At 35, and All Alone
The past that won’t let go
I’ve long known that doubt is poison. It eats away at you from the inside, turning even the brightest feelings into endless worry.
Even if I hadn’t realized it before, one story would have convinced me.
It was told to me by an acquaintance—Eleanor, a physiotherapist who helped my friend Lucy recover after hip surgery.
I often watched them: Lucy learning to walk again while Eleanor filled the silence with cheerful banter, funny anecdotes, and, now and then, painful truths that were impossible to ignore.
One day, I realized her words weren’t just about someone else’s pain—they echoed my own.
When a father leaves, he takes more than himself
“Girls who grow up without a father are forever different,” Eleanor once said, almost to the air.
I listened without interrupting.
“When a man walks out on his family, he doesn’t just take his belongings. He takes the ground from under your feet, your faith in yourself, your sense of safety.”
She paused, then added:
“I was seven when my dad left.”
Sometimes he visited, but those moments were so brief they barely stayed in my memory.
And the older I got, the harder I wondered—why?
What was wrong with us?
Why weren’t we enough for him?
That question festered in my soul like a splinter, impossible to ignore.
The distrust that destroys
From childhood, I searched for answers.
Why did he choose a life without us?
Over time, 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 faced not just me, but my fear of being abandoned.
The first boy who asked me to the cinema, I shot down immediately.
I thought, “*We’ll sit in the dark, kiss, and then he’ll gossip about me to his mates.*”
No, I wouldn’t let anyone talk behind my back.
When I truly fell in love for the first time, I thought I was ready to trust.
Then my boyfriend left for a six-month internship abroad.
“I’ll come back,” he promised. “Everything will be the same.”
But I didn’t believe him.
He suggested having a child to ease my fear of him disappearing.
But it only terrified me more.
I asked my mum what to do.
“Are you mad?” she gasped.
So once again, I chose fear over trust.
I left him for someone else.
A man who talked a good game, promised the impossible—and had no intention of staying.
I knew it, but I needed proof that someone wanted me.
He turned out to be nothing but a liar.
And I lost the only one who ever truly loved me.
At 35—and no one beside me
I turned 35 not long ago.
The number isn’t the scary part.
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 men who came and went.
Me.
I doubted.
I looked for betrayal in every word.
I expected to be left behind.
But until I learn to trust, there truly will be no one left to love me.
Am I right?
The lesson stings, but it’s clear—love can’t grow where fear takes root.
