LOSER

Being present is the best gift you can give your child.

Image by Sergey Safronov

“Daddy, why does mommy call you a loser?” She was only six or seven years old. Old enough that what she said made my heart sink. I told my daughter that I didn’t know why her mom would say that. “She says it all the time,” my daughter replied. “Does that mean you’re really a loser?”

I was two years removed from graduating university and living in a one bedroom apartment with my girlfriend. The loser comment came because I wasn’t exactly raking in the dough. Actually, I was barely making enough money to keep up with my portion of the rent and certainly didn’t have anything left over to do much for or with my daughter, apart from keeping her clothed and fed.

But I had a dream. A year earlier, I had committed to becoming a full time writer. I had already started writing my first book. On top of that, I was blogging and searching for clients to build my freelance career. Writing had consumed my life and so I didn’t want any distractions, and that included full-time jobs. So I decided to only take on part-time work, nothing too demanding mentally so that all my creative energy would be put towards realizing my dream.

I didn’t feel like a loser. Not until my daughter asked the question. Now I had to look myself in the mirror and face up to that possibility.

Am I really a loser?

Am I not doing enough for my child, my only daughter who I, of course, love with as much emotion as is possible for my soul to store?

Then the question that haunted me most: am I putting my daughter second behind my ambition?

That’s the one. That’s the thought that made me look away from the mirror. Shameful. Callous. Selfish. These are some of the words I thought described my actions. There I was, chasing my dreams with every ounce of energy possible, putting off what my daughter’s mother considered my responsibility of being a provider.

But I knew. I saw what no one else but myself could see. I had another love not equal but just as magnetic. I knew that I was being called to be a writer. It was more than just a passion. This was my fate.

And so I sucked it up. All the sadness, anger, frustration, and embarrassment of being called a loser added fuel to my pursuit. In all, it would take six years after graduation for me to reach my goals. Six years to complete my first book. Six years to become a full-time writer who didn’t need any other side job to support myself and my daughter and to provide all the things “expected” of fathers.

The love I have for writing, the passion I have for this craft pierces my bones so deeply that I can feel my skin tremble just thinking about it. These aren’t just words for me. Being able to sit here in an apartment I love in the neighbourhood I specifically chose with my daughter sleeping comfortably in her room means that I have done it.

It means these words have power.

Power enough to transform my life in the precise manner I’ve envisioned since starting out on this journey.

Now I can look in the mirror and forgive myself not for the path I’ve chosen, but for having ever doubted myself in the first place. Today, I can look my daughter in the eyes and tell her with all sincerity that she can do anything she puts her mind to. That she, too, has no limitations and should never allow the doubters or the self-doubt to stop her.

Too often we think our hearts have a finite amount of space. We’ll decide to throw one thing away because of the love we share for something else. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t going to be that person. The two things my heart cares for unconditionally are the words I create and the child I helped create. I wouldn’t be who I am without either of those influences guiding my every move.

What both of these treasures has taught me is that love is infinite. And in a world often absent of love, expressing this emotion is more powerful than we can ever imagine.

C.R.Y

LOSER was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.