After yet another long, drawn-out night, just lying awake and staring at the ceiling, waiting for the chance to finally sleep, I can’t help but wander through all the “what ifs” of my life.
It feels like the darkness acts as a magnifying glass, finding the smallest cracks in my history and widening them until they are the only things I can see.
I replay the early years, the foundation of where I am now.
- What if I had done better in school?
- What if I hadn’t struggled so much to understand concepts that seemed so simple to everyone else?
- What if I hadn’t been so paralyzed by the fear of looking stupid that I stopped asking questions entirely?
- What if I had fought harder to stay in school instead of letting my grip loosen, slipping away at the end because it felt easier to quit than to fail?
But the questions don’t stop at the academic. They bleed into the personal, into the quiet moments where I hid myself away.
- What if I hadn’t been so terrified of letting people see the real me?
- What if I hadn’t pushed people away the moment they got too close, convinced that if they really knew me, they would leave anyway?
- What if I hadn’t assumed that being alone was safer than being known?
- What if I had spoken up when it mattered, instead of swallowing my words until they turned bitter inside me?
The questions shift from what I did to who I was. I keep asking myself: what if I had just made better choices overall?
What if, instead of giving up the things I wanted, or even the things I genuinely needed, I had actually fought for them? What if I had realized earlier that my needs were not a burden but a necessity? Why did it always feel like I had to choose between my own wellbeing and the wellbeing of everyone around me? Why did I always feel like I had to lose so that someone else could win?
- What if I hadn’t settled for the path of least resistance every single time?
- What if I had trusted my own gut instead of letting fear make the decisions for me?
- What if I had allowed myself to be messy and imperfect instead of trying to be invisible?
I could have been more selfish.
I could have said no.
I could have drawn a line in the sand and defended it.
I could have taken those chances. I could have chased those opportunities instead of standing still, paralyzed, watching them pass me by.
But I didn’t. At some point I must have decided I wasn’t worth the effort. I treated myself like I was optional, like I was the disposable part of the equation that could be sacrificed just so others could be okay. And now I sit here in the dark wondering if I had chosen differently, would my life really be all that different? Or was I only ever capable of surviving in the narrow, twisted paths that were chosen for me, or, more often, forced upon me?
I look back and see that I had what felt like more than my fair share of struggles growing up. Some of them were completely out of my control. Others were the wreckage left behind by choices I made, or choices I was too afraid to make.
I know I wasn’t always easy to love or to be around. I remember being constantly on edge, frustrated, a raw nerve exposed to the air. I was exhausted by the never-ending effort it took just to keep my head above water. It felt like I was always treading water in a storm, one small wave away from finally going under.
So I ask myself: if I had just tried harder, would I like the person I might have become?
If I had made different choices, would I actually be happier, or am I simply destined to feel this hollow no matter what shape my life takes?
If I had achieved all the things I was supposed to, would I feel whole? Or would it just feel like a facade, a successful role I am pretending to play while the inside remains empty? Could I ever finally be genuinely proud of who I am?
And beneath all of that, buried deep where I rarely dare to look, there is a quieter, darker question. In that other version of my life, the one where I did everything right, the one where I succeeded and fought and won, would I still be alive?
Would I even want to be?
Because sometimes I wonder if the struggle is the only thing that anchored me. I wonder if that perfect life would have burned me out faster than this broken one has. Would the pressure of being that better person have crushed me completely?
What if that is just another lie I tell myself so I can sleep at night?