Why?
Why do I still check your Instagram when I know it’ll only hurt? Why do I scroll through your stories, looking at your life continuing perfectly fine without me in it, then close the app feeling hollow but open it again ten minutes later?
Why can’t I just delete the number? It’s been sitting in my phone for months now, no new messages, no calls, just a name that I scroll past every time I’m looking for someone else. And every time I see it, I think “I should delete this” but I never do. Why? What am I holding onto? What am I waiting for?
Why did I spend an hour choosing my outfit this morning for class when I know no one really cares what I’m wearing? Why do I rehearse casual conversations in my head before having them, scripting responses to questions no one will probably even ask? Why do I care so much about things that apparently don’t matter?
Why do I remember exactly what you said to me three years ago in that one conversation, the specific words you used, the tone of your voice, while you’ve probably forgotten it happened at all? Why does my brain keep every slight, every disappointment, every moment I felt small, stored in perfect detail, ready to replay at 2 AM when I’m trying to sleep?
Why do I apologize for everything? For taking up space, for having opinions, for existing in a way that might inconvenience someone. “Sorry, can I just squeeze past?” “Sorry, I have a question.” “Sorry to bother you.” Sorry for what? For being here? For being human? Why can’t I just exist without this constant apology for my existence?
Why do I say “I’m fine” when I’m not fine? When someone asks how I am and I’m actually struggling, drowning, barely holding it together, why do I smile and say “I’m good, thanks” and change the subject? Why is honesty about pain so much harder than lying about being okay?
Why did I cry in the bathroom during lunch break yesterday over something so small? A comment someone made that they probably didn’t even mean the way I took it, but it sounded wrong and suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I had to lock myself in a stall until I could pull myself together enough to go back out and pretend everything was fine.
Why do I read meaning into everything? A delayed text response becomes evidence they don’t want to talk to me. A short reply means I said something wrong. No reply at all means I’m being ghosted, abandoned, confirmed in my belief that I’m too much, too boring, too something. Why can’t I just accept that sometimes people are busy? That not everything is about me?
Why do I give so much to people who give so little back? I’m the one who remembers details, who checks in, who shows up, who listens for hours about their problems. And when I need something, when I’m the one struggling, where are they? Why do I keep watering dead plants, hoping they’ll somehow bloom?
Why can’t I let things go? That argument from last year that everyone else has forgotten, I’m still thinking about it. Still wishing I’d said something different, something better, something that would have made them understand. Still carrying it around like a stone in my chest. Why? What’s the point? It’s over. It’s done. Why can’t I just release it?
Why do I compare myself to everyone? She’s smarter. She’s prettier. She’s more confident. She has more friends. She seems to have life figured out while I’m just stumbling through, pretending I know what I’m doing. Why can’t I just be content being me? Why is everyone else’s life always the measuring stick for my own inadequacy?
Why did I spend twenty minutes crafting that text message, writing and rewriting it, trying to sound casual but not too casual, interested but not too eager, like I care but not too much? And why, after all that effort, did I get a “lol ok” in response? Why do I put so much thought into things that other people don’t think about at all?
Why do I feel guilty for resting? For taking a break, for doing nothing, for not being productive every single second. Why do I feel like I have to earn my existence through constant achievement, constant improvement, constant hustle? Why isn’t just being enough?
Why do I lie awake replaying conversations, analyzing every word I said, every response I got, looking for hidden meanings, for signs that I messed up, that I was too much or not enough? Why can’t I just talk to people and then let it go? Why does every interaction have to be dissected like it’s evidence in a trial where I’m both the defendant and the prosecutor?
Why do I make myself small? In group conversations, I wait for a gap that never comes, holding my thought until it’s no longer relevant and I swallow it back down. I let people talk over me. I laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. I agree with opinions I don’t share. Why? To keep the peace? To be liked? To avoid the discomfort of being seen as difficult?
Why do I sabotage good things? When something’s going well, when someone’s being kind, when life feels manageable, why do I start looking for problems? Start waiting for the other shoe to drop? Start testing people to see if they’ll stay? Why can’t I just accept good things when they come instead of destroying them with my doubt?
