I didn’t learn emotions by being asked how I felt. I learned them by watching people’s faces change mid-sentence.

Every shift in tone was a signal. Every sigh or silence taught me what to say and what to swallow.

I wasn’t taught to speak my truth. I was taught to keep the peace, even when it cost me clarity.

So I got good at reading the room. At figuring out what everyone else needed before I even named my own needs.

My fluency didn’t come from freedom. It came from necessity—the kind that makes you grow up fast and soft at the same time.

And now, even when I want to let someone in, I still catch myself scanning the moment first. Because when you grow up translating other people’s storms, your own forecast always feels uncertain.