Sometimes, I wonder if people even notice me at all. Like, if I wasn’t there, would they even care? Or would they just go on like nothing happened? And if this was a reality show, what would people think of me? Would they feel bad for me, or would they be laughing at how pathetic I look trying to fit in where I obviously don’t belong? Maybe they’d just fast-forward through my scenes because I’m not “interesting” enough.

I’ve tried to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Maybe it’s the way I talk? Or the fact that I don’t know how to make jokes like other people? Or maybe I come across as too desperate? I don’t even know anymore. I feel like I’m trying so hard to get people to like me, and it’s just making things worse.

It’s not like I haven’t tried making friends. I’ve joined clubs, gone to events, and even reached out to people online. But nothing ever really clicks. People will talk to me for a little while, but then they stop responding or just fade away. I don’t want to seem clingy, so I stop trying, but then I feel even lonelier. It’s like this never-ending cycle that I can’t escape.

I wish I could just stop caring. Like, who needs friends anyway, right? But the truth is, I do care. I want to have people I can talk to, hang out with, and just feel like I matter to someone. But no matter what I do, it feels like I’m stuck on the outside looking in.

If anyone’s reading this and has felt the same way, what did you do? How do you stop feeling like you’re not good enough? Or better yet, how do you get people to like you without feeling like you’re begging for their attention?

And if this really was a reality show, what would people say about me? Would they see someone who’s trying too hard and laugh, or would they actually feel bad for me? Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. I just want to feel like I belong somewhere. Is that really too much to ask?

Okay, so I really don’t know what to do right now. I’ve been dating my boyfriend for like, almost a year, and it’s been good, i guess? But lately, I keep asking myself this one question over and over: Should I break up with my boyfriend? And the fact that I’m even asking that makes me feel terrible because it’s not like he’s done something super wrong or anything. It’s just... ugh, I don’t even know how to explain it.

First of all, he’s not a bad guy or whatever. Like, he’s super sweet sometimes, and when we first started dating, he’d do all these cute things, like sending me good morning texts or surprising me with snacks during lunch. But now? It’s like he’s stopped trying. He doesn’t text me first anymore, barely even asks how I’m doing, and when we hang out, he’s always on his phone playing stupid games. It’s like I’m not even there half the time. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he just says, “I’m busy” or “I didn’t know it was a big deal.” Like, hello?? I’m your girlfriend. Shouldn’t you care how i feel?

Then there’s the whole jealousy thing. He gets SO jealous over the dumbest stuff. Like last week, I was just talking to one of my guy friends at school—literally just talking—and later, he was all moody and weird about it. He kept saying stuff like, “Why were you laughing so much with him?” and “You don’t act like that around me anymore.” Like, excuse me? I can have friends! It’s so exhausting trying to constantly reassure him that I’m not cheating or whatever.

But at the same time, I feel bad even thinking about breaking up because I know he cares about me. Like, he’s the type of guy who would defend me if someone was being mean or walk me home if it’s late. And there are moments where I still feel like he loves me, you know? Like, the other day, he randomly brought me coffee because I had a bad day at school. Stuff like that makes me think maybe I’m just overthinking all this and being too harsh on him. But then, the next day, he’ll do something that makes me so frustrated, and I’m right back to wondering if I should break up with him.

It doesn’t help that everyone around me seems to have an opinion. My best friend keeps telling me I deserve better and that if he’s making me feel like this, then I should just end it. But then some of my other friends are like, “Relationships have ups and downs, and you just have to work through them.” So which one is it? Am I supposed to just stick it out and hope it gets better, or is this a sign that it’s time to let go?

Oh, and my parents don’t even like him. They think he’s “too immature” and that I could be focusing on school instead of dealing with boyfriend drama. And honestly? Sometimes I think they might be right. I feel like I spend more time stressing about this relationship than actually enjoying it. But does that mean I should break up with him? Or does every couple go through stuff like this?

The thing is, I do care about him. I really do. But I also feel like I’m losing myself a little bit in this relationship. Like, I used to hang out with my friends all the time and do fun stuff after school, but now it’s like everything revolves around him. If he’s in a bad mood, it ruins my whole day. If he’s happy, I feel like I can finally relax. It’s exhausting, and I don’t know if that’s normal or if I’m just stuck in something unhealthy.

Ugh, I feel like I’m rambling, but I seriously don’t know what to do. Part of me is scared to break up with him because what if I regret it? What if I realize I made a huge mistake, and by then, it’s too late? But then the other part of me is like, what if staying with him means I keep feeling this way? I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I wasted all this time on someone who doesn’t make me happy.

If you’ve ever felt like this, please tell me what you did. Did you break up, or did you try to work things out? How do you even know if it’s time to end things? Right now, I just feel so confused and stuck. I mean, I like him, but do I like him enough to keep dealing with all this? And if I’m already asking myself, “Should I break up with my boyfriend?” does that mean deep down I already know the answer?

