When no one fought for me.

In my darkest moments, when life’s edge felt dangerously close, I was starkly alone. The guardians who should have been my bulwark were absent, leaving me unshielded and vulnerable. It’s a deep-seated pain to realize that those we call family — parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles — sometimes fail to stand up for us when we need it the most. The people who should have loved and protected me were nowhere to be found when I needed them the most. This absence created a gaping hole in my life that, for years, I tried to fill with the wrong things — love, attention, and validation from people who couldn’t give me what I needed.

Now, as an adult, I see the generational patterns in my family that sicken me. Those old wounds, the ones I tried so hard to hide and ignore, became impossible to overlook as I grew older. I saw how the lack of emotional support, the negligence, and the silence had been passed down from one generation to the next. It’s a legacy of neglect that I never wanted to be part of, but here I was, stuck in a cycle I couldn’t seem to break.

Yet, I’ve taken a firm stand — this cycle ends with me. At 46, I’m finally reclaiming my life, retrieving the parts of me that were trampled upon in my search for love and acceptance. The scars from those years are still there, but I’ve learned how to wear them like badges of honor. They tell the story of a person who survived and fought to rise from the ashes.

There’s something deeply powerful about realizing that you have the strength to rewrite your narrative, to change the trajectory of your life, despite the dysfunction and heartbreak that once defined it. I’ve spent years picking up the pieces of myself that were lost in my quest to find love, to find belonging, to fill the emptiness I didn’t know how to name. But today, I stand tall, knowing that the love I once searched for outside of myself is finally being discovered within.

The most profound love I’ve experienced was with a man I shared an emotional bond with for ten years. This relationship, mysterious in its beginnings, became a constant in my life. We started as two lost souls, strangers to each other, yet connected by something that neither of us could fully understand. Over time, the connection grew deeper, and what began as a friendship soon blossomed into something much more. Despite the complexities and the undeniable tension between us, there was a sense of solace that we found in each other’s company.

Even after ending an engagement six years in, I wasn’t alone; I had ‘Mr. Man’. He seemed to sense my needs, calling just when I was struggling. His presence was both comforting and disorienting — a paradox I didn’t fully comprehend. Our connection defied all logic, and at times, it felt like the only constant in my life. I had always hoped that the bond we shared would evolve into something more stable, but deep down, I knew that wasn’t meant to be.

And yet, I never fully let go. Despite the chaos and the contradictions, my love for him endured, lingering like a persistent flame that never quite went out. I now understand that there are times when love isn’t enough. When two people are stuck in unhealthy patterns, trapped by their circumstances, the love they share can become toxic instead of nourishing.

I recognize the need to move forward, sometimes detaching from people and situations that no longer serve me, no matter how painful that process may be. Letting go doesn’t mean I don’t care — it means I’ve learned to love myself more than I love the comfort of staying in situations that hold me back. It’s a lesson in self-respect, in learning to put myself first for once.

Our situation was complicated — both of us married, yet finding solace in each other. It’s a truth that many people may find hard to accept or even understand. I’ve spent years feeling conflicted, feeling like I was walking a thin line between right and wrong. The guilt, the shame, the questions that I couldn’t answer all weighed heavily on me. I acknowledge this may not make sense or seem right to others, and often, I feel irreparably broken. The shame of what I allowed to happen, the choices I made that I can never take back, often feels like a weight I can’t shed. But it’s a part of my story — a part I can’t ignore, no matter how painful.

This turmoil within me, I now realize, has deep roots. It isn’t just about the relationship or the decisions I made in my adulthood. It traces back to those early years, to the moments when I wasn’t protected, when I wasn’t fought for. The trauma I experienced shaped my ability to trust, to love, and to know my worth. It took years for me to understand that I didn’t deserve the neglect or the emotional abandonment. That the pain I endured was not a reflection of my worth but a consequence of the brokenness around me.

In my prayers, I seek guidance and strength to navigate these turbulent times. I ask for clarity, for wisdom, for the courage to face the hard truths, and to make choices that align with my highest good. I pray for healing — not just for myself, but for the generations before me who carried their own wounds. I pray for forgiveness, for the freedom to let go of resentment, so I can move forward without carrying the burden of the past.

The title of this raw blog, ‘When No One Fought for Me,’ resonates deeply, reflecting much of my life’s narrative. It speaks to the times when I felt abandoned when I was left to face the world alone. It echoes the voice of a child who longed for protection and love but found nothing but silence. It reflects the woman I became, shaped by her struggles, learning to fight for herself when no one else would. And it speaks to the part of me that refuses to be defined by the pain, the loneliness, and the abandonment.

But I hold onto hope that this chapter won’t last forever. I’ve learned that even in the darkest moments, there is always a glimmer of light. It might be small, barely noticeable, but it’s there, reminding me that the story isn’t over yet. There are still chapters to be written, lessons to be learned, and still dreams to be realized. I’m not defined by the past, nor am I bound to repeat its patterns. I am the author of my own story now, and I choose to rewrite it on my terms.

Thank you for reading these unfiltered thoughts tonight. For sharing in this raw and vulnerable piece of my heart, I’m grateful. My journey isn’t over — it’s only just beginning. And as I move forward, I carry with me the hope that no matter how tough the road may get, I will always have the strength to continue. I will always fight for the woman I am becoming.

by Zapphire Zucca