My FOMO is never about big things. It's always been about belonging.

I never really understood most kinds of FOMO.

Not the travel kind. Not the lifestyle upgrades. Not gadgets, careers, or highlight reels.

My FOMO was always quieter and heavier.

While others feared missing experiences, I feared missing belonging.

A place that feels like it holds you even when nothing is happening.

A home where love isn’t show, where silence isn’t tension, where staying is normal.

I didn’t envy adventures.

I envied living rooms.

Dinner tables.

Inside jokes that didn’t need explaining.

The kind of love people assume will always be there.

Scrolling never made me want more.

It made me realize how much of life is built on something you either had or had to imagine.

Some people grow up collecting memories.

Some of us grow up learning how to build the foundation first.

I don’t crave novelty. I crave continuity.

I don’t want intensity. I want safety.

I don’t want a big life. I want a steady one.

So when people talk about FOMO, I listen quietly.

Because my fear was never about missing out on the world.

It was about missing out on home.