Grieving What Never Was
If you’ve been sitting with the quiet ache of grieving what never was, come in. This room holds the space between imagined futures and the reality we wake up to.
I think today I want to talk about grief.
But not your regular grief.
Even though I’m not quite sure what to write right now.
I’m freshly out of this grief.
This won’t be a beautiful insight,
nor will it be a dilly‑dally.
It’s more of a “here’s what I’ve been through in the last month.”
I guess someone out there might name what they’re feeling through this.
I hope.
I was feeling sad.
Really, really sad.
The type of sad where you don’t want to do much.
The type you can’t put a finger on.
I don’t usually bottle things up,
I’m pretty adamant about my inner‑work,
so this was oddly odd.
And I’m not even sure what made me realize it was grief.
More specifically: grieving what never was.
What never came to be.
Follow me.
I was in a train of thought, coming to the idea that maybe this environment I’m in isn’t the best for me.
It meets my basic needs, yes,
but it’s not conducive to my growth.
So I was thinking:
“What can I do to support myself better here, and eventually move somewhere else?”
That was the emotional landscape before the sadness hit.
At some point (and I only know this because I checked my journal, my memory is a blur)
I felt heavy.
Reality felt heavy.
But more tangible.
I was strangely more grounded, but unhappy.
Two days later, something clicked:
“I’m grieving… what has never been?”
Question mark.
And nothing more came out of it.
Two days after that, I asked myself:
“What am I grieving so much? What did I want right now?”
Like… things are okay. Not where I wanted, but…
I already had the answer, it just hadn’t sunk in yet.
Please bear in mind:
I was never a person of many dreams.
Not consciously.
I had unconscious drivers, sure,
but I was never the “I want to be an astronaut!” type.
I didn’t have much stimulus that planted those seeds.
My perspective of life was shallow because my world was small.
I was never taught or shown much beyond:
get up, work, get home, repeat.
I was never taught or shown much beyond the dysfunction of my family.
So that’s what I knew.
And that’s what I replicated.
PATTERNS. CONDITIONING PATTERNS EVERYWHERE.
And me repeating them.
Hence, so many brick walls, especially in relationships.
And no, I didn’t grow up in the middle of nowhere.
I grew up in a big city.
And no, I wasn’t chronically unhappy.
I was blissfully… okay.
To grasp for more,
you need awareness of your unmet needs.
You also need the perception that there is more and that it can be attained.
And I didn’t have that.
I lived on autopilot most of my life.
I lived for what was expected inside that bias.
I lived for the next moment.
Only in the last few years did I start putting proactive (but not always successful) effort into changing that.
I was always “okay,” but also always “not enough.”
If I were studying, I needed to be working.
If I were studying and working, I wanted a vacation.
If I were only working, I wanted to be studying or changing jobs.
Insert infinite scenarios here.
Back to the grief.
While I was looking for something to listen to,
I found a podcast episode on grief —
almost like it was waiting for me.
It was about regular grief, but still.
It helped me name things.
Didn’t solve the sadness, but gave logic and labels.
Then I talked to a friend.
Her answer was basically:
“That’s normal. I’m sorry you’re feeling bad, but that’s normal. Everyone has unmet expectations.”
And that felt dismissive.
Not her fault — she meant well.
Besides, I’m used to that.
Which is why I usually listen, not talk.
But I knew there was more depth than that.
It wasn’t just the usual expectation‑versus‑reality thing or simple reminiscing.
If you’re thinking the same,
here’s how I know it wasn’t just expectation or nostalgia:
I don’t miss being an architect.
Far from it.
I miss what I thought I’d have because of the effort I put in.
The output of that profession and job.
The life I thought I’d have with those results by now.
Same with my ex.
It feels rude to say this about a living person,
BUT GOD —
that was a dodged... nuke.
I’m better off without him.
But family is important to me.
And even with all the investment…
no returns.
I had to cut losses.
With... nothing else to do,
or rather that I knew I could do,
I sat with it.
I sat in my misery.
One night in bed, I was asking forgiveness:
from my child self, my teenage self, the universe —
I don’t know for what.
For all the opportunities I might’ve missed?
And might've not even known about (????).
I sobbed.
Think ugly cry.
Snot.
I had to get up for tissues.
And eventually… it settled.
Pretty anticlimactic, huh?
I bet you expected a character development arc.
Me too.
Man, I was so sad.
Not today.
I got what I got.
But I do have some takes for you.
This grief feels like you lost something.
But you actually didn’t lose something, right?
You realized something.
The grief didn’t come from losing a husband, a family, a career, or a community.
No one died (hopefully, my condolences if this triggered something).
In my case, it came from realizing:
The life I wanted didn’t happen
The paths I tried didn’t lead where I hoped
The people I invested in weren’t my people
The jobs I took weren’t my calling
The environment I’m in doesn’t match who I am now
When perceived reality differs from actual reality, it creates cognitive dissonance:
a mental discomfort from holding conflicting beliefs or expectations and current reality.
The realization is a shock to the system.
The brain had already built an internal model of the life it expected.
Losing that model feels like loss.
This is called "nonfinite grief" a living loss.
The sadness of unfulfilled expectations and imagined futures.
It’s also, often, a "disenfranchised grief" — grief that isn’t socially recognized or supported.
People just don’t talk much about it.
Probably because our society doesn’t talk about “failure” unless it’s in the hero’s journey.
Ok, great.
What then?
After more than a month,
and diving into more than just this grief,
because... that's how it went,
here’s what I’ve learned:
Wallow in your sadness.
Feel it.
Let it pass.
Just don’t make it your identity.
When emotions are too high, even obvious answers don’t sink in.
Give it time.
Forgive yourself.
I clearly wasn’t having it.
I felt like I disappointed even the Universe.
Even though my own beliefs say the Universe doesn’t care to micromanage my choices.
Try to find a way to come to terms with yourself.
If you have a harder time with this:
we don’t usually intend to make life harder for ourselves.
So how could you have done differently?
If you had other intentions,
figure out why — and forgive that too.
Accept reality.
Seems obvious. Almost like you’re being told you’re crazy.
Because obviously you’re living reality.
But most of us spend a lot of time in our minds,
living “what is expected,”
living off these "internal stories".
And there’s this switch,
the same one that lets you live fully in the present.
Flip that.
I don’t know about you,
easier said than done.
For me, Flow (Kotler) is easier than embodiment.
If that’s your case too:
Start small.
“I am not married.”
I. just. am. not.
That’s okay.
And nothing can be done about that right now.
Tell your brain the truth many times.
Until it works.
I wrote in my journal (half-ish channeling):
“It is accepting that you are what you are and live what you live, and that’s it.
You cannot be anyone else for someone’s delight, not even your own.
You can change who you are if you want to,
but you cannot be beyond who you are at the moment.
And doing so only hurts you.
There is a lot of energy in this upkeep.
Instead of being, you are monitoring.”
Stop judging yourself from the reality you’re not in.
Judge yourself based on the reality you are in.
What currently is.
"If you measure yourself against a reality you’re not in,
you’ll never meet it,
and you’ll feel miserable no matter what.
It’s like judging a fish on its ability to climb a tree."
If you’re not married, judging yourself by the standards of a wife/husband will simply never check that box.
This isn’t about being lenient.
It’s about being more accurate.
The drive that comes from being able to see your shortcomings is necessary to move the needle.
I am living testament to that — ignorance is bliss, but…
as with everything, there’s a balance.
Living and judging by a future that hasn’t come (yet),
just makes the in‑between unnecessarily harder and fuzzier.
Dream so you have something to reach for,
not something to be imprisoned by.
...
And… I don’t think I have anything else to say.
Thank you for being here, reading this far.
If you’re grieving, I hope your process is gentle.
There is always more on the other side.
Cheers!
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