Ok so I’m gonna try and explain this the best I can but honestly don’t know if it’s gonna make sense. Lately, been thinking a lot about why I have like, commitment issues. Like why can’t I just be normal in a relationship? Every time things start getting serious, it’s like I freak out and just... want to run. It’s not like I don’t like the person or whatever but something about it just makes me feel trapped or suffocated.

So yeah, was dating this guy (let’s call him Jason) for like 6 months. Everything was good at first. We would go out, have fun, all that cute couple stuff you see in movies. But then one day he starts talking about “our future.” Like where we’re gonna live, getting a dog, even marriage. And I swear, felt like I couldn’t breathe. My head just started screaming like get out now. Sounds dramatic but that’s literally how it felt.

After that convo, started pulling back. Didn’t text him as much or made excuses not to hang out. Obviously, he noticed and asked me what was going on. And you know what I said? NOTHING. Just stared at him like an idiot because how do you even explain that you have commitment issues without sounding crazy?? Who wants to hear “yeah I like you but the idea of being with you forever lowkey freaks me out”? He’d probably think I’m a psycho.

Anyway, ended up ghosting him. Not proud of it but didn’t know what else to do. He texted me a few times asking if we could talk but just ignored it. Now he’s blocked and honestly feel like the worst person ever. Like, Jason didn’t even do anything wrong. It’s all me.

Started googling “commitment issues” and omg it’s like reading about myself. Apparently, it can come from stuff like childhood trauma or being scared of getting hurt. Didn’t have a horrible childhood or anything, but my parents got divorced when I was 10 so maybe that’s it? Don’t know. Just know that every time someone tries to get close, it’s like I start pushing them away.

And it’s not even just romantic relationships either. Even with friends, keep people at arm’s length. Will hang out and have fun but if someone starts calling me their “best friend” or talks about going on a trip together, it’s like I start making excuses. Can’t handle anyone depending on me for too long.

Wish I could fix it but no idea where to start. Therapy maybe? But the idea of opening up to a stranger about all this stuff kind of freaks me out too lol. Ugh, it’s like a never-ending cycle of pushing people away and then feeling lonely af.

If anyone’s reading this and has advice, please share. How do you get over commitment issues?? Because at this point, tired of sabotaging every good thing in my life.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about self respect. I never used to think much about it—I guess I always assumed it was just about having confidence or standing up for yourself. But now, after what happened last week, I’m starting to realize it’s so much more than that.

It started at work. I’ve been at my job for three years now, and I’ve always been the “go-to” person whenever someone needs help. Whether it’s staying late to finish a project, covering for someone who’s out sick, or just being the one to solve last-minute emergencies, I’ve always said yes. I thought it was the right thing to do—showing I’m a team player, someone dependable. But honestly? It’s starting to feel like people take advantage of that.

Last Friday was the breaking point. I had plans to finally take a half day, something I hadn’t done in months. My best friend was visiting, and I was so excited to leave early and actually spend some time with her. But right before I was about to leave, my manager called me into her office. She asked me to stay late—again. There was a “crucial” report that needed finishing, and no one else could do it.

I should have said no. I should have told her I had plans and that I’d already done more than my fair share this week. But instead, I froze. I could feel the words forming in my head, but they wouldn’t come out. All I managed was a weak, “Okay, I guess I can.”

So there I was, sitting at my desk until 8 p.m., missing dinner with my friend, and feeling this sinking pit in my stomach. As I worked, all I could think was, Did I deserve this? Am I really just someone who always puts themselves last?

That night, when I got home, my friend could tell I was upset. I told her what happened, and she said something that stuck with me. “You know, it’s okay to say no. You’re allowed to respect your own time and your own needs. If you don’t, no one else will.”

She was right. I realized I had been saying yes to everyone else for so long that I’d forgotten how to say yes to myself. I’d let people pile work on me, let them assume I’d always be available, because I thought that was what being “nice” or “reliable” meant. But somewhere along the way, I lost my self respect.

It hit me hard because, deep down, I know I deserve better. I deserve to have boundaries, to value my own time and energy just as much as I value other people’s. But knowing that and actually acting on it are two different things. It’s scary to stand up for yourself, especially when you’re so used to putting everyone else first. What if they get mad? What if they think I’m selfish?

This week, I decided to try something different. When another coworker asked me to take on their workload because they were “too busy,” I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t this time. I have my own deadlines to meet.” My heart was pounding as I said it, but you know what? They didn’t get mad. They just nodded and figured it out themselves. It was such a small moment, but it felt huge to me. For once, I chose to respect my own limits instead of pushing them aside for someone else.

I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out. There are still moments where I catch myself falling back into old habits, saying yes when I really want to say no. But I’m learning that self respect isn’t about being perfect or getting it right all the time. It’s about recognizing your own worth and reminding yourself that you deserve kindness and consideration too—even from yourself.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re stuck in this cycle of putting others first at the expense of your own well-being, I get it. It’s hard to break out of that mindset, especially when you’ve been in it for so long. But trust me, it’s worth it. The more you respect yourself, the more others will respect you too.

I’m not sure where this journey will take me, but I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to feel like I did last Friday ever again. It’s time to start saying yes to myself. Because at the end of the day, self respect isn’t something anyone can give you—it’s something you have to choose for yourself.

My friend Elena recently invited me to prepare a traditional Thanksgiving dinner at her home in Italy, where we both live. Though originally from China and having spent over two decades in the U.S., Elena wanted to host a Thanksgiving feast for a group of 12, doubling my usual guest count of six.

Crafting an authentic Thanksgiving meal in Italy is tricky; there's no easy access to canned pumpkin or cranberry sauce, so everything must be made from scratch. Thankfully, over the years, I've managed to gather the necessary dishes, tools, and spices, and have aligned with suppliers for harder-to-find ingredients. Cooking is a significant part of my life here.

Elena lives in a lavish home with her British husband, and their financial situation is more affluent than ours. Despite some initial hesitation due to the stark contrast in our lifestyles, the thought of cooking in a beautiful kitchen and the joy of sharing this festive tradition with new friends persuaded me to accept her invitation.

However, soon after agreeing, complications emerged. Elena proposed we hold the dinner on the Sunday before Thanksgiving for convenience, which I agreed to given that we are in Italy and flexibility seemed reasonable. But then, Elena suggested that when shopping for ingredients, I should cover half the cost, and she'd reimburse me for her "half". This unexpected financial imposition took me by surprise, especially with the scope of the tasks I was already committing to—planning, shopping, cooking, and teaching.

When I expressed my inability to meet her funding proposal due to budget constraints, Elena wanted to simplify the menu, reducing it from the full spread of turkey, fixings, candied yams, roasted veggies, an appetizer, and pie. She even made a disparaging remark about her friends not "eating like pigs" and had another guest make the pumpkin pie with my recipe to avoid buying the ingredients herself.

Considering Elena and her husband's wealth—they could easily spend more on a spontaneous lunch than the cost of the entire dinner—the situation felt increasingly unfair. Her actions seemed to reflect taking advantage of my good will. I’m left feeling that stepping back and declining her terms might be necessary, given her attitude appears both manipulative and ungracious.

If this scenario unfolded on a reality show, viewers would likely be divided. Some might sympathize with my position while others could perceive a dramatic confrontation as entertaining, possibly rallying behind me for standing up against what could be seen as exploitative demands. There could certainly be cheers for setting boundaries.

So am I wrong for refusing to financially contribute to this dinner or let myself be pushed around? It seems like protecting my peace of mind from this toxically charged situation is paramount.

I might just bow out and explain to her that I'm uncomfortable with how things are progressing—feeling stressed and manipulated isn't what this holiday should be about.

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.

My spouse, Michael, and I cherish a petite yet profoundly significant ritual that blooms each year since we exchanged vows. The essence of this tradition isn't elaborate but holds immense significance in my heart. Each November, specifically on the weekend preceding Thanksgiving, we embark on a serene journey to a quaint town nestled by a lake, merely an hour's drive away. This tranquil outing involves leisurely strolls, heartfelt conversations, and the selection of a unique Christmas ornament. This ornament, tenderly chosen, symbolizes the essence of our year together. It’s a modest day out, yet it profoundly enriches our festive season.

Michael recently befriended a man at his gym named Jake. Their friendship flourished quickly which I think is wonderful, as Michael often shies from forming new friendships. Jake, a hiking and gaming enthusiast, shares numerous interests with Michael, making their bond even more special.

However, a predicament arose when Jake invited Michael for a weekend getaway, coincidentally planned for the same weekend as our cherished tradition. Michael approached me somewhat reluctantly about possibly rescheduling our annual trip so he could join his friend. I was taken aback at first; the thought that he would consider altering our plans wounded me slightly. Michael argued, perhaps sensibly, that changing the date wouldn’t impose any logistical issues.

Despite understanding his point, I couldn’t mask my dismay. This tradition is our sacred communion—a token of our shared life that perhaps holds more esteem in my heart than his. On expressing this, Michael seemed both taken aback and slightly agitated, insinuating that I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

After a brief discussion, Michael agreed to maintain our planned tradition, although I could sense his disappointment, which inadvertently filled me with guilt. Now, wracked with doubt, I ponder if my insistence on maintaining our ritual, pivotal as it may seem to me, is an overindulgence on my part.

Suppose this scenario played out in a reality show setting, the audience might revel in the drama, eagerly awaiting my reaction or criticizing my insistence on tradition. The appealing appeal of reality TV often lies in observing how individuals navigate personal conflicts under the public's scrutinizing gaze. Would viewers champion my dedication to tradition, or would they perceive me as overly rigid and unsupportive of Michael’s new friendship?

Am I unreasonable for wanting our tradition to take precedence over his new friend?