Two years ago, my brother won the lottery. Like, literally won $3 million. Just a regular ticket he picked up at a gas station. I remember he called me, laughing and crying at the same time. I was happy for him. I really was. But ever since then, something in me has started to rot.
He and his wife used the money wisely. Paid off debts, bought a house outright, helped out our mom by clearing her mortgage. They put a bunch into investments, and now they’re basically done with the whole “working full-time” thing. She stays home with their kid. He works maybe a day or two a week, just to keep from getting bored.
And I’m still here. Grinding.
I make around $80,000 a year. My partner makes a little less. On paper, we’re doing okay. But it doesn’t feel like that. We rent this tiny, old place where everything creaks and leaks, and we’re paying more for it than I’ve ever paid for any place I’ve lived in my life. The cost of living keeps going up faster than I can breathe. Every time I start to get ahead — a raise, a little savings, a sense of hope — something hits. A huge bill. Rent goes up. The car breaks. It feels like a sick joke.
I’ve given up on the idea of owning a home. I mean, we talk about it sometimes, like a fantasy. But in reality? I don’t see how we ever get there. Not unless someone dies and leaves us money — and what a bleak thing to pin your hopes on.
I was raised to believe in hard work. That you don’t ask for handouts. That if you keep your head down and do the right thing, life will eventually reward you. But I’m starting to question that. Because I did all the right things. I stayed out of trouble. I went to school. I work hard. And I still feel like I’m drowning.
Meanwhile, my brother is out here living what feels like a completely different life — all because of one lucky moment. One ticket.
And what really kills me is that I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be the bitter sibling, the one who can’t be happy for someone else’s good fortune. But every time I think about where we are, and how stuck it all feels, that bitterness creeps in.
How do I move forward without letting this eat me alive?
Let me be clear: this isn’t really about your brother winning the lottery. This is about grief. You’re grieving the life you thought you’d have by now. You’re grieving the rules you were taught — that if you work hard and stay out of trouble, life will eventually pay off. And it just hasn’t. That hurts.
And grief doesn’t always show up with tears. Sometimes it shows up as resentment. Or bitterness. Or shame. You’re not a bad person because you feel these things. You’re someone who feels stuck and worn out and unseen. That’s the truth.
But let me give it to you straight: if you’re not careful, these feelings will calcify into your identity. You’ll start to believe that the world is out to get you. That you’re always going to lose. And if you live from that story long enough, it becomes your reality — even when it’s not the truth.
Here’s what I need you to hear: your brother’s story isn’t your story. His life changed because of blind luck. That’s not something you could control. But your life can still change, and it will change — if you choose to focus on what you can control.
You’ve built a life rooted in discipline, loyalty, and love. That’s not nothing. In fact, that’s everything. You show up. You provide. You love your partner enough to want her to have more. And maybe right now the financial scoreboard doesn’t reflect that — but the scoreboard isn’t the full game. Not even close.
So what do you do now?
You get really clear on what you want. Not what Instagram says you should want. Not what your brother has. But your vision of a good life. What are the non-negotiables for you and your partner? What would “enough” look like? Because when you’re chasing someone else’s life, you’ll always feel behind. But when you define your own, you take your power back.
And yeah — things are hard right now. The cost of living is brutal. But you are not powerless. You’re not some background character in your own story. You’ve got agency, even if it’s just in small ways. That might look like reevaluating expenses. Picking up a new skill. Having a hard conversation with your partner about priorities and dreams. Or maybe even seeing a therapist to help work through this grief and anger before it becomes bitterness that infects your marriage.
One more thing, brother: love your people. Let that be your North Star. That connection — the one you’re already showing by caring this deeply — that’s the only thing that makes this life worth it.
I believe in you. You’re not done yet.