“NOOOO!” her body crumbles at the suggestion that her immune-suppressed frame should go to bed even just minutes earlier than the rest of my crew. “But that would mean I’d be alone upstairs.”
It’s starting to become clear to me. Who I once labeled as my little extrovert is really just one skirting fear. She rushes through morning tasks, all so that she isn’t the last one left — alone. Lights in odd places when the sun goes down signal safety to her. She didn’t have a nightlight in the early years when the night sky was bright. A dark room has corners she can’t see.
So she’s gotten smart — just like her mama — she’s hedged fear in that way by which ones who don’t know what to do with it keep it at bay. She spins her days, avoiding what scares her. Rooms of siblings and a bedroom she shares with two others are her playground. Outside is always safe to her and the basement is a great place to let loose when it’s loud and light.
She’s learned to manage.
Just like us.
We learn to… [continue reading over here —>]