When the Weight Isn't Just Unemployment — It's the People Around You

When the Weight Isn't Just Unemployment — It's the People Around You

There’s something that people don’t talk about when you’re unemployed, or when you’ve taken a gap year with no income, no job, no clear direction:

It’s not just the financial struggle.

It’s the emotional weight that builds — day after day — from the environment you're stuck in.

It’s the way people look at you.

The way they talk to you.

Or about you.

The little things they say that dig deep under your skin and stay there.

I’ve been unemployed for three months now.

Three months of hearing silence when I talk.

Three months of feeling invisible in a room full of people who share my blood.

I started a blog — not to go viral, not to be praised, not even to be seen.

Just to breathe.

To put things somewhere.

Nobody knows it exists. And maybe that’s a good thing.

At home, I feel like I’ve become a target.

The firstborn, yet the one spoken to like I’m a nobody.

They fight me.

They talk over me.

They blame me.

And somehow, they never see themselves.

Is this just "siblings stuff”?

Or is this something more?

Because it’s starting to feel like emotional manipulation. Control. Maybe even narcissism — not the watered-down version people use online, but the kind that hides in plain sight.

Some of the Signs I’ve Seen (And Felt)

They never listen. Ever. But expect me to hear every word they say.

They make fun of my silence and accuse me when I speak.

They twist things — always. Somehow, I’m the one at fault.

They use guilt like a weapon.

They act like my efforts mean nothing, and like I should be grateful just to exist in their space.

I didn’t know that home could feel like this.

That being alive, but unemployed, could make people treat you like you don’t count.

That trying to heal or grow could make people want to shrink you even more.

And the worst part is not being able to leave — not having the money or the power to walk out.

You see the walls.

You see the damage.

But you're locked in.

And the key isn’t yours yet.

I’m not writing this for pity. I’m not writing it to inspire anyone.

This is for me.

To get it out.

Because keeping it in was making me sick in ways I couldn’t even name.

If you’ve read this far, maybe you’ve been there too.

Or maybe you're just seeing someone else's truth.

That’s fine. I don’t need to be understood.

I just need to feel what’s real. 🥲