There’s a kind of grief we don’t talk about enough. And it’s the grief of unlived lives, of who we could have been. It lingers in the spaces between our choices, in the roads we never took, in the lives we imagined but didn’t live.

It sneaks up on you in small moments like when you scroll past someone living the life you once dreamed of, when an old ambition resurfaces out of nowhere, when you wonder, what if? It’s not exactly regret but something softer, and it’s heavy nonetheless. It’s a mix of nostalgia, curiosity, and sometimes, a little bit of sadness.

And this grief is not just personal, but cultural too. A lot of our choices never felt entirely our own. We came of age in a time that preached independence and ambition, especially for women. We were told we could be anything, do anything but in the background, tradition kept whispering reminders of what we should be. Marriage, family, stability- those age-old benchmarks that have long defined a woman’s worth. So while we reached for more, we also carried the weight of expectations that inadvertently shaped our decisions.

By mid to late 20s, we’re expected to have a steady job, an income, and a life that looks put together. But what if getting there meant giving up parts of ourselves? What if, in choosing the practical path, we had to let go of the dreams we once nurtured?

And if so, how do we live with this grief? More importantly, how do we stop mourning the lives we didn’t live and start embracing the one we have?

The ‘Job by 26’ Rule

Remember those kids in school who swore they’d be astronauts, artists, or world-famous chefs? Fast forward a decade or two, and most of them (like us) are just trying to figure out how to reply to emails without having an existential crisis.

Maybe they wanted to be an artist but ended up in a government job because you can’t eat dreams.

Maybe they swore they’d leave town, yet here they are, running the family business.

And maybe you too see yourself in them.

Most of us didn’t choose our careers out of passion. We chose them out of necessity. And now, at 28, still figuring things out feels heavier than ever, especially in a world where every teenager seems to already own a startup.

Many of us weren’t just chasing a career, we were stepping into roles as family breadwinners, cultural torchbearers, and proof of success for our parents’ sacrifices. The weight of responsibility often shaped our choices before we even realized it.

The Psychology Behind the Grief of Unlived Lives

This longing for a parallel life is more than just a passing thought, it has deep psychological roots.

The “What If” Loop: Our Brain’s Obsession with Alternate Endings

Psychologists call this counterfactual thinking. Our brain’s tendency to replay past decisions and imagine different outcomes. It’s a survival mechanism. If we analyze our past mistakes, we might avoid similar ones in the future. But when this becomes obsessive, it can trap us in a cycle of regret, making us feel like we failed simply because we didn’t choose a different path.

Neuroscience also backs this up with studies that show how the medial prefrontal cortex (a region linked to self-reflection), lights up when we think about our past choices. The more emotional the memory, the stronger the brain’s response. That’s why we feel the deepest regret when our identity – our careers, relationships, or personal goals- is on the line.

Erik Erikson’s Theory

Erik Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development explain why this grief intensifies at different life stages.

• In our 20s and 30s (Intimacy vs. Isolation), we’re making major life decisions like career, relationships, independence. This is also the time when regret creeps in because we compare ourselves to peers who “figured it out” faster or seem more successful.
• By middle age (Generativity vs. Stagnation), we start questioning our impact. Did we build something meaningful? Did we waste time? This is where people feel the strongest pull toward “what could have been.”
• In old age (Integrity vs. Despair), all those bottled-up regrets can start to bubble over and not in a poetic, healing way. You know that one grandpa on the block who grumbles at kids for existing? Or the aunty who always looks like life personally offended her? We joke and call them hags or grumps, but honestly that could be any of us if we don’t make peace with the “what ifs.” That kind of cynicism doesn’t just come from age but are the results of emotional leftovers from a life full of should-haves and could-haves, microwaved over and over till it sours.

We Pretend We’re Fine, Then Scroll and Compare Anyway

Ah yes, the age-old villain of every TED Talk, therapist’s office, and Sunday night existential crisis- social media. That highlight reel we keep doom-scrolling through has turned into a full-blown comparison Olympics. We’re out here watching everyone’s greatest hits- job promotions, Bali vacations, baby announcements- while sitting in our pajamas wondering if switching shampoos counts as personal growth.

