Discovering Myself: A Journey of Loss, Love, and Acceptance
I don't know where to start. I've never been an expressive person, and the many ups and downs I've faced in life, I've kept bottled up inside. I was always the pampered youngest daughter, never thinking of anyone but myself. My world revolved around me—my wishes, my preferences. My parents and even my siblings tried to fulfill every desire I had, though I never appreciated their efforts.
For me, my friends were everything. Playing with them, video games, and music were my daily routine. I was stubborn and determined to get whatever I wanted, no matter the cost. I neglected my family, missing important celebrations, even those meant for me. I didn’t care, and I didn't realize the harm I was doing—until I lost my father.
When my dad fell seriously ill, our family’s sole breadwinner, it didn't change me right away. He took me everywhere, trying to teach me about life, struggles, and responsibilities, but I never truly listened. When he needed my help, I gave it reluctantly, never understanding the depth of his love until it was too late. I was lost in my own selfishness, even as I stayed by his side at the hospital during his final days.
The last time we celebrated Father’s Day, my sisters had already lost hope, but I still didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. They brought gifts my dad loved, but I didn’t know what to bring—except a black forest cake, my favorite, which I had shared with him before. He tried to feed me, but I ran away, overwhelmed. It was the last time I saw him awake. He slipped into a coma that day and never woke up again. I couldn’t even cry or perform the rituals after his passing, and to this day, I haven't been able to participate in his death anniversaries. No one saw the storm raging inside me.
This loss happened just as I was starting my career. Devastated, I didn’t know how to move forward, but I remembered something my dad once told me: time doesn't stop for anyone, and you have to keep going, no matter the pain. If someone depends on you, you must move on. So, I suppressed my feelings and kept going, taking care of my family, but it made me emotionally distant. Even though I was hurting, I couldn’t show it. I still blame myself for not spending more time with my dad, for not understanding him better when he was alive.
I often imagine him beside me, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t speak to him, hug him, or express how much I miss him. It feels like I had a beautiful cake in front of me, but I was too busy chasing after something else. Now, that cake is gone, and I regret not appreciating it when it was there.
Even though I didn’t have a close relationship with my dad, I tried to live by the lessons he taught me. I don’t know why he chose me, of all my siblings, to share his wisdom. Maybe he wanted me to change, to become a better person.
Today, I wonder what it means to be a “daddy’s girl” or how it feels to receive a warm hug from your father. I'd give anything for that, but I know I’ll never have it. It's ironic, missing something I never really experienced.
While going through this grief, I met someone special. We were never physically close, but he made me feel understood and cared for. He stood by me, even when I couldn’t express my feelings. But eventually, life took us in different directions, and we had to part ways, though the love never faded. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone after that. I decided I wouldn’t marry because I had to care for my family.
But life has a way of surprising you. I reconnected with an old friend, and we decided to get married. He was supportive and understanding, but something still felt off. I didn’t like being physically intimate, and even though I tried for years, I couldn’t force myself to enjoy it. My first child wasn’t planned, but I was relieved to be pregnant because it gave me a break from intimacy. After my second child, I couldn’t bear it anymore. We fought constantly, and I started to distance myself emotionally from my husband, though he never gave up on me.
One day, I realized I had started to resent my daughter. She behaved in ways that reminded me of her father, and I felt overwhelmed. I hated myself for feeling this way, for being a mother who couldn't love her child the way she deserved. I felt utterly alone, unable to share my feelings with anyone, even though my family depended on me.
Eventually, I sought professional help. At first, I regretted it, thinking I should have talked to my husband instead. But the therapist helped me in ways I never expected. He introduced me to the term “asexual,” and for the first time, I started to understand myself. It was hard to accept, but even harder was explaining it to the people around me, especially my husband.
Despite the pain and confusion, my therapist helped me reconnect with my true self—my hobbies, my dreams, and my identity. My relationship with my daughter has improved, and I’ve learned to accept who I am. I still have a long way to go, but I’m finally starting to live my life again, one step at a time.
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** This journey of self-discovery has been long and painful, but it's also been transformative. It’s a story of loss, love, and acceptance—of realizing that life doesn’t always go as planned, but it can still lead you to unexpected places of growth and healing.
** This is based on a true story of a person and shared here upoun their request.