Throughout my life, relationships have been an area where I’ve often felt disconnected and unsure. Reflecting on my past, I realize that my childhood experiences of not feeling loved or nurtured have deeply influenced how I relate to others. Growing up in a household filled with constant conflict, emotional neglect, and brutality from my mother, I developed an emotional distance. My father, although a good man, never stood up to my mother’s abusive behavior toward me and my siblings. This lack of protection left scars that carried into my adult life, shaping the way I approach relationships.

I’ve had many women in my life—more than I can count. However, out of this large number, only a handful were truly significant. I don’t know if I ever loved any of them because I’m not sure I understand what love really is. Love was never a concept I was taught growing up. I wasn’t raised in an environment where affection, laughter, or emotional connection were part of daily life. Instead, I learned to be indifferent, distant, and in some ways, emotionally unavailable.

Of the women I’ve been involved with, each was important for different reasons. One of my earlier relationships led to marriage, not because we were eager to marry but because my visa was expiring, and we wanted to stay together. My second marriage, which lasted over a decade and gave me four children, was a mutual decision, as we both wanted to start a family.

But the pattern of emotional distance persisted. I was never able to be fully loyal to anyone, despite their significance in my life. I’ve often questioned whether this is because I don’t know what love is, or if I am simply a flawed person. It’s not something I take pride in, but it’s part of the reality I’ve had to face.

One of the most meaningful relationships I had was with a woman who, by all accounts, was probably the best match for me. She was a calm, kind, and thoughtful person, and in many ways, she grounded me. She allowed me a level of freedom that other women might not have tolerated, and in return, I admit that I took advantage of her kindness. Despite my emotional trauma and indifference, she stood by me. Yet, I couldn’t bear the thought that I wasn’t treating her the way she deserved to be treated. Eventually, I made the difficult decision to cut her off completely, blocking her from contacting me. I did it for her benefit, or at least, that’s how I rationalized it. She deserved better than to spend her time chasing after someone like me.

Even after many years, we remain in touch, and she still expresses her love for me. It’s strange how, despite my emotional detachment, I recognize that she was the perfect partner for me. We both have our issues—she was nerdy and lacked self-confidence, while I am indifferent and also lack internal confidence. In many ways, we fit together because of our shared sense of not belonging to the “normal” world. Yet, I pushed her away. She wanted children, and I had already undergone a vasectomy years ago after deciding I didn’t want more kids. Although we explored the possibility of reversing the vasectomy, I knew deep down that I was doing it for her, not for me.

The pressure of her desire to have children weighed heavily on me. She told me she had waited for me all these years because she couldn’t imagine having a child with someone she didn’t love. She said that when we were apart, even if she had wanted to go forward with in vitro fertilization (IVF), it wouldn’t have been possible. In her country, IVF is only allowed for married couples, which added another layer of complexity to the situation. She expressed her willingness to pursue IVF if we married, but at my age and with four children already, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go down that path again.

In 2020, just before COVID-19, we were on the verge of getting married, but the pandemic disrupted our plans. During that time, the weight of her desire for a child and my uncertainty about the future became too much. I withdrew completely, cutting off all communication. I felt like I was saving her from a future of disappointment—whether because of my inability to give her the life she wanted or because I couldn’t offer her the emotional connection she deserved.

Now, years later, I still wrestle with the choices I made. She continues to tell me that she loves me, and I’m torn between the guilt of denying her the chance to be a mother and the reality that, even if we had stayed together, I might never have been able to fulfill that dream. She’s now 45, and the likelihood of having children is much lower. I can’t help but feel that, if we were ever to settle down together, I would always carry the blame for her not being able to become a mother.

This situation brings to light the complexities of relationships, especially when love, or the lack of understanding of it, is involved. I’ve always played the role of a confident man, someone who looks in control from the outside, but inside, I’ve never truly felt that way. The emotional indifference I’ve carried with me since childhood has prevented me from forming deep, lasting bonds, even with the people who mattered the most. I know I have feelings, but I often question whether those feelings are what others define as love.

At this point in my life, I’m left to wonder whether the past is truly behind me or whether there’s still more to unfold. The people we overlook, the quiet ones who support us in ways we don’t always appreciate, often turn out to be the ones who stay in our hearts the longest. Sometimes, we don’t realize their importance until it’s too late. Whether or not this chapter of my life is truly closed, only time will tell. But what I do know is that relationships are far more complex than I ever imagined, and the impact of childhood emotional scars can last a lifetime, influencing every connection we try to make.

By Luis de Andrade