What we don’t see is the behind-the-scenes mess. They also pushed through bad days, wrestled with silent doubts, and made compromises to get where they are. And yet, it’s so easy to believe everyone else made all the “right” choices while we accidentally took a nap during life’s roadmap briefing. No wonder this stuff feeds our grief; especially the grief of the life we never lived.

Rewriting the Grief: Finding Meaning in Your Current Life

So, how do we stop circling the what-ifs and start moving forward? How do we release the lives we didn’t live and fully embrace the one we’re in?

It starts with reframing regret- not as a sign of failure but as proof that we cared. That we had dreams. That we were capable of imagining different possibilities for ourselves. And that, in itself, is a beautiful thing.

1. The Myth of taking the “Right” Path

One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that there was one perfect path, and we missed it. But life isn’t a linear story with a single correct script. It’s a collection of choices, circumstances, and chance.

If you’re a Marvel fan like me, maybe you’ve had this thought too- the multiverse theory. Somewhere out there, another version of you chased her passion, moved to a new city, or married someone else. But here’s the thing we don’t consider: even in that timeline, she has regrets too.

Every choice comes with trade-offs. We romanticize the lives we didn’t live because we don’t see the behind-the-scenes: the doubts, the sacrifices, the struggles. But they’re always there. Just hidden behind a prettier filter.

2. Reframe Regret : What Did Your Choices Give You?

Instead of mourning what you lost, ask yourself: What did I gain?

Sure, you didn’t become an artist, but maybe you found stability and a way to support your family.

You didn’t move abroad, but you built a community where you are.

You didn’t follow your teenage dreams, but you discovered new ones along the way.

We call this benefit-finding– the practice of recognizing positive outcomes from past decisions, even if they weren’t what you originally planned.

It’s not about toxic positivity or pretending everything’s perfect. It’s about shifting your focus from “what I missed” to “what I gained.”

When we reframe our past decisions through this lens, we stop seeing them as mistakes and start seeing them as meaningful stepping stones. Because even the so-called wrong turns had something to offer.

3. Flip the Script on Your Story

The stories we tell ourselves about our past shape how we feel about our present. If you constantly replay your life as a series of missed opportunities, you’ll always feel like you fell short. But if you see it as a journey- one with detours, unexpected lessons, and second chances, it becomes a story of growth.

You’re not “too late” for anything.
There’s no invisible timeline you need to catch up to.
This is your life and you’re allowed to move through it at your own pace.

4. Find Ways to Honor Your Grief

Just because you didn’t take a certain path doesn’t mean you have to bury that part of yourself forever. Maybe you can’t go back and redo your 20s, but you can still:

• Take that art class.
• Visit the place you once couldn’t stop thinking about.
• Write, dance, create- whatever it was you once loved.
• Mentor someone who’s walking the path you once considered.

The dream doesn’t have to die, it can just grow up with you.

5. Letting Go of the Need to “Prove” Yourself

A lot of our grief comes from feeling like we need to show the world we made the right choices. That we have something to show for our decisions. But true contentment doesn’t come from external validation, but it comes from internal peace.

As Erikson’s theory suggests, we reach true life satisfaction when we stop trying to compare, compete, or prove, and instead find meaning in what we have.

And if you ever feel like you “should be further ahead” by now, remind yourself:

You are not a failure for taking a different path.
Your worth isn’t measured by a timeline or a title.
You are allowed to be proud of the life you’ve built, even if it’s not the one you imagined.

You Are More Than Your Grief

The grief of who you could have been is real. But so is the beauty of who you are now. Life was never about ticking all the right boxes. It’s about stumbling, learning, growing, and learning to hold space for both the dreams we lost and the person we became instead.

And if you ever find yourself looking back, wondering what could have been, just remember:

The version of you who made those choices was doing the best they could with what they knew.
The version of you today still has time to create, explore, and redefine what fulfillment looks like.
And the version of you in the future will thank you for choosing to be present, instead of living in the past.

