When lovers call another’s name in sleep, I know I’m substitute. When friends reach out only after their favorite is busy, I recognize I’m backup plan. When promotions go elsewhere, it’s clear I’m alternative.

Being second choice means knowing you’re good enough, but not best. You’re safe option, not dream. You’re kept as insurance, not passion.

This position feels strange. You’re appreciated but not prioritized. Your qualities are acknowledged, but you’re not irreplaceable. There’s constant sense that someone better would replace you.

Yet second choices often prove most loyal. They know acquisition’s difficulty, so fear loss more. They’re accepted knowing nobody chose them first.

This constant comparison exhausts. The endless struggle to prove worth. Perhaps the secret lies in accepting that while not someone’s first choice, you can be your own priority.

Final question: wait for someone to choose you, or find places where you’re indispensable?