Learning to Stand Alone
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By
Elli Z. Georgiadou
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With Elli is a gentle space for reflection, creativity, and growth. Here, I share thoughts on empathy, healing, womanhood, and the everyday art of being human. Blending philosophy, psychology, and soulful living, my blog invites you to slow down, reconnect with yourself, and find meaning in the simple moments that shape our lives. πΈ
For many, this grief quietly lives in the background. It hides beneath the surface of daily life, disguised as loneliness, confusion, or a persistent ache in the chest. It emerges when you watch others speak warmly of their parents, or when family-centered holidays roll around, or when you're faced with important life decisions and feel the absence of guidance, protection, or unconditional support.
This grief is not about the parent who was present in body. It’s about the parent-shaped space — a space that might have been filled with silence, distance, unpredictability, or simply… nothing.
And while this story is often spoken of in the context of the father, the same emotional reality applies to any primary caregiver — mother, father, or another figure who was meant to offer care, safety, and emotional presence.
Psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan spoke of the “imaginary father” — a mental image we construct early in life when our emotional needs go unmet. But the deeper truth is: children use imagination to cope with all kinds of absence or lack, whether maternal or paternal.
As children, we are vulnerable and imaginative, and when we encounter emotional distance or inconsistency, we don’t simply accept it. Instead, we begin to create.
We imagine a parent who would have understood us. Protected us. Seen us.
This imagined figure might be warm, reliable, nurturing — or even just someone who stayed. They’re often shaped less by what we experienced, and more by what we needed but didn’t receive.
This figure is not a lie — it’s a survival strategy. It helps us make sense of the gap. It offers hope, even when reality falls short.
Sometimes, the story gets more complicated. A parent who was emotionally or physically absent in childhood might return or try to reconnect later — in adolescence or adulthood. And with that return, a quiet storm brews inside.
You may want to feel something — connection, peace, closure — but instead, you might feel confusion, resentment, or nothing at all. Why?
Because the imaginary parent and the real parent rarely align.
The person who appears now cannot replace the years of absence. They cannot suddenly become the fantasy — the one you dreamed of in silence as a child. And trying to reconcile the two can be heartbreaking. You may feel guilty for not being able to connect. You may question your feelings. But the truth is: there is grief in realizing that the person you needed never came — and may never come.
This is a grief of what could have been.
It’s grieving the safety you never felt, the support you didn’t receive, the sense of being parented in a way that made you feel worthy, seen, and whole.
And this grief is valid — even if your parent is alive. Even if they try now. Even if people around you don’t understand.
This grief doesn’t follow clear rituals. There are no cards, no condolences. But it asks to be honored. To be felt. To be seen by you.
This means learning to:
Set boundaries that honor your needs.
Offer yourself the gentleness you missed.
Create emotional safety inside you.
Say to the younger version of yourself: “You were right. You deserved more.”
It’s not easy. But it’s deeply powerful.
Because in doing so, you stop waiting for someone else to be the parent you never had — and you start becoming that person, for yourself.
If you carry this kind of grief, please know:
You are not alone.
Your pain makes sense.
You don’t have to justify it, explain it, or relive it for anyone.
And you deserve — now, more than ever — the kind of love that stays.
Even if it comes from within.
-With Elli-
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