HomeComing

The ache of longing for something as foundational as a sense of belonging or familial connection is both universal and profoundly personal. The act of looking away from the image of a parent and child—while not an act of disdain—becomes a self-protective reflex. It’s a way of shielding your heart from the sharp reminder of what feels absent in your own life. The question, “Where’s mine?” isn’t just about wanting a family connection.

It’s about the deeper yearning for stability, love, and the comfort of knowing someone is unwaveringly in your corner. It reflects a void that can feel both confusing and isolating, especially when surrounded by images of what society paints as “normal” or “ideal.” But here’s the paradox: this pain, while deeply personal, connects you to others who have asked the same question in their silent moments.

It ties you to those who carry the invisible scars of broken families, missed connections, or unmet expectations. It’s a reminder that even in isolation, we are not truly alone. The image of putting blinders on, like a horse, to stay focused moment by moment, is a powerful survival strategy.

It acknowledges the enormity of the pain and respects your boundaries. It says, “I’m doing what I can with what I have.” But it’s worth considering—what might happen if you allowed yourself to truly see those moments of connection without looking away? Not as reminders of absence, but as glimpses of what could be possible in your life, even if it comes in a different form? Maybe it’s not about finding “what’s mine” in the traditional sense, but about building relationships or moments that feel like home, even if they don’t fit the ideal you’ve envisioned. Your pain tells a story, but so does your resilience. You’re not just surviving the day—you’re finding ways to keep moving forward, even when the weight feels unbearable. That’s worth acknowledging, and it’s a sign of your strength.