The post The Grief of Who You Could Have Been: Rewritten first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

The cost, a relentless tide…

And then I felt it.

It fell- my heart

It fell from my chest and I didn’t even try to stop it

It broke.

I swear I felt it break

It broke mercilessly and nothing could stop it.

I felt it.

Bits of my heart in the rubble

I hear it wail in the heartache

I feel it.

The wreckage that is my heart

I feel it scratching against my skin

I let it consume me.

The post COST first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

He comes in the morning when the clock strikes 1:00.

I’m struggling to hold on to my sister hanging from a cliff. I don’t know how we’re in the midst of an Armageddon, running for our lives and fighting off demons. Like quicksand, the ground beneath us is pulling us towards the earth’s core. Each step feels so heavy it pulls our feet down as we try to outrun them. Every time we stop, the ground below us starts falling like the earth was hungry for a million years and now it’s ready to swallow us whole so we keep running.

Sometimes it feels like my joints have given up, and I’m only running because I think I am. I feel every little pain.

I can feel the small scraps of stones bouncing up and hitting me as I run past it; there are broken glasses, nails and sharp edged pebbles that poke through my worn out sneakers and into my feet.

I can feel all the open wounds.

I can feel them throbbing.

I can feel the blood soaking through my socks.

Sudden Stillness

And then suddenly, like nothing happened, everything comes to a halt. Eerie stillness envelops us, as my breath finally starts to normalize. I turn to look at my sister but I can’t see her. Frantically, I’m crying out her name and looking around only to realize that we’re almost at the peak of the hill. There’s nothing but dust that covers the valleys around us.

I hear my name but it sounds like it’s coming from underneath the ground. I place my ear to the ground and slither my way towards the sound. At the edge of the cliff, I find her. She’s hanging by a branch. Instinctively, I reach out, grabbing her hand.

I got a hold of her right hand but I can feel my body getting hot; it starts from my head- it starts to feel like it’s going to explode from pressure, then my ears get warmer.

I can feel the sweat beginning to gather near my temples, my palms are also getting sweaty. I feel her slowly slipping through my fingers. I feel the sweat from my brows, gathering at the tip of my nose, leaving my body and falling. I’m watching it free fall, trying if I can see it reach the bottom, listening for a splatter. I don’t hear it reach the bottom.

My heart is pounding right out of my chest. I’m barely holding on with my feet buried in the gravel.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE IN OUR DREAMS?

Before I could wander off into that thought; in a flash, mustering inhuman-like strength, I yank her whole body up and we lay panting and gasping for air.

That’s something admirable about dreams.

Anything is possible; nothing is impossible.

I pull her up, and we collapse, panting and laughing. The absurdity of it makes us laugh harder.

This feels weirdly wholesome.

Like clockwork, it’s 1:00 AM in the real world but I have no way of knowing this because I’ve been told you can’t tell time in a dream. It’s got something to do with our left and right hemispheres; like how one works without the other.

The brain, it seems, is perpetually in a complicated relationship; sometimes it prefers to work alone and sometimes it’s a needy friend who constantly craves for attention from the other side. I say this because I’ve read that when one part of our brain tries to sleep more quickly than the other, we are jolted awake. Talk about petty!

Right on cue, my body also responds with a jolt. And suddenly I realize that I can’t move.

Oh no. Not this again!

It’s midsummer and I hardly have a blanket on me but it feels like boulders and boulders of rocks atop me. I’m screaming for help but nothing escapes my mouth other than frail breaths. My jaws are so heavy. The pain is excruciating.

10 years ago, at a campfire, my friend told me to “always move your toes” when you feel like you’re trapped or you can’t move or talk in your sleep. And I’ve remembered that even after all these years because I’ve had to use that more often than I would like to admit. I don’t quite understand the logic to it but I don’t think she did either. Logic or not, it’s my only anchor.

The Shadow at the Bedside

The gut wrenching moment comes when I realize that this is happening in real time. I’m awake and aware of what is happening to my body. I can feel the stiffness in my bones. My breaths: short and stunted.

