no one prepares you for the constant comparison that happens in your 30s.

how it sneaks into everything, the harmless scroll that suddenly feels like a punch, the milestones people reach without thinking, the 'We're expecting!' texts that make you smile and ache at the same time. 

my heart. 

no one tells you how heavy it feels to measure your life against timelines you never agreed to. you start doing quiet math in your head - her age, your age, her marriage, your heartbreak, her baby shower, your silent prayers, her house keys, your restart. 

and it's not jealousy, it's grief. grief for the version of you who thought you'd be somewhere else by now. grief for the plans you made before life rerouted you. no one talks about how comparison becomes this tiny hum in the background, in conversations, in gatherings, in moments where you want to feel happy but can't help noticing that your life feels unfinished. 

but here's what no one tells you either: comparison only feels this loud because you're finally awake to your own becoming. you're paying attention. you're craving a life that feels like yours, not a life you perform. and slowly, with each boundary set, each prayer you whisper, each day you choose yourself, the noise starts to soften. you begin to see the way life has been rearranging you, shaping you, strengthening places in you that use to collapse under pressure. you start to understand that nothing in your life is random, and nothing has been wasted.

and then it hits you, the real truth underneath the comparison: nothing is wasted. 

//the end goal is to realise that nothing is wasted. i'm still on that journey / it's still a wip / but this year has been a year of calibration and drawing boundaries and stepping back from things that hurt me. pain has been familiar; i've always been drawn to pain. but maybe i need to move my hand away from the flame now. it's enough.