Unbecoming Her

I’ve been sitting with that memory.

Not all at once.
Not in a way that feels clear.

Just pieces of it…
coming back in ways I didn’t expect.

The room.
The door.
The sound of my own voice trying to be heard.

What’s been harder than remembering it
is realizing what I learned from it.

Because it didn’t stay in that room.

It followed me.

In ways I didn’t question at the time.

—

I learned there was no point in calling out.

That needing someone
didn’t mean they would come.

That even if I was hurt…
even if I was desperate…

I was on my own.

So I adjusted.

I learned to take care of myself.
To rely on myself.
To not expect anything from anyone.

Because that felt safer
than needing something I might not get.

—

For a long time, I thought that made me strong.

Independent.
Resilient.

And maybe it did.

But it also meant
I didn’t know how to let anyone in.

I didn’t know how to trust.
Not really.

Because trust requires believing
someone will show up.

And I learned early on
that they might not.

I’m starting to see now
that what I felt in that moment…

isn’t the same as what was actually true.

I felt alone.

But that doesn’t mean
I was meant to be.

I’m realizing now…

it’s not just about unlearning what I was taught.

It’s about trying to learn something
I was never shown in the first place.

What does it actually mean to trust someone?

How do you know you trust them
when you’ve only ever relied on yourself?

How do you believe someone will show up
when you learned so early… that they might not?

I don’t have those answers yet.

I’m just starting to ask the questions.

—

I’m still learning what to do with all of this.

How to hold both things at once.

What I experienced…
and what I believed because of it.

I don’t have the answer yet.

Just the awareness.

And for now…
that’s where I am.