It took me years to realize the weight I carried didn’t belong to me. I was just a child trying to hold the cracks together with silence and obedience, hoping love would come if I could make everything feel okay.

I memorized moods like instructions, studied tones like textbooks, all to keep the peace. I thought if I did everything right, no one would yell, no one would leave, no one would break.

But the breaking wasn’t mine to stop. The storm was already in motion long before I knew what it meant to be safe, and I was never the one steering it.

Still, I blamed myself. For the tension I couldn’t dissolve. For the tears I couldn’t stop. For the chaos that was never mine to control.

Healing has meant forgiving that younger version of me. The one who worked so hard to be the glue. The one who thought her worth was tied to how well she kept everything from falling apart.

It was never my job. But I carried it like it was. And now I’m learning how to set it down – for good.