The Grief No One Talks About

Some people don’t grieve a parent when they die.
They grieve them while they’re still alive.

I grew up without a mother—
not because she wasn’t there,
but because she wasn’t there for me.

For a long time,
I thought that pain was only mine.

Something I had to carry quietly.
Something no one really talked about.

What stayed with me the longest
was a voice.

Not mine.

Every time I looked in the mirror,
I heard her.

It took me years—recently—
to finally stop hearing it.

To see myself
without her words attached to me.

Reading people’s stories now…
I realize it was never just mine.

There are so many of us
who grew up without love
from the one person
who was supposed to give it.

And that realization is both
comforting and heartbreaking.

People talk about healing
like it’s something simple.

Therapy.
Understanding.
Time.

For me, it wasn’t like that.

I chose separation.

To be away from her,
I also had to be away
from my younger siblings.

That was the hardest part.

It wasn’t just a decision.
It was loss.

And still—
I gave her chances.

Not loud ones.
Not even spoken.

But real.

From inside my heart,
I wanted her to come back
and be a mother.

She never did.

Not once.

So the grief stayed—
just quieter.

Not visible.
Not dramatic.

But always there.

It was never just mine.

There are so many of us
still trying to make sense of it—
still waiting to see
if time or age will heal
what never should have been broken.

Some people may change.
But I don’t believe in that.

They can pretend—
be honest, be thoughtful—
for a while.

But what isn’t real
never lasts.

For those still waiting to understand…
there may be a way to understand.

But it’s better
to turn toward your own life.

That’s where something
real can begin.