I still wish care had sounded softer when I was younger

Dear Delyara, I know my parents loved me. I don’t question that the way I used to. Time has made some things clearer. I can see what they carried, what shaped them, what they never received themselves, what language was missing from the emotional air of the house long before I was old enough to notice its absence. And still, there are moments when I feel the ache of what softness could have sounded like if it had been more available. Not perfection. Not ideal parents. Just softer. Softer concern. Softer correction. Softer recognition. Softer ways of saying I see you are struggling without making the struggle itself feel like another thing to manage. I think what I miss is not only tenderness. It is emotional fluency. The kind that helps a child feel understood before they become useful, compliant, or self-contained enough to survive without asking too much. I became very good at not asking too much. I don’t think that happened by accident. Even now, in adulthood, I can feel how quickly I translate my deeper needs into smaller, more acceptable versions of themselves. And when I trace that instinct backward, it leads me home. To love that was real, but not always soft enough to rest inside without effort. I do not say this with bitterness tonight. More with grief. A quiet, intelligent grief. The kind that knows love can be present and still leave certain rooms in a person untouched.