Sometimes I feel like I made it all up.
When I look back on my childhood, it feels impossible that I lived through it all. I start to wonder if I’m exaggerating or just looking for attention. I try to imagine what it would be like if adult me met little me —would I listen to her or dismiss her?I try to go back there.
The first image that comes to mind is me standing on the playground on a sunny day, staring at the big school building and feeling stuck. I don’t want to go home because home doesn’t feel safe. My room, hidden under my covers, can be okay sometimes, but everything there is unpredictable.
Inside that school, things aren’t much easier. People don’t like me. I never understand what’s going on. I get bored easily and forget to pay attention. Part of me feels like I know everything, and part of me feels like I know nothing at all.
When it’s cold, I hate recess, but not as much as I hate sitting still in class or the fear and unpredictability that waits for me at home. So when the sun shines, I hold on to the warmth and let myself breathe. All I really want is to swing.
I sit on the swing and sing “You Are My Sunshine” over and over at the top of my lungs, hoping one day someone will be my sunshine. Also, literally, I didn’t want anyone to take that sunshine away. The sun was the only thing that felt safe. Whether I was on the playground, at my grandparents’ lake, or sitting on the cracked sidewalk in my backyard, I always looked to the sun for warmth and comfort.
I could only hope that one day, I’d find a love that felt like the sun. Warm, comforting, and mostly consistent.
I was five years old, a hopeless romantic already dreaming that someone would save me.
And they did.
But that someone wasn’t a prince or a rescuer.
That someone was me.
Now, when I go back to that place and push that little girl on the swing, I give her a hug and I tell her I believe her and that yes, one day it will all be ok.









