I was tuned into a different station entirely. I could feel the light in a room, the shift in a tone, the stories no one was saying. In many childhood photos, I look like I’m not totally there. No one seemed to understand. Teachers called me distracted. Friends called me weird. Family told me I was overreacting.
The world had no space for someone like me—someone tender, so alive, so affected.
I learned to repress and perform. I shrank myself. I masked. I disappeared into the background. I pushed things down just to keep up — but the harder I tried to fit, the further I drifted from myself. The more I stayed inside the lines, the more anxious, overwhelmed, and disconnected I became — until my body couldn’t hold the weight of it anymore.
I stopped bothering trying to explain and I turned it all inward.
I swallowed it down and smiled when I wanted to scream, coping however I could. First with sugar, bingeing on ice cream on the weekend mornings. Then with treats—sneaking coins from my dad’s pockets to buy candy, and eventually substances—anything to numb the ache of not being understood. And in the process, my light, my gifts, all the beautiful things I came into the world to offer got drowned out and I began focusing on just trying to survive.
I ended up in relationships with people who didn’t see me, didn’t value me, and sometimes even harmed me. I took jobs that drained me, environments that had me shrink. I contorted myself to survive in spaces that were never built for someone like me. What I wanted more than anything was to belong— to be included; to be chosen. So I said yes to things that weren’t really mine—friendships, roles, beliefs that looked good from the outside but left me feeling hollow. I chased validation in places that never held my values. I betrayed myself just to feel like I had a place in the circle.
The more I ignored the truth of who I was, the further I drifted from myself — until I was almost lost for good.
It wasn’t until I got sober that I realized how split I’d become — one foot in the dark, one foot in the light. Still aching for something more, but too afraid to let go of the world I knew. Sobriety was the portal. The slow return. One day at a time, one moment at a time, I started choosing to feed the light instead of the pain. To stop abandoning myself. To let my sensitivity guide me instead of shame me.