Daddy issues and a loving boyfriend.

My boyfriend loves me—genuinely, effortlessly, in a way that never makes me feel like I am a burden. He doesn’t just tolerate my need for reassurance; he welcomes it. He holds my fears with steady hands, never making me feel like I am asking for too much. And as much as that comforts me, it also hurts in ways I can’t explain—because it shows me everything I should have had but never did. My father wasn’t a bad man. He worked hard, made sure we had everything we needed—except him. He was always there, but never really there. He never asked how my day was, never knew which class I was in, never showed up for PTMs. He only paid attention when my marks weren’t good enough, and when I failed to meet his expectations, he met me with silence. Not anger, not disappointment—just silence. And somehow, that hurt more. The way he would withdraw, as if I had ceased to exist. It taught me that love had conditions, that warmth could be taken away the moment I wasn’t enough. I told my boyfriend once that I don’t like silent treatment. That it makes me spiral, makes me feel like I’m shrinking into nothing. And he listened. He listened in a way my father never did. He stepped outside his comfort zone to make sure I never felt that kind of loneliness with him. He speaks even when it’s hard, even when I push him away. He stays. And yet, deep down, I still wrestle with the thought that maybe he deserves better. Someone lighter, someone who doesn’t carry childhood wounds in the way she panics at silence or fears abandonment over the smallest things. But the difference is—he never makes me feel like I have to be lighter. He never asks me to be anything other than who I am. And maybe that’s what love is supposed to feel like. However, I can't stop victimizing myself because of my dad.