I don’t have a father to honor this month (June).
Growing up, I didn’t realize the impact that not having my father in my life had on me. My family did a great job of filling in the gaps—loving uncles, a strong mother, and a home where my sister and I never felt we were missing anything. How could I miss something I never truly had?
But the truth found me when I became an adult—after hundreds of bad decisions, after too many lessons learned the hard way. That’s when I realized just how important strong male protection and leadership is, especially for a young girl growing up.
Without it, I grew up unprotected.
And when you grow up unprotected, your heart becomes easy prey.
I fell in love with the first man who told me he loved me. Gave him a child. Then another. And another.
People often ask, “Why did you have three children with a man who never married you?”
The answer is simple. I never dreamed of marriage. I never idolized it. I never saw a marriage I wanted. I genuinely believed I had the best I was going to get.
I didn’t respect him. He broke my heart, repeatedly. But I stayed. Not because I was weak—because I was broken. I didn’t even know good men existed. And worse, I didn’t believe I deserved one.
That belief was planted in me early—watching my own father mistreat my mother, choosing to raise someone else’s daughter while abandoning his own.
I saw things as a child that no child should have to see. My younger sister didn’t witness the things I did. She was spared from certain wounds. Her life, to this day, reflects that—she has a loving marriage, less trauma, more softness.
Me? I worried a lot. I carried burdens that weren’t mine. I used to ask my mom constantly if the rent would be paid. When I got old enough, I took on the responsibility myself. I’ve been a go-getter all my life—because I had to be.
I’ve been a go-getter all my life—because I had to be.
After being kicked out of a man’s house—the same man I bore three sons for—I made a vow: I would never again need or rely on a man. Ever.
And that vow? It hardened me.
To this day, I struggle to receive help.
I feel uncomfortable accepting gifts.
I’ve never known what it’s like to feel soft, to live a soft life.
But isn’t it mysterious how God works?
My oldest son is the spitting image of my father—literally. And yet, somehow, he’s everything I wished my father would’ve been.
He’s been wise beyond his years since birth. He is deeply protective of me. He pays attention. He covers me. In so many ways, I feel like I’ve had my father all along… just in the form of a son.
They say when God gives you a boy, He wants you to know what real love feels like.
I have THREE sons.
They say when God gives you a boy, He wants you to know what real love feels like.
In China, that would make me a queen.
In America… well, I digress.
So this diary post is not a pity party. It’s a love letter—to the fathers who show up.
To the men who love women well.
To the men who teach their daughters what protection, consistency, and tenderness look like—by loving their mothers visibly and respectfully.
To the men who honor their commitments, even when life gets complicated.
You have no idea the impact you’re making.
Bless you.
Happy Father’s Day.
With love,
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