Breaking What Broke Them
I grew up in a house where feelings
were swallowed,
where hurt was swept under rugs,
out of sight, out of mind.
We pretended it didn’t happen.
Survival was the only language we knew.
But pain doesn’t vanish—
it festers.
It drove my dad to end his life,
and even then,
his pain didn’t end.
Pain trickles down.
Through silence.
Through patterns.
Through nervous systems
wired to brace for impact.
Until someone finally feels it.
Maybe that someone is me.
The one who cried
when others shrugged it off.
The one who felt too deeply,
who was labeled
“too sensitive,”
“too unstable.”
But I see the truth now—
there was never anything wrong with me.
I was chosen.
Chosen to feel what they buried.
Chosen to stop running.
Chosen to break
what broke them.
And in breaking it,
I am becoming whole.