Why do I care what they think? People I don’t even like, people whose opinions shouldn’t matter, people who’ve shown me they don’t value me, why am I still seeking their approval? Still hoping they’ll see me differently? Still wanting them to like me even though I don’t particularly like them?
Why do I hold onto hurt? Someone apologized, tried to make it right, showed genuine remorse, but I’m still angry. Still keeping score. Still bringing it up in arguments that have nothing to do with it. Why? What am I gaining from this grudge except the bitter satisfaction of being the wronged party?
Why can’t I ask for help? Why do I struggle alone with things that other people could easily help me with, convince myself I have to figure everything out by myself, that needing support is weakness? Why do I make life harder than it needs to be by refusing to admit I can’t do everything alone?
Why do I expect so much from people who’ve shown me exactly who they are? They’ve disappointed me before. They’ve let me down repeatedly. They’ve proven they’re not capable of giving me what I need. So why do I keep hoping this time will be different? Why do I keep testing a locked door, expecting it to suddenly open?
Why do I perform happiness when I’m sad? Take smiling photos on days when I’ve been crying. Share quotes about positivity when I’m drowning in negativity. Present a version of my life that’s so far from reality it might as well be fiction. Why? Who am I trying to convince? Them or me?
Why am I so hard on myself? I make one mistake and I’m incompetent. I have one bad day and I’m a failure. I don’t meet my own impossible standards and I’m worthless. But when others mess up, I’m all understanding and grace. Why can’t I extend to myself the same compassion I give so freely to everyone else?
Why do I start things I never finish? Projects, hobbies, goals, all abandoned halfway through when the initial excitement wears off and it becomes actual work. Why can’t I push through? Why do I give up the moment it gets difficult? Why is my attention span so short, my commitment so weak?
Why do I say yes when I mean no? “Can you help me with this?” Yes. “Can you give this to me?” Yes. “Can you do me a favor?” Yes yes yes, even when I’m exhausted, even when I have my own things to do, even when I desperately want to say no. Why can’t I just be honest about my limits?
Why do I think about the past so much? Replaying conversations from years ago, relationships that ended, choices I made that I can’t unmake. What’s the point? I can’t change any of it. The past is done. So why do I live there, in that museum of regrets, instead of here, in the present where I actually have some control?
Why do I assume the worst? Someone doesn’t text back and I assume they hate me. A plan gets cancelled and I assume they never wanted to see me anyway. Someone’s busy and I assume I’m not a priority. Why is my default setting always catastrophe? Why can’t I assume good intent, assume people care, assume I’m wanted?
Why do I need everyone to like me? I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea. I know this. I understand this. But I still try. Still adjust myself, still perform, still exhaust myself trying to be palatable to people who wouldn’t care if I disappeared tomorrow. Why? What am I trying to prove?
Why can’t I just be? Why is everything so complicated, so analyzed, so heavy? Why can’t I just live without this constant commentary running in my head about everything I’m doing wrong, everything I should be doing differently, everything I am that I shouldn’t be?
Why do I keep asking why? As if understanding will change anything. As if knowing the reason will make it hurt less, make it easier, make it better.
Maybe there are no answers. Maybe some things just are. Maybe I’m just wired this way, built to overthink and overanalyze and over-feel everything. Maybe all these whys don’t have tangible explanations, don’t have solutions, don’t have an ending where everything makes sense.
Maybe the question isn’t why. Maybe the question is: now what? Now that I know I do these things, now that I see these patterns, now that I’ve named all these whys, what am I going to do about it?
But I don’t know the answer to that either. So I’m back to why. Always back to why. Asking questions I can’t answer about behavior I can’t change about a person I don’t know how to be different from.
Why.
Just... why…
I see a lot of myself in these questions.
Some, they no longer matter to me.
Some, I found an answer to them.
Some, I'm still battling them.
But what makes it bearable sometimes, is when I just sit and talk to Allah. He understands more than we can ever imagine.
And most importantly, the knowledge that the people in your life, the situations, the feelings— they aren't coincindences or just a random array of events. They are there for a reason and what is most important is how you live with them.