You ever get that feeling where you’re living a life that objectively should be… fulfilling? Like, you check all the boxes society says equate to a good existence. You're providing. You’re sacrificing. You’re doing the RIGHT thing. And yet, there’s this persistent, almost dissonant hum in your brain, a quiet insistence that something is fundamentally misaligned. I work double shifts, warehouse grunt work, because the preschool costs are insane. They’re worth it, obviously. She needs that stimulation, that structure, that early foundation that I, frankly, can’t give her when I’m barely conscious. But it means I miss bedtime. Every single night. I tuck her in before my shift, already asleep, a tiny, warm lump in her bed. And I see her awake maybe an hour a day, total. It's a classic Dostoevskyian paradox, I think – the pursuit of a perceived good leading to an acute sense of internal decay. I’m giving her the best chance, ensuring her future, but at what cost to her present experience of me? Or, more selfishly, my present experience of *her*? You know that feeling when the very mechanism designed to secure something precious ends up being the thing that separates you from it? It’s like a cruel joke of human endeavor. I provide the roof, the food, the education, and in doing so, I become a phantom, a benevolent ghost who pays the bills but isn't there for the stories, the silly questions, the final hug before sleep pulls her under. And the worst part is, I don’t even know what I’m looking for here. Not advice. Not solutions. Just… a diagnostic clarification, maybe? Is this a universal human condition, this trade-off, this feeling of perpetual inadequacy even when you’re pushing yourself to the absolute limit? Or is it a specific pathology of my own making, some deep-seated error in my operating system? Because sometimes you just feel like you’re starring in a play where you’ve forgotten your lines, and everyone else seems to be fluent in the language of contented sacrifice. And you’re just… standing there, empty handed, wondering if anyone else can see the void you’re carrying.