I can feel the room- I can feel the breeze from the open window beside my bed, I hear the rattling of the ceiling fan above me and I can feel his presence at the edge of my bed.

So quiet, so tall, he hovers over my bed. I wonder why he isn’t doing anything. I’m anticipating an attack. Isn’t that always the case? The action in itself isn’t nearly as horrific as the anticipating thought.

“It’s always darkest before the storm”

because I guess, at least we see lightning in the storm.

My eyes are shut. I don’t know if I’m trying to keep them shut or if I am unable to open them. The darkness somehow, is so comforting. I could turn on my bedside lamp but the horror of seeing something in the light paralyzes me. 

My limbs are rigid.

I can’t move my body, not the slightest bit; not even to touch my Bible that I keep under my pillow.

And I’m thinking of all the ways that I can find comfort if I just reached under my pillow. It’s not that far away- if I just turn, if I just shrug my shoulder a little, if I just move my head towards it, if I just…

There’s just something about being bested by your own subconscious that breaks you as a human being.

I don’t want to give up but as I’m struggling, he’s smirking at my feeble attempts, hushing me, drying my tears. He climbs onto the bed, lies down beside me and holds me.

My back is turned to him and he lifts his head, his lips pressed to my ear, and whispers, “never sleep again.” I feel a gush of wind enter my ear like someone tried to blow dry it. Suddenly I can open my eyes.

I’m in a fetal position, in a pool of my own sweat. The curtains are dancing with the rhythm of the breeze and I reach under my pillow.

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Think about what you’ve wanted to be as a kid. For most of us, the world was happy and kind and we could be anything we wanted to be. Fast forward and here we are, writing a blog in the middle of a lockdown, reading about “flattening the curve,” and listening to podcasts that list everything wrong with the world.

Such a downer, isn’t it?

We’ve wanted to be medical health professionals to save someone.

We wanted to be educationists to teach someone.

We also wanted to be artists to inspire someone

To be in businesses to help someone

To be politicians to uplift someone.

And we wanted to be in services to assist someone.

But right now, the world feels vague and uncertain. With leaden steps, all that we worked towards is piling up and becoming what I would like to call, TRASH.

We’re still pushed towards a lot of deadlines and expectations that seem meaningless now. What we were taught as children: “to follow our dreams” has gone right into the gutter because all I dream about is larger than life cats that birth humans with whiskers and I’m not even a cat person.

The Hard Truth

What has left me totally flabbergasted is the idea that we have brought these pandemic woes upon ourselves. I mean it’s hard to admit mistakes and own up to what the world says is our own fault. But 3 months into this lockdown and I’m starting to accept this heavy truth. We are terrible at this; at being humans.

Not always, not everyone, but enough to make a global mess.

I don’t speak for everybody and I’ll bet my life on it because even to blog has taken me several years. I’ve always been afraid of what my ideas might sound like to some. I’m not all for “constructive criticism” however immature that makes me sound. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this realization has brought me full circle. Now I’m looking at my own life and see how much time I’ve wasted being bothered by something that is innately us.

Facing the Existential Crisis

The pandemic has forced us to sit with ourselves, and that’s a scary place to be. So, yes, we’re not the best at being humane towards our own species and that’s another problem altogether. But right now, trying to live with a virus that has the power to wipe out humanity has left me in an existential crisis that maybe most of us don’t want to address.

And the only way to come out of this still standing strong is perhaps, take a moment and look at the lives that we’ve created and fostered and nurtured into something so terrible that I’ll bet the devil is even afraid to tempt us anymore.

Maybe pondering upon this thought will push us to do something a little more than pass the blame and live perpetually smacking our heads and gasping at headlines.

It’s not about grand gestures, but small steps towards being kinder, more aware, and maybe just a little less human in all the ways that hurt us.

Just Figuring It Out

It all sounds so dreadful and I sure didn’t think this is how my first blog was gonna go. A Friday afternoon, sitting in the sun, thinking about a cat that birthed humans and writing this almost depressing post about what it is like to be human in 2020.

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