It’s not about possessions or attention—it’s about energy. Why is it that when someone else seems happy or fulfilled, I feel this weird tug in my chest, like I’m missing some invisible memo about how life is “supposed” to be”? 💭 Sometimes I hate myself for noticing it, for feeling it. And yet, there’s a part of me that refuses

I catch myself replaying moments in my mind, imagining what I could have donsh h

Sometimes, the truth hits me in a flash: maybe it’s not about them at all. Maybe it’s about recognizing the parts of me I’ve neglected, the dreams I’ve sidelined, the boundaries I’ve let blur. 🌿 And maybe this uncomfortable awareness is exactly what I need to grow

But still, I can’t help asking: will I ever feel free enough to witness joy without a sting, or am I destined to carry this strange mix of admiration and envy forever? 🤷‍♀️