
21/09/2025
A few months ago, I shared my story here about the complicated relationship I have with my father. What struck me most was how many women are going through similar experiences, yet because it’s not something we often talk about (and honestly, when does this topic just “randomly” come up in conversation?), it can feel incredibly isolating.
You might even start to believe you’re one of the few dealing with it. So I was both shocked and deeply moved by the number of women who responded, saying they too carry similar struggles with a parent–child bond.
After writing that post, and as I turned 50, I decided to reach out to my father one more time, to see if anything remained of that father–daughter connection. What I found was simply a blood tie—and sadly, nothing more. That’s not surprising, of course, after years of distance, unspoken pain, and unresolved feelings.
But here’s the beautiful part: I am so grateful to be at a stage in life where I can choose me. Where I know what nourishes me and what doesn’t. Yes, it can still hurt. Yes, it can still be hard to accept that something you longed for just isn’t there. But sometimes I ask myself: if it was never truly there to begin with, what is it that I’m really missing? Often, it’s just the illusion, the picture-perfect father–daughter story we see in movies or imagine in our minds. And while for some that picture is real (lucky you ❤️), I also know it’s not always as flawless as it seems.
What I do have is something just as precious: people in my life who are deeply meaningful—some I was given, others I’ve chosen—and all of them dear to me. I often tell Finn, “Your grandpa is a chosen grandpa, and you couldn’t wish for a kinder one.” And in that, I hope to teach him this truth: love is something we can choose, but it can never be forced.
You are never alone. ❤️