The First Time I Actually Stayed
I used to think being an adult meant knowing what to say. Having the right tone, the right words, and the right tools to handle whatever meltdown or emotional moment was happening in front of me. I thought that was love, offering answers, being calm, staying in control of both myself and the situation. For a long time, that felt like responsibility. It felt like care. I believed that if I could explain feelings away, soften them, or make them disappear, I was doing something right. But now, I wonder if I was just trying to manage my discomfort, not theirs. That belief didn’t come from nowhere. I grew up in a household where feelings were rarely invited to stay long. Not because we were harsh or unkind. We were just quiet. Emotions were not dealt with; they were addressed with quick fixes or polite avoidance. If you cried, someone reminded you that others had it worse. If you were angry, you were told to calm down, but you were rarely asked why. I learned to downplay h...