There are parts of my childhood that exist only in fragments. According to my mother and sisters, I experienced inappropriate behavior from a sibling at a very young age. I don’t remember the events themselves—only the room and the smell of stale cigarettes mixed with damp air. No matter how hard I try, my memories stop there.
What I do know is this: I became aware of things far earlier than a child should. I learned, very young, to associate closeness and physical affection with feeling seen, accepted, and loved. That realization alone explains much of what followed.
As I grew, attention felt intoxicating. My first crush was a friend of my sister’s—someone older who noticed me at gatherings and made me feel important. I latched onto that feeling of being chosen, of mattering to someone. I didn’t understand it then, but I was already learning to measure my worth through someone else’s approval.
Throughout my early childhood, boundaries were often blurred or nonexistent. I found myself in situations with peers and adults where lines were crossed—not always violently, but confusingly. I didn’t yet have the language to say something felt wrong, only the instinct to freeze or comply. When discomfort surfaced, it was often dismissed or reframed as affection, closeness, or love.
There were moments when I witnessed things I wasn’t meant to see, and moments where trusted adults betrayed that trust. Each experience quietly reinforced the same lesson: love was complicated, conditional, and often tied to behavior rather than safety.
By the time I was ten, I carried an understanding of relationships that was far too advanced for my age. I formed deep attachments quickly, mistook intensity for connection, and struggled to separate affection from obligation. What I thought was love was often just familiarity with chaos.
Looking back now, I can see the pattern clearly. I wasn’t broken or attention-seeking—I was adapting. I was learning how to survive in an environment where emotional safety was inconsistent and boundaries were unclear. Those early lessons followed me into adolescence and adulthood, shaping how I attached, how I loved, and what I believed I deserved.
This is not where my story ends — but it is where the foundation was laid.
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