Have you ever met someone younger and felt a flicker of jealousy, for no clear reason, simply because they were younger? It wasn’t that I wanted to be in their position, nor did I envy anything they possessed. It was something quieter and harder to define.

But the more I sat with this thought, the more I wondered: was it jealousy? Or was it something else entirely? Maybe it wasn’t envy at all, but a quiet sort of grief. Not the kind that comes with losses and goodbyes, but maybe the kind that settled in the space between who I am now and who I thought I’d be by this point.

Not all grief starts with loss. Occasionally, it stems from unpursued dreams, missed opportunities, or the versions of ourselves we were afraid to become.

What makes it even more difficult to handle or understand is the fact that no one discusses this kind of grief. Such grief doesn’t come with rituals or condolences. There’s no funeral, no “sorry for your loss” for the version of ourselves that we didn’t quite become.

It just stays. Buried quietly and deeply within ourselves.

Maybe what I mourned then wasn’t envy for their youth, but a quiet farewell to the version of myself with endless possibilities. It wasn’t the years themselves I missed, but the unspoken hopes, dreams, and potential connected to those times—the belief that there would be more time, more freedom, or something else.

Now, looking back from a different point in life, I see that some of those things slipped away unnoticed. The years went by quietly, taking a part of me.

However, I don’t regret my current life. There’s beauty here as well. I find strength in this—realising I’m stronger than I thought, being grateful for the people who stay by my side during tough times, and understanding myself better.

Would I want to go back? No.

In my experience as a psychologist, I have observed many people carrying this kind of grief without realising it. Instead, they express it through statements such as, “I thought I’d be married by now,” “I was supposed to study abroad,” or “I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

These deviations from our original plans might seem normal to some, but could be deeply embarrassing to others. Such detours are a natural aspect of life, and society expects us to accept them and move forward. However, unfulfilled dreams deserve to be mourned, and accepting this helps us move forward.

I have seen people browse social media, see friends get married, travel, or land promotions, and quietly wonder, “Where did I go wrong?”

Well, they didn’t do anything wrong—life happened. Health issues, financial responsibilities, family pressure, heartbreak—they go unnoticed because the losses aren’t obvious, but they do leave a lasting mark on us.

This form of grief might manifest as a dull sadness that doesn’t go away, a tendency to compare yourself to others constantly, or a difficulty celebrating your small wins. Sometimes, it feels like being stuck, not because you lack motivation but because you’re quietly carrying the weight of “what could have been”.

Grieving what didn’t happen doesn’t make you weak or ungrateful. You can mourn the degree you didn’t get, the city you never lived in, the child you hoped to have, or even the energy you once carried. These are real losses, and they deserve compassion, not shame.

That means allowing yourself to say, “This hurts,” rather than, “I shouldn’t feel like this.” Because the moment we begin to acknowledge our unspoken losses, healing quietly begins.

The truth is, this grief might never fully go away and slowly become a part of us. Yet, it doesn’t have to define us. We can learn to grow around it.

I often recommend a simple practice: write a letter to the version of yourself who didn’t get what they wanted. Tell them you see them. Tell them they tried. Thank them for surviving. Remind yourself, “Even if my path changed, I’m still proud of myself.” These subtle changes in how we speak to ourselves make all the difference. Not all pain is loud, but every pain deserves to be heard.