She learned to be strong before she learned how to be soft.
At eight, she knew how to quite a crying baby.
At, ten she understood the tension in her mother's voice.
By twelve, she had mastered the art of swallowing her own feelings.
They called her "mature."
They never asked what it cost her.
Maturity, in her world, was never a compliment.
It was responsibility.
A quite assignment handed to her without consent.
It meant her emotions were not supposed to get the better of her.
It meant she had to understand matters no one explained.
She had to calm the storms she didn't create.
Poor little girl.
When her siblings fought, they called her. When the mother was overwhelmed, they looked up to her.
When everything went wrong somehow, they came back to her.
"You're the eldest."As if that explained everything.
As if it made it fair why she had to be the bigger person.
At an age where she should be playing house, she learned that being first meant being everything.
The helper, the peacemaker above all, one who doesn't break even when she is already in pieces.
When she tried to be a child.
"Stop acting like a child."
"Grow up."
"Set an example."
So she did.
She grew up in places she should have been protected.
She locked parts of herself that needed space to exist.
She became who they wanted her to be, before she knew who she was.
Do you think anyone noticed?
She was rather praised for being mature, for being perfect; no one noticed the trade.
Her laughter became measured, controlled tears in the dark.
Her own needs became negotiable softness faded, replaced by something harder…something quitter.
Something useful.She was prepared to carry, fix and endure.
And somehow in between all of that-She disappeared.
Not all at once.Not loud to cause panic.
Just little by little- in all moments she chose them over herself.
They called her strong, but was she?
The strength they defined had nothing to do with choice.
It was survival.
And survival doesn't ask if you're ready.