Sometimes I catch myself moving through the world in ways I never chose. I trace the edges of who I’ve become and realize so much of it wasn’t shaped by joy or freedom – but by necessity.

I learned to read between words before I learned to trust them. I learned to apologize first, speak second, and never ask for too much. Because the people who were supposed to love me taught me that love was something I had to earn.

Every habit of silence, every smile that hides a flinch, every instinct to soften myself in a room – it all began somewhere. Not from self-discovery, but from survival.

And now, as I try to unlearn it all, I wonder what parts of me are real and what parts were built as armor. How much of my tenderness was strategy. How much of my strength was just a mask for fear.

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been if love had felt like safety. If home had been peace instead of tension. If the people who held me didn’t also hurt me.

But even as I ask, I hold space for both truths. That I survived, and that I deserve to live as more than just a survivor.