My Past: I wasn't weak. I was surviving.
There are parts of my childhood that still feel like someone else's memories; like scenes from a story I wish had never been written. I grew up believing that love had to be earned, that perfection was expected, and that being myself wasn't safe. Home was a place where I learned to stay quiet, to anticipate moods, and to hide pieces of who I was just to make it through another day.
I often escaped wherever I could. Sometimes it was the roof of the old barn after getting off the school bus. Other times it was a small unfinished crawl space beneath the house. They weren't comfortable places, but they gave me something I rarely felt anywhere else: peace. For a little while, I could breathe without feeling watched, judged, or afraid.
As I grew older, I carried those lessons with me. Trust became difficult. Confidence felt foreign. I struggled to believe that people could genuinely care about me without expecting something in return. Even accepting who I was: my identity, my sexuality, and the parts of myself that brought me joy, felt impossible because I'd spent so many years believing those parts deserved to stay hidden.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn't weak. I was surviving.
Healing hasn't erased what happened, and it hasn't made the memories disappear. But it has taught me something I never learned as a child: my worth was never determined by how well I could hide.
Today, every step I take toward authenticity is an act of reclaiming the life that fear tried to steal from me.
Posted Jul 7, 2026, 9:55 PM UTC