We Were Just Venting… Until It Became a Competition
(A little note on stress, friendship, and the Struggle Olympics)
Hello Dear Readers,
Hope you guys are doing fine and I am sailing through too.
So, don’t get me wrong that I am starting it in hurry. But I so desperately want to tell you this that I can’t wait!!
So the other day, I was on a call with one of my closest friends—you know, the kind of conversation that begins with a rant and ends with laughter or existential dread (sometimes both).
I said, “You know we start work at 10 am and they don’t let us go until it’s 8 in the evening. I feel like a ragged potato—boiled, fried, and then dumped.”
She replied, “Ohh that’s bad, but at least you don’t have to run after clients even during festive times.”
(Just for context—it’s that time in Odisha where we’re supposed to be soaking in traditions, sweets, and mildly toxic relatives. Not Zoom calls.)
I nodded (or maybe winced?) and said, “At least you get Saturdays off. I don’t even know what Saturday looks like anymore.”
To which she said, “Yeah but what’s the point of a holiday when your team schedules a ‘quick sync’ and then keeps you on a call for 3 hours straight?”
“Okay but at least you’re at home,” I whispered, half to myself.
And then she said something that smacked me into awareness:
“You might be physically at home, but mentally, you're still stuck at work.”
Oof.
And that’s when it hit me—what the hell were we doing?
We weren’t really talking to each other…
We were competing over who had the worse life.
Like some twisted game show:
“Welcome to today’s episode of Struggle Olympics. Who’s more miserable? Who’s the reigning champ of burnout?”
What. Even. Was. That?
Somewhere between the bad network and better sarcasm, I realized: we just wanted to be heard. That’s all.
Not judged.
Not ranked.
Not out-suffered.
We didn’t need to fight over whose pain was more valid.
We just needed someone to say “Damn, that sucks. Come here, let’s cry or scream or laugh about it together.”
But I guess we’ve all been in this performance mode for so long that even pain feels like something we have to prove.
Anyway, I’ve decided something:
Next time, I won’t play the game.
I won’t try to one-up someone else’s chaos with mine.
I’ll just listen. And if I have something to say, I’ll say it without measuring its ‘trauma weight.’
We’re all tired, love. We’re all carrying something heavy.
And trust me—no one wins when we turn connection into competition.
Let’s just hold space for each other.
And maybe, maybe let each other rest.
Until next time,
Stay soft. Stay weird. Stay human.
With love (and fewer competitions),
Shree.
PS -If you loved hearing my mind, you can definitely buy me a coffee or a cookie or a cupcake. Okay buy me anything with love and I will accept it.