At 35, I’m Alone
The past that won’t let me go
I’ve known for a long time that doubt is poison. It eats away at you from the inside, turning even the brightest feelings into endless anxiety.
But even if I hadn’t realized it before, one story would have convinced me.
It was told to me by an acquaintance—Emily, a physiotherapist who helped my friend Lucy recover after hip surgery.
I often watched them: Lucy learning to walk again while Emily never stopped talking. She cracked jokes, told funny stories, but sometimes, between the lines, there was a truth so raw it was impossible to ignore.
One day, I realized her words didn’t just echo someone else’s pain—they echoed mine.
When a father leaves, he takes more than himself
“Girls who grow up without a dad are forever changed,” Emily said once, almost to the air.
I listened without interrupting.
“When a man walks out on his family, he doesn’t just take his clothes and belongings. He takes the ground from under your feet—your self-belief, your sense of safety.”
She paused, then added:
“I was seven when my dad left.”
Sometimes he visited, but those moments were so fleeting they barely stayed in my memory.
And the older I got, the harder it was to understand—why?
What was wrong with us?
Why weren’t we good enough for him?
That question lodged in my soul like a splinter, never letting me rest.
The distrust that ruins everything
From childhood, I searched for answers.
Why did he choose a life without us?
And as years passed, I became certain—if even my own father couldn’t love me, then I must be unworthy of real love.
That belief became part of me.
Every man who entered my life didn’t just face me—he faced my fear of being abandoned.
The first boy who asked me to the cinema, I shut down immediately.
I thought, *We’ll sit in the dark, kiss, and then he’ll gossip about me with his mates.*
No. I wouldn’t let anyone talk behind my back.
When I fell in love for the first time, I thought I was ready to trust.
But then my boyfriend left for a six-month internship.
“I’ll come back,” he said. “Everything will be the same.”
But I didn’t believe him.
He suggested having a baby—so I wouldn’t fear he’d disappear.
But it terrified me even more.
I asked my mum what to do.
“Are you mad?” she gasped.
And once again, I chose fear over trust.
I left him for someone else.
A man who spoke sweetly, made empty promises, who was never going to stay.
I knew it, but I needed proof that someone wanted me.
But that man was just a liar.
And I lost the only one who ever truly loved me.
I’m 35—and no one’s here
I turned 35 recently.
The number isn’t frightening.
What’s frightening is the emptiness inside.
No family.
No child.
Not even a man to wait for.
And the worst part?
I know it’s my fault.
Not the ones who came and went.
But me.
I always doubted.
I always looked for betrayal.
I always expected the worst.
And until I learn to trust, there truly will be no one left to love me.
Am I wrong?