Navigating Love and Understanding: A Personal Journey

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Back in my college days, I went through a traumatic experience that led me to turn to food for comfort. Before I knew it, I was grappling with an eating disorder. It didn’t take long for my mom to notice that something was off during my summer break. When I returned to school that fall, my journey took a turn as I began meeting with a counselor who specialized in eating disorders. Mark, a no-nonsense guy with a gentle side, helped me navigate through my struggles. Just as I was starting to feel like I was regaining control of my life, he dropped a bombshell: “It’s time to involve your family.”

I can’t recall how we arrived at Mark’s office or the walk into the room, but everything else is crystal clear. The expressions on my family’s faces are burned into my memory: Mom looked anxious and pale; Dad was stoic and quiet; and my brother looked confused and scared. During our session, Mark asked me to illustrate my connections with each family member using lines—one line for weak, two for strong.

Without hesitation, I drew two lines connecting my name to my mom’s. That was easy. Next was my brother. Sure, we had our fair share of sibling brawls as kids, but as we hit our teenage years, we became inseparable. Again, I drew two lines.

But when it came to my dad, I faltered. Tears filled my eyes as I sketched a single, shaky line and dropped my pencil, staring at my feet. Dad looked up at me expectantly. “Why only one line?” Mark probed. An awkward silence stretched through the room. “Because I never feel like I’m good enough for him,” I blurted out. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it.

I was projecting my own teenage turmoil and confusion onto him, blind to the reality of a father who was consistently there, quietly supporting my family and loving my brother and me more than he loved himself. I just couldn’t see it then.

After that session, Dad was tasked with writing me a letter about his feelings. Days later, I received a small stack of hotel notepad paper in the mail. Looking back, I can only imagine how hard it must have been for him—a man of few words—to pour his heart out in that note. It expressed everything I had longed to hear, including his commitment to openly show me his love. He ended with a promise: “One day, we can draw the second line.”

That letter is still tucked away in a special spot in my closet. Even though our relationship struggles weren’t his fault, Dad took it all on himself without complaint. He continued to be my quiet, unwavering support.

Years later, when my marriage crumbled, it was Dad who sat down with me to help figure out a budget so I wouldn’t have to file for bankruptcy. He offered to drive to Atlanta to bring me home. Through these experiences, I learned to recognize love in its many forms. When I eventually met my second husband, I was finally ready to see with both my heart and mind, not just my eyes.

The truth is, the issue wasn’t that my dad didn’t express his feelings; it was that I was waiting for the words to validate my sense of being loved. It was all the quiet ways he showed me love that I needed to learn to appreciate.

And this is the lesson I want to pass on to my son:

• Love is in the small things—like when someone replaces your soap when it’s almost gone.
• Love is when someone fills your gas tank so you don’t have to.
• Love is celebrating your wins instead of tearing you down.
• Love is someone who stands by you and advocates for you.
• Love is when they say, “I believe in you. We can tackle this together.”
• Love means that “I love you” is just the beginning.

I may have been a slow learner, but I finally recognized that my dad’s brand of quiet, genuine love means more than all the “I love yous” in the world. Dad, just so you know, I drew that second line a long time ago.

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