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Whenever the phone rings and there is a problem on the other end, he says calmly,
no problem… I’ll look into it.”
When trouble knocks, his answer is the same—
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
When I look disturbed, he reassures me,
“Don’t worry, I’m here.”
And if someone ever asks him,
“How are you?”
His reply is already prepared:
“I’m fine.”
Or sometimes, “I’m very good.”
That “I’m fine” is perhaps the most frequently spoken lie in a father’s life. The habit of being strong slowly stops being a habit.
It turns into responsibility. And one day, being strong is no longer a choice—it becomes the default setting. Many times, people around you stop asking how you are, because you always look sorted, composed, in control. Because you’re the one who manages everything, right?
And that is where a strange loneliness begins—
The loneliness of being surrounded by people, yet standing alone.
You are strong for your parents.
Dependable for your partner.
Responsible for your children.
But somewhere, quietly, you become weak only for yourself. Have you ever noticed? The person who manages the most is often the one who complains the least. And the one who never complains, who never speaks about his pain, often has his suffering go completely unnoticed.
There’s guilt too—
“If I get tired, who will take care of everyone else?”
As if even exhaustion is a luxury. A luxury you simply cannot afford. Being strong is beautiful.
But being strong all the time slowly silences a person from within.
Sometimes, you also need someone’s shoulder.
Sometimes, you also have the right to say,
“Today… I just can’t do it, my friend.”
And there is no weakness in that. It is proof that you are human.
Love you, Father—words I carried in my heart, but never spoke.
#Happyfathersday
