Yalnızlık bu işte. Evde yalnız yaşamak değil, işlerini yalnız halletmek değil. Bu...
Bir şeye kaygılandığında sana sarılıp da "olsun, birlikte hallederiz" diyen kimse olmaması yalnızlık. Sırtını sıvazlayıp da "ben buradayım, yanındayım" diyen olmaması yalnızlık. Sen bir şeyi dertlenip de strese girdiğinde elinden tutup stresini paylaşan olmaması yalnızlık.
Evimin durumundan ötürü bir haftadır sürekli kaygı içindeyim. Ne yaparım, nereye giderim, nasıl alırım... O kadar çok şey dönüyor ki kafamda. Ve hepsiyle ben, yalnızca ben, ilgilenmek zorundayım. Bu belirsizlik korkutuyor beni. O korkumu ben, yalnızca ben, yaşamak zorundayım. O korkuyu paylaşamamak yalnızlık...
Hastalandığımda yalnız yatmak, sağlığımda yalnız içmek, oğlumun başka yerde kaldığı gecelerde yalnız uyumak yalnızlık...
Sarılacak kimsenin olmaması... Gününün nasıl geçtiğini merak eden kimsenin olmaması...
Selcan
07032026
Celebrations are beautiful. No matter the reason. Let’s celebrate.
But the most beautiful part of celebrating something is sharing it. Especially with your family. To have a mother and a father you could share that celebration with, and yet to have only your mother beside you… that must be so hard. Especially knowing that your father is celebrating in another home, with other children.
I know, my dear, you can’t bring yourself to believe it. You want to believe that in your father’s eyes, you are still the most precious one. I understand that. Pretending not to see it, acting as if you don’t care, feels better… but only for a moment. At night, when you lie down in bed, that urge to cry spills out of you.
On those nights when you say, “I feel like crying, but I don’t know why,” arrows pierce my heart. Your innocent, well-intentioned, incredibly precious little heart cannot understand the reason but I do, my sweet one. Having to struggle with this feeling of worthlessness at such a young age is a deep injustice to you.
You see the difference between the value I try to show you and the value you don’t receive from your other parent. You can’t make sense of it, and that makes you feel bad. I understand you so well. When you feel that lump inside you —heavy, pressing, but somehow never turning into tears— if only you knew how much my own heart aches.
My dear son.
I wish that in the new year, you come to understand the reason behind those urges to cry, and that one day you will hold accountable those who made you feel this way.
Selcan
01.01.2026
Some news arrives softly, almost politely, and yet rearranges the entire weight of the day.
Someone I care about deeply told me that a person he loves has been diagnosed with cancer. It began as a routine check-up. Nothing alarming. Then the doctor called and said, we need to talk in person. They went together. They sat side by side. They heard the word together.
There is something profoundly heavy about receiving such news—about having to accept it, digest it, and somehow learn to live alongside it. I sincerely hope that she recovers as soon as possible, fully and gently. Still, the moment itself lingers in my mind.
She is a young woman. A mother of two. A life already full of responsibilities, care, and silent endurance. As a woman, this hurt me deeply. We already begin life several steps behind in a world that rarely plays fair with us. And to see a woman asked to carry this kind of pain feels particularly cruel.
But there was another thought that followed, quieter and more personal.
I imagined myself in the same situation. God forbid but if I had gone for a routine check and received that same phone call, telling me to come in, I would have gone alone. I would have walked into that room alone. I would have heard the words alone. There would be no arms waiting for me to collapse into. No one beside me to cry with, to hold my hand when the room suddenly tilted. I would have had to gather myself alone—wipe my own tears, steady my own breath, convince myself to stand up again. And then I would have gone back to my son. Alone. Carrying everything quietly, because that is what single mothers do.
This realization unsettled me more than I expected. Not in a dramatic way, but in a slow, aching one. It reminded me how invisible loneliness can be, how strength is often mistaken for having no need for support, and how I have to move through life carrying unbearable things without witnesses.
For the first time, I am acknowledging something I had never fully allowed myself to see: how alone I truly am when life demands the heaviest courage.
Selcan
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