Night shift ends, I crash for four hours, then it’s straight to the grocery store. Every. Single. Day. Sister’s mobility issues mean she can’t go, obviously, and I refuse to let her rely on those delivery apps. Markup’s criminal. So I handle it. All of it. The shopping, the cooking, the cleaning – she manages her own personal care, thankfully. My parents, back home, just ask when I’m getting married, when I’m having kids. Like this isn’t my life right now. It feels like I’m in a holding pattern, perpetually suspended, waiting for my actual life to start. My sibling dependency is... a thing. Anyone else feel like they’re living a surrogate existence? It’s not even resentment, not exactly. More like this deep, pervasive weariness. This cognitive dissonance where I *know* I’m doing the right thing, fulfilling my filial duty, but then there’s this other part that just screams. I’m thirty-one. My friends are buying houses, getting promotions, doing literally anything else. And I’m meticulously comparing unit prices on organic oat milk at 10 AM, after an overnight shift. The absurdity of it is almost funny. My therapist (well, ex-therapist, couldn’t afford her anymore) called it "enmeshed family dynamics." She had a lot of fancy terms. I just call it "my Tuesday." Is it… a martyrdom complex? Am I subconsciously performing this role to avoid dealing with my own ambition, or lack thereof? The thought crosses my mind sometimes, usually around 3 AM when I’m trying to make sense of inventory labels. Like, maybe this is just easier than trying to figure out what *I* want. Because what I want feels so damn selfish compared to someone else’s actual needs. Am I the only one who feels trapped by their own perceived virtue?