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I lost my father around 18 years ago. I was 13 then.
Teenage years are generally messy. It's the age when you start to face the world but still remain under your family's protection. You question everything, accept no answers from others, yet know little yourself. It's a test of the practicality of all the values and morals you were taught in childhood. With bad experiences, you develop strong notions about love, life, and purpose. Your first heartbreak makes you question the sanctity of love. When you see your parents’ flaws, you tend to rebel. When the world judges, betrays, and bullies you, you lose confidence in kindness.
Losing a father at this age makes it all the more difficult. More than your teenage friends could understand. For instance, I couldn’t dance as freely because I didn’t feel that free. I went to a driving school at 17-18 but didn’t learn to drive until I was 28 when I could afford a car. Was your first car your Dad’s car? Having a father impacts your dancing, driving, and much more.
Everyone disappoints you because you constantly compare them to him. Soon, you realize it’s not them. I missed my old self—not the ignorance of childhood, but the freedom to do things for the love of them, not for how they make you look to the world.
Apart from being a father, he was my favorite human. He spent his childhood in poverty and misery, wore his first pair of shoes on his first day of work. He had all the reasons to be bitter and resentful but he grew up not just to take full responsibility for his younger siblings and ailing parents but our home always had space for relatives, treated with utmost respect. As a husband, he shared household chores and the responsibilities of raising me and my brother equally. His friendships continue to be a strong support for our family.
He passed away on the eve of his 43rd birthday in a car accident. Life is unpredictable. But I am sure he died without regrets. How was he always so happy?
In my mid-twenties, feeling resentful and disappointed in everyone around me, unsure about myself and my life goals, I decided to go back to the template of a perfect human and a regret-free life my father had set.
The intent was clear. I wanted to feel free again. I prepared a list of moments when I felt helpless without him:
Feeling misunderstood or not understood
Getting disappointed by others
Not having someone who hears me out and makes sense of my observations
Having self-doubts without someone to believe in me
Sacrifices of teenage and adulthood which wouldn’t be required had he been around
The lump in the throat on Father’s Day when the whole world celebrates, but you simply miss
The helplessness of not wanting to cry because you’re old and others may victimize you
The moments when you had to be strong when you needed to be safe
My favorite part of my relationship with my father was our conversations. I would ask him about my observations of different human behaviors and beliefs. He would listen to me patiently and nonjudgmentally, helping me comprehend them better. We had mutual trust. When he felt I wouldn’t understand something, he’d ask me to wait for the right time, and I knew he would come up with an honest, simplified answer for me. I missed our conversations. He was my processor who made sense of my gibberish. It took a lot of time to accept that it’s not others, it’s me who doesn’t make sense now.
Fathers are special for daughters. While the world teaches you appropriateness, a father frees you up to believe in yourself and your dreams.
I recalled one of our last conversations. I found out our relatives mistreated my father in his childhood. Like all teenagers, I thought I knew better than my father, so I stormed into his room and questioned the rationale for entertaining them now. He simply smiled and told me he would get back to me at the right time.
After a few days, we came home from a Parent-Teacher meeting. I was among the top students and had scored a 100 in Maths. After pestering him about his unusual quietness, he said, “I am proud of you.” I thought it was because of my Maths score and promised him I would score a 100 again. He corrected me, saying, “I am proud because I learned that you share your notes with everyone.”
He asked me, “Why do you share?”
Me: “I made them for myself. It happens to help others, isn’t that a good thing?”
Him: “What if they don’t share their notes with you?”
Me: “I study every day. If needed, I ask my doubts from my teachers. I would be good without them. I don’t need them.”
He explained how sharing and giving come from a sense of enoughness and security.
“Just like sharing your notes may help others but doesn’t reduce your marks, the same is true with life. Some people may genuinely need you, and others may think they are fooling you. Either way, they don’t have it, but you do. So you give because you have it. Because you are enough. And why are you enough? Because when you do things you love, you are always seeking to learn more and grow. That’s what I am proud of—your ability to pursue love. The marks tell us you are smart too. Do you know why I can do what I do for our relatives? Because your enoughness makes me feel enough as a father, and that’s all that matters to me. I also give because I feel enough. Because you are enough.”
At that time, it felt like a badass thing to say, and I didn’t fully understand it until now. At the end, it's all about making your father proud. People usually say marks don’t matter or call it a rat race when you haven't done done well as a euphemism to be nice and motivating. But there was my father who was proud of me for who I was when I had scored a 100. So what am I running for? It hit me hard and did some unlearning.
After a decade and a half, reflecting to create this alter ego, I got my motivation. I understood why I wanted to be free. I also understood why I felt disappointed with others when they said something couldn’t be done. It felt like they were limiting me. Thanks to the self-belief my father instilled in me, I felt detached from people, became lonelier, but somehow, never gave up on myself. I didn't realize it till I did.
I pursued engineering because I loved coding. I did an MBA because I wanted to learn management. Popular choices, but I did them because I liked them. Marks didn’t matter; knowledge did. I studied things out of the syllabus without a care. At work, I fought for women’s respect and men who were unfairly burdened in the fear of POSH. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t managing them or were friends with them. I had no fear of repercussions because I felt secure in my work. I always thought I was more than my job or marks. But what was this "more"?
This may sound self-boasting now, but at that time, I felt I was getting emotionally carried away. Others made me feel so too. In the name of professionalism and practicality. That's why self awareness is the key. Though I was free, I was clouded by self-doubts and the fear of not aligning with everyone.
Sometimes it’s there, but you are scared. Scared of my goodness because it has been used to betray my trust earlier. Solution? Learn to judge the right people. Trust your goodness.
Funnily now, I doubted if it was narcissism. I asked my therapist. He suggested limiting Instagram usage. The doctor explained that thinking I am always right and superior to others is narcissism; believing I am always capable of finding the right answers and adapting myself is just self-belief.
Reflecting on your history and evolution (Step 2 of the Alter Ego Community Framework) helps you realize who you want to become is already there. Your alter ego is not a delusion. It's quite the contrary. We forget, we doubt, we get confused, which is what this framework helps clear out.
If I didn’t understand myself, how could I expect others to? Grudges gave way to gratitude.
With newfound confidence in my values, I thought of alternative ways to achieve the outcomes my father did for me.
To feel understood, I turned to journaling, self-reflection, and seeking answers in books, articles, movies, podcasts, and people around me.
Next, I started to believe in myself. At first, I asked, “What would he do?” Then it became natural. When I did well and missed him celebrating, I pushed myself to celebrate in my way—solo dates or travel. When I was low, I thought of helpful activities. I like crafting, and gifting is my love language. Handmade art became a tool to overcome anxiety and an expression of gratitude. Volunteering in my company’s outreach programs or a nearby NGO has been very helpful on tough days. The positivity cleared away all self-doubts.
It’s about aligning thoughts, behaviors, and actions. Empty affirmations without substantial action are meaningless. You need to know why you are enough and do that more often. With self-awareness, I figured out my strengths and used my past experiences of displaying great character to back myself in all future situations. For example, when I decided to start a nonprofit at 30, I quit my job and took a few months to figure out what I wanted to do. It didn’t make sense to anyone else. It didn’t have to. It only had to make sense to me. I backed myself. Now, I don’t have to think about what he would do. It has become my usual. I believe in me.
I don’t miss the child in me anymore. It’s a hoax and disrespectful to the journey I’ve had so far. Think about it—in terms of actions, what does that even mean? Do you want a memory wash and reset? That’s not happening. We don’t miss the child. We miss the adult that child would have grown to become. For me, as a child, I had dreams. I wanted to change the world. Growing up, getting educated, and gaining experiences were part of that journey. But somewhere, I went into survival mode and forgot about my dreams and purpose. We miss the freedom of thoughts and dreams, and the curiosity that leads to the discovery of self and the world. We need these for life.
Children judge poorly. They are not supposed to, and that’s why we make mistakes. The child took the setback as a lesson to be “practical” and its kindness as naivety. It was corrupted by the world. Now, as an adult, you need to reset and correct the decisions and judgments of the child. You have the experience and decision-making capabilities that child lacked. You meet the adult version of that child. That is the ideal actionable self.
I still miss my father, every day, every moment. But out of love, not helplessness.
It was never about not missing him. But being unapologetic about it.
I love better and freely because I don’t expect others to be like my father. I am my father. I am looking for my equal, not my father’s. Since the expectations have dropped, there’s less disappointment and more gratitude.
All these are acts of self-love and self-sufficiency, which one needs anyway. But sometimes we need a reason. Perhaps, we need to hit rock bottom to rise. I had to feel lonely to embrace solitude. Once you embrace self-sufficiency and solitude, you don’t cling to people and don’t settle for less. It’s either solitude or solidarity; settling is out of the question! Letting go is easier as well. You always have you.
As a child, I always wanted to be like my father. I am sure you idolized your father as well, did you?
Why did I stop being that?
I finally have no regrets. I am living my ideal life. Life is unpredictable. You don't know when death comes to you. But when it does, it will find me alive, just like it did to my father!
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