The tough ones need love too

The Tough Ones Need Love Too

I was brought up to be tough. Strength was instilled in me from a young age, not as a choice but as a necessity. As a child, I lived with my maternal uncle, a professor at a government engineering college. My aunt loved me, but there were moments when love alone wasn’t enough to fill the void. I remember crying behind closed doors, longing for a hug, a kiss, a place where I could spill out my troubles as a teenager. I longed for my mother.

I remember the day I had my menarche. The confusion, the hesitation, the embarrassment—I didn’t know how to ask for sanitary napkins. I felt so alone. My friends lived with their parents; they had someone to turn to, someone to make these moments easier. I envied them.

Birthdays came and went. Sometimes, I wished for a small celebration—maybe an ice cream, maybe a special tiffin. But I had learned not to ask. It was always put inside my head that I should feel privileged for what I had. That I shouldn’t ask for more. So, I never did.

But here’s the thing—sometimes, even the toughest ones need to be loved.

Now, I am married and a mother myself. I have a family of my own, yet there are days when I still feel that emptiness inside me. I still wish someone would hold me close, just once, just long enough to quiet the silent scream within.

And sometimes, when that longing becomes too strong, I wonder—am I to be blamed if, in search of that love, I cross the boundaries of what is expected of me? Even if just for a moment, to feel what I have always longed for?

Maybe I am. Maybe I am not.

But I do know one thing: the need for love, for warmth, for a moment of pure, unguarded affection—is not a weakness. It is a part of being human. And perhaps, just perhaps, the strongest ones carry the deepest wounds.

To those who were raised to be strong, to those who never learned how to ask for love—your longing is valid. You are allowed to need comfort. You are allowed to be held. And most of all, you are allowed to heal.