The Innocent Smile that Terrifies Me

In the moments we are most vulnerable, we instinctively turn to the people we believe love us. Whether it is a late-night call to a parent, running into the arms of a spouse, or perhaps a foolish, late-night text to an ex.

In our moments of extreme weakness, we are all prone to making irrational decisions. It is exactly why they say: never commit to anything when you are extremely happy, and never make decisions when you are deeply sad.

Today, I have a confession to make.

A few weeks ago, during a moment of profound vulnerability, I reached out to a few people just to ask how they were doing. One was my best friend, who lives miles away in the US. The other three were the family members of patients we lost—patients who didn’t make it. I just wanted to know how they were.

For weeks, I wondered why I did it. What was I truly looking for? What did I want to know?

I asked AI – as per data , who are we most likely to reach out to in our times of vulnerabilities ?The answer was – spouse , mother , best friend . Then why was my instinct outside the curve of normalcy ?
Sometimes, the people closest to us carry the heaviest weight of our expectations. We worry about worrying them; we fear their judgment, or worse, their pity.

Yesterday, while watching my daughter play, the answer finally hit me.

I wanted to know how a family copes when the pillar of the house is suddenly gone. Were they okay? Were they barely surviving, or had they managed to heal and truly thrive? Is that level of resilience even possible?

Lately, I have realized that none of my fears are about my own sickness or the trauma I endure (though perhaps “endure” is too strong a word, I don’t know).

During a regular follow-up, my treating doctor asked me, “Isn’t it incredibly painful to take 25 ml subcutaneous injections at multiple sites?” He was genuinely surprised when I told him that my life had actually become easier. My answer was simple: if all these injections and pills allow me to lead a near-normal life, I am okay with them. My fears are not rooted in my own physical suffering.

My true fear lies in the innocent smile of my nine-year-old daughter.
For some time now ,I have been consciously trying to make her independent. I want nothing more than to see her realize her dream of becoming a footballer. I want to be there for her, to fight for her, just as I always have. A lot of my parenting choices have been questioned by others, but I kept going. Today, I see a strong-headed girl who knows exactly what she wants from life, even at such a tender age. There may be things I get wrong as a parent, but I have always been there for my girl—especially in the moments when we had no one else.

She knows she can count on me. But what terrifies me is that this truth is becoming increasingly subjective for her.

She never asks me directly about my disease or when I will get better, yet she talks about it with others. I often wonder why she can’t find the courage to ask me upfront. Months ago, we had a conversation where she simply said, “You told me you’d be well in two months.” I think she no longer believes what I say when it comes to the reality of my health.

Looking back at why I sent those texts, I finally understand. Our most vulnerable moments drive us to seek answers to our deepest, most hidden fears.

Some call their parents to find comfort—I do not have that luxury. Some run to their lovers—but I knew mine wouldn’t have the answers. So, I spoke to strangers. I wanted to see how they managed the hurdles in their lives.

And strangely enough, those strangers all told me the exact same thing: life is entirely unpredictable; any moment could be the end of it all, so make the most of what you have.

We have all heard that phrase a million times. But the real question is—have we truly understood it?

As for my little girl , here is all that I have to say –
My dearest girl, trust the fierce authority of your own voice, know that you are made of an unbreakable fabric that can weather any storm, and never settle for people or places that require you to shrink yourself to make them comfortable. Understand the difference between anchors (that ground you) and anchorage( that prevents you from sailing ) .

Life will inevitably bring heartbreaks and failures, but these are not verdicts on your worth—they are merely the forces that teach you how to rise. You do not need me to hand you a map of the world, because the only compass you will ever need already beats inside your own chest; trust it, honor your boundaries without apology, and remember that my love is the quiet, steady rhythm forever beneath your wings.

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