Since that day...

16.02.2022

Since 16th February 2022, I’ve been alone.

Not in the literal sense — the world still turns, the people around me still love me. But inside, it feels like something collapsed that day and I’ve been quietly sweeping up the rubble ever since.

That was the day my dad left this world.

And with him, something else left too. The feeling that there was someone who would always stand beside me no matter what. Someone who would just be there. Someone who didn’t need fixing, managing, protecting, explaining. Someone I didn’t need to perform for. Someone I could collapse in front of.

Since that day, I’ve had to become all the things for everyone else.

Strong. Steady. Responsible. Cheerful. High-functioning. Wise. Supportive. Smiling.

Even when I am breaking.

Even now — with a broken leg that isn’t healing, temporarily disabled, trying to pretend I can continue with normal life while quietly knowing I can’t. I limp through the day. I put on makeup. I take calls. I smile. But the truth is, I’m struggling. My body is in pain. My spirit is exhausted. My mind is tired of putting on a show.

I smile in conversations, I joke in messages, I post the good bits on Instagram. But inside?

I’m folding inwards.

I cry. Alone.

I panic. Alone.

I scream silently into my pillow and wipe my tears before the house wakes up.

People say, “You’re so strong.” And I want to say — No, I’m just alone in this.

There is no one I can howl in front of. No one who will just hold me, without trying to fix me, and say, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You don’t have to carry it all.”

I used to have that. In my dad.

He never needed to say much. Just his presence was enough. Just him standing there, calmly, quietly, with that unwavering energy that said — I’m here. You’re not alone. It will be okay.

And somehow, it always was.

I miss him so much that my chest aches.

I wonder sometimes what I did to be carrying this much weight. And I know — I know I’m not the only one suffering. I know there are others carrying far heavier burdens, fighting quieter battles. But some days, that doesn’t make this any easier. Some days, the knowing just adds guilt to the grief. I try to look at the bright side, I really do. But there are days — like today — when the bright side feels like a cruel joke. When it feels like everyone else gets to lean on someone, and I only get to be leaned on. When I ache for softness, but all I know is structure.

There’s no bow to tie this story up with. No resolution. No lesson.

Just this:

I’m tired. I’m grieving. I’m scared. My leg is broken, but it’s not the only part of me that needs healing.

And I really, really miss my dad.

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P.S. This; the ache, the honesty, the part of me that doesn’t always have it together — this is what Heart Wide Open was always meant to hold. Not just curated thoughts or pretty reflections. But the messy, raw truth of being human. If you’re feeling this too — even a little — you’re not alone. I see you.