Today I experienced something that triggered an emotional reaction inside of me. I felt heartbroken for the younger and current version of myself, who is still battling with a parent who never wanted her.

frankenstein, big screen, mellow saturday. demir asleep halfway through (predictable, honestly), so it’s just can and me getting quietly flattened by the movie’s sharpest ache: the father wound.

here’s the part that stung: for the ‘child’—that bottomless, wild hope. stitched together out of scraps and somehow expected to just be whole. reaching for warmth and getting cold philosophy instead. the raw hunger to be seen, named, claimed. when the creature’s eyes look up and all he wants is not to be abandoned? yeah, that got me.

for the ‘parent’—the terror of what you’ve made. the urge to run from your own creation, afraid you’ll wreck it more by staying. the silence of a parent who’s in way over their head, paralyzed by regret but unable to show up. i felt for the one who built a life he couldn’t love, and for how lonely that must be.