"I didn't understand much back then. Just that the world felt big, and I was small, and everything was something to wonder about."
I was born into a quiet home.
Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful — the kind that feels like something's missing.
My parents loved me in the only ways they knew how — with silence, rules, and the kind of distance that builds walls instead of bridges.
I didn't know then that love could look different.
I thought if I followed the rules, I'd be enough.
So I did — I got good grades, stayed quiet, stayed small.
But I always felt like I was waiting for something.
A sign.
A voice.
A moment that would show me who I was mean to be.