by Philline Vallejos

For some it was lullabies they heard while growing up, for me it was a sharp repeated shouting, echoes of pain, and the constant thrumming of fear. That noise taught me love meant staying silent and occupying smaller spaces, it meant squeezing into molds I was never meant to fit in. And this became a secret burden I carried, a very heavy one where the broken pieces of my family were all in my arms. I had to, because I have younger siblings I desperately wanted to protect. Independent. Strong. Capable. These are the words I always hear when people talk about me - in 3rd grade I wore that like a shiny badge. But it wasn’t honor, it was survival, it was fending for myself. It was a desperate attempt by a young girl to stay afloat in a house filled with anger, sadness, and unhappiness.

I gave more that I could give, often leaving me empty. But this is nothing when you are the eldest, I had to be strong. At that time, I thought my report card needed to be perfect just to prove I am not the mistakes of my parents, to prove that I am capable and smart - I thought to be seen and loved I needed to be that; the perfect child. However, I long for a different house, one that can be called home filled with quiet warmth, no shouting, no things breaking. Where love felt safe, not something scary, not something to change for, not something to be on edge for. Where bruises were not left on skin and when one can speak their minds without shaking.

Now I’m twenty-something, and with a hope I am trying to build a life on a blank canvas, I dream of a family that feels soft, not where people shout, not where it will feel like war. A home where my future kids will love coming home to.

The hardest part about all this is the look of expectations, the label “resilient.” They see me going through life and assume that the path I walked on is flowery. They think because I seem strong, repeated blows won’t bend me down, the weight I carry is light or that I don’t yearn for someone to gently hold me and see I am not that strong. “You always figure it out.” they say. But that line feels like another box I can’t escapade, where I’m lonely and wounded repeatedly. It’s exhausting to be the emotional anchor for everyone, a person where everyone leans on and seeks help - when sometimes all I want is to break down and say “I’m having a tough time too!”

It was difficult to sit with my emotions, and trying to bend down and rest has been some sort of rebellion. Putting my guard down that is so used to shielding, raising my white flag when I’m so used to pushing whatever is in front of me, and learning how to let the tears fall when all I do is push it aside. Realizing confronting and expressing your emotions, and seeking help is not weak neither does it make me any lesser, but simply humane. The molds I tried to squeeze myself in? I’m slowly getting away from it. Yes, there are days I’m still so particularly hard on myself, where I hear myself say keep pushing, keep going, you are not you if you fail. Other days, I just rest, I am just simply and I am enough and grounded. I am here, I am alive.

I learned the art of tiny victories and small pieces of happiness and I found it in saying “I don’t think I can do this today” without being guilty, without being restless. It’s on letting myself do things that I enjoy; painting, writing, playing, and reading a book. It's crying on my friend’s shoulder instead of faking a smile. It’s on the realization  that help isn’t necessarily bad or weak but a path where I have a support system that will cheer me on. The trauma, the scars are still there from childhood but it’s also a guide on becoming soft, and learning how to walk towards a love that is secured. It is slow, sometimes it feels like I’m stuck but with kindness, I am surviving and learning to live despite the pain.

I didn’t think I’d reach this age, most days when I was young I wish for an ending. But here I am, not healed, not perfect, but getting there - and really trying. I hope to build something genuine, gentle, and true. I believe that my story won’t be repeating itself, that carrying less burden isn’t selfish, disloyal, weak, or betrayal, it is peace