The story:
I’m 35 and Alone
The Past That Won’t Let Go
I’ve long known that doubt is poison. It eats away at you quietly, turning even the brightest emotions into endless worry.
But even if I hadn’t learned it sooner, one story would’ve convinced me.
It was told to me by a friend—Emily, a physiotherapist who helped my mate Lucy recover after hip surgery.
I often watched them: Lucy relearning to walk while Emily never stopped talking. She’d crack jokes, share funny stories, but sometimes, between the lines, there was a raw honesty you couldn’t ignore.
Once, I realised 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 dad? They’re never quite the same,” Emily said once, almost to the air.
I listened, not interrupting.
“When a man walks out on his family, he doesn’t just pack his clothes. He takes the ground from under your feet, the belief you’re worth staying for, the sense you’re safe.”
She paused, then added:
“I was seven when my dad left.”
He visited sometimes, but the moments were so fleeting, they barely stuck in my memory.
The older I got, the louder the question grew—why?
What was wrong with us?
Why weren’t we enough?
It lodged in my heart like a splinter, impossible to ignore.
The Mistrust That Destroys
From childhood, I chased answers.
Why did he choose a life without us?
And with time, I became certain—if my own father couldn’t love me, maybe I didn’t deserve love at all.
That belief settled deep.
Every man who entered my life didn’t just meet me—he met my fear of being abandoned.
The first bloke who asked me to the cinema? I shut him down straightaway.
*We’ll sit in the dark, kiss, then he’ll laugh about me with his mates.* No chance.
When I finally fell in love, I thought I was ready to trust.
Then my boyfriend left for a six-month internship abroad.
“I’ll come back,” he promised. “Things won’t change.”
I didn’t believe him.
He suggested having a baby—proof he wouldn’t vanish.
But it terrified me more.
I asked my mum what to do.
“Have you lost the plot?” she gasped.
So I chose fear again.
I left him for someone else—a smooth-talker who made empty promises, who was never planning to stay.
I knew it, but I *needed* to feel wanted.
Turns out, he was just another liar.
And I lost the only one who truly loved me.
I’m 35—And No One’s Here
I turned 35 recently.
The number isn’t scary.
The emptiness is.
No family.
No children.
Not even someone to miss.
And the worst part?
I know it’s my fault.
Not the men who came and went.
*Me.*
Always doubting.
Always waiting for the catch.
Always braced for betrayal.
Until I learn to trust, I’ll stay unloveable.
Am I wrong?
