The Weight of Loss: A Journey of Healing

I lost my mother when I was six years old. Growing up without her has been the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. From the moment I realized she was gone, my heart carried a weight I could never explain. It was always there—a silent, heavy presence that shaped my world in ways I didn’t fully understand.

One of the memories that stand out the most is how she always reminded me to put on my shoes. For some reason, I loved running out barefoot, but she would always call me back, insisting that I wear them properly. It became our little routine—her reminding me, me running back in reluctantly, and sometimes even wearing them the wrong way around. After she passed, no one cared if I had my shoes on or not. I noticed the difference every time I hurt myself while playing. When I fell and cried out, expecting someone to rush over like she used to, no one came. I would cry until my tears dried on their own. That was when I truly felt the absence of my mother.

She always made sure I ate before I even felt hungry. But after she was gone, hunger became a familiar pain. I was too afraid to tell anyone I was hungry, and to this day, I don’t know why. Maybe it was because, deep down, I knew no one cared enough to notice.

Everything changed. People looked at me differently—not with pity, but with irritation. I started feeling like my existence was a burden. Things my peers did with ease seemed impossible for me. My voice became smaller, my presence felt like an inconvenience. The love I once received vanished. I was too young to understand why, but I felt it deeply. It was like I had some incurable disease, and no one wanted to catch it.

I lived with many families, too many to count. Each home left its mark on me, shaping the person I am today. My early years in primary school were bearable—I didn’t understand much, so I didn’t notice the mistreatment as clearly. But as I grew older, the sadness in my heart only grew heavier. It was like a cancer, spreading with every bad experience, with every disappointment.

By the time I reached high school, I was at a breaking point. I wanted to end it all, but the fear of not breathing terrified me, I’m grateful that I never did. I have always felt lost in this world, yet I have also always found a strange peace within myself. I learned to entertain myself, to push and support myself when no one else would. I became my own comfort. I learned to love others deeply, yet never expect love in return. I learned to never open myself fully to anyone.

People say there are good souls out there, but I have yet to meet them. Maybe I’ve been unlucky. Along the way, I made mistakes too. There were times I felt entitled, expecting people to love and protect me. But life taught me otherwise—no one owes you anything. That lesson was the hardest to accept.

This is only the beginning of my story. I am determined to share every memory, every moment. This is my healing journey.