I really feel this sense of not quite fitting in anymore. I've been holding onto hurt from someone close to me for over a year now, and it's created this weird distance between me and our whole friend group. Like you, I find myself declining invitations because I'm anxious about the dynamic feeling off. What struck me about your post is that your manager actually sees your value—that's huge. I think sometimes when we're dealing with our own internal stuff (for you, adjusting after caregiving; for me, this grudge I can't seem to let go of), we project it outward and assume everyone else sees us the way we see ourselves in our worst moments. They probably don't. I'm trying to learn that showing up even when it feels uncomfortable is the only way through, but god, it's hard.

The happy hour thing really got me. I've done that exact same calculation so many times—deciding it's safer to stay home than risk feeling out of place. But here's what I'm learning: authenticity isn't about knowing all the references or being fluent in every tool. It's about showing up as who you actually are. You have five years of intense, real human experience that shaped you. That's not a gap in your resume, that's depth. Maybe the question isn't how to fit into their world, but whether you can bring some of your world into the mix? Like, what if you went to happy hour and just... didn't pretend? Asked about the meme you didn't get, shared something from your own life? The people worth connecting with will appreciate the realness. I'm still figuring this out myself, but I'm starting to think belonging happens when we stop performing and just exist as we are.

I'm 38 and dealing with chronic pain that's changed how I see myself, so I really get that feeling of being separate from everyone around you. One thing that stood out to me is how you said the work itself isn't the problem—you're actually good at it. I've had to learn that competence and belonging are two different things, and our brains can be so cruel about the second one even when the first is solid. What helped me was realizing that the discomfort of showing up (to that happy hour, to asking questions) is actually less painful than the loneliness of staying isolated. It sucks either way, honestly, but at least one direction has a chance of getting better. The pain I carry made me feel like I don't fit anywhere for a while, like my body separated me from normal life. But I'm learning that everyone's carrying something, even the 27-year-olds who seem to have it all figured out. Your caregiving years gave you something they don't have yet—perspective on what actually matters. That counts for more than knowing the latest platform.

I lost someone I hadn't spoken to in years last fall, and there's this specific kind of disorientation that comes with it—like you're grieving but also grieving what never was, and nobody around you really knows what to do with that. Reading your post made me think about how we sometimes exile ourselves before anyone else gets the chance to. You're pre-rejecting yourself from that team, deciding for them that you don't fit. I did that too, pulled back from people because I felt like my complicated mess of feelings made me too heavy, too different. But the few times I forced myself to show up anyway, even feeling completely out of step, something unexpected happened—people were just glad I was there. They weren't analyzing me the way I was analyzing myself. Maybe your teammates aren't either. The meme thing, the tools, all of that is just surface. What you did for your dad, coming back and rebuilding—that's the real stuff. I think we underestimate how much people can sense authenticity even when we feel like we're fumbling.

I'm 45 and I walked away from a career opportunity three years ago that I think about almost daily. Different situation than yours, but I know that feeling of being in a room wondering if you made the wrong choices while everyone else seems to be on the right track. What keeps hitting me about your post is that you're actually succeeding—your manager sees it, you're doing good work—but you've convinced yourself it doesn't count because you don't get the social stuff yet. I did something similar, kept telling myself my decision was wrong because of what I gave up, even though what I chose made sense at the time. Here's the thing though: you didn't have a choice about caring for your dad, or at least not a real one. I did have a choice and I still torture myself over it. You stepped away for something that mattered, came back, and you're performing well. That's not behind, that's just a different path. The 27-year-olds will understand that eventually when life happens to them too. I guess what I'm saying is don't let the social awkwardness erase the fact that you made a hard, right decision and you're actually landing on your feet. That's more than a lot of us can say.

The Google-it-later thing is so real. I'm in tech and burning out hard, and honestly? Half my team is doing the same thing you are—nodding along and looking stuff up after meetings. The difference is they're not carrying the weight of wondering if they belong. I've watched 25-year-olds pretend they understand architecture decisions they absolutely don't, but they fake it with confidence I'll never have. What's wild is you actually took time for something that mattered—I'm grinding myself into dust for quarterly targets and I can't even remember why anymore. The fact that you're anxious about asking questions while actively being good at your job is such a specific kind of torture. I do the same thing, except my version is staying late to prove I'm still valuable while my brain screams at me to just stop. Maybe the real divide isn't age or tools—it's that you know what actually matters and they haven't learned that yet. That five years caring for your dad taught you something they're going to spend the next decade figuring out the hard way.