I still ache for emotional fluency in a house that taught me practicality instead

Dear Delyara, I have compassion now for the limits my parents lived within. That compassion is real. So is the ache. I don’t think what I wanted most was perfection. I think I wanted a home where feeling could be named without awkwardness, where tenderness didn’t need translation, where care reached the nervous system more directly than through duty, problem-solving, or concern hidden inside rougher forms. Instead, I learned practicality first. Endurance first. Containment first. Those things helped me survive. They did not teach me how to rest while being loved. I still feel the absence of that education. Not every day. But enough.