Why do I get scared when people put themselves first ?

Why do I get scared when people put themselves first ?

We submit our books side by side that day,

They place theirs first, then mine finds its way.

The last copy of a book we both want sits on a crowded shelf,

They reach for it first and keep it to themselves.

One empty seat remains upon the ride,

They take it first while I stand beside.

None of these moments are cruel or unfair,

They’re probably normal almost everywhere.

No rules were broken, no promise betrayed,

Just ordinary choices people make.

But every time someone chooses themselves first,

My chest goes tight before I know why it hurts.

I don’t get angry that they didn’t choose me,

It’s that I get scared of what else that could eventually mean

“If this is the small stuff, then what comes next?

What happens when life becomes more complex?”

“What if one day there’s actually something to lose?

Would they still put themselves first too?

It’s such a ridiculous place to arrive,

From watching somebody simply survive.

To them it was over the moment it passed,

While i’m still replaying it long after that.

Trying to decide from one ordinary scene,

What it quietly says about who they might be.

Then eventually I stop and I think,

“Would I have done the exact same thing?”

‘Cause sometimes the answer feels easy to say,

“Of course I would have put myself first today.”

But then I picture myself in that place,

Looking the other person right in the face

I know what my instinct has always been,

To carry the heavier side if I can.

Not because I think that’s always right,

It’s just the first place my heart arrives.

If one of us has to leave with less,

My mind keeps offering up my share first.

Not because pain is some badge I’ve won,

It just simply feels lighter when I’m the one.

I’d rather stand if they needed the chair,

I’d rather walk home if the ride wasn’t there.

Not because suffering makes me feel tall,

It just feels lighter if I take the fall.

I know I can carry inconvenience too,

So naturally that’s what I lean into.

And that’s when I started wondering why,

The smallest decisions still caught my eye.

Then one day scrolling, I stopped at a post,

One of those questions that spread the most.

“A fire breaks out, you only save one,

Your family… or twenty million.”

I laughed to myself without any pause,

“The money,” I answered, convinced by my cause.

I need it right now, it solves everything,

It almost felt like an obvious thing.

But then I imagined the smoke in the air,

My mum standing there, my sister still there.

And suddenly money just vanished from sight,

Like it was never included that night.

Then I realized something I’d failed to see,

I had previously answered the question too comfortably.

I answered from where I was sitting instead,

Not from the place where my heart would be led.

And maybe that’s true in more ways than one,

Maybe that’s true for almost everyone.

Maybe I looked at the world through my eyes,

Assuming my instincts were everyone else’s inside.

Maybe I thought that the things I would do,

Were quietly obvious to everybody too.

But maybe they never saw it that way,

Maybe their minds simply work a new way.

Maybe they aren’t cold, maybe they aren’t blind,

Maybe they just don’t carry the same kind of mind.

The thought of “What if they need this more?”

Doesn’t knock on everybody’s door.

Not because kindness has left their chest,

But because their instinct simply thinks different from the rest.

And honestly…

I’d have an entitlement issue to believe,

That everyone else should think just like me.

They’re not my parents, they owe me no place,

No promise to always put me before themselves in every case.

Maybe I expected a version of care,

That only existed because I lived there.

Maybe my lens became all that I had known,

Till I forgot it wasn’t the world’s alone.

It still scares me sometimes, I won’t pretend,

My heart still races before thoughts can end.

I still notice moments most people ignore,

Still wonder what little decisions are for.

But now when my mind starts running ahead,

Writing whole futures from moments instead,

I remind myself something simple and true,

They’re not being me, they’re just being them too.

And maybe that’s all this ever has been.

Not learning that people should think like me,

But learning they were never meant to.

And somehow that scares me less than it used to.

Maybe I looked through my own lens for years,

Mistaking my instincts for something everyone shares.

Maybe I mistook my way of care,

For something everybody naturally shared