Stronger?
But it only made you stronger... didn't it? Stronger... at what cost?
I was just a kid. I didn’t want to be strong. I didn’t want to build walls to shield myself from my own family or learn how to fight my battles alone. I longed for warmth, safety, the comfort of being held, the relief of being heard, the reassurance of being loved.
I remember crying myself to sleep some nights, wishing for someone to understand the silent screams inside me. Watching friends with their loving families, feeling a pang of jealousy because I wanted that too. I craved the comfort of a kind word, the gentle touch of reassurance, the feeling of belonging and being cared for.
Now? Now, I’m “strong.” But sometimes, I wonder if that’s just another word for broken. I’ve built these walls so high, it's hard to let anyone in. I’ve learned to fight my battles alone, but the scars run deep. The strength I’ve gained is laced with the pain of isolation and the silent tears of a childhood lost.
Strength often comes at a cost. It’s forged in the crucible of hardship, molded by experiences that leave indelible marks. It’s a badge worn with pride, but also with the silent acknowledgment of battles fought and wounds that may never fully heal. Sometimes, being strong means bearing the weight of those hidden scars, carrying them forward with the hope that, one day, they might find solace and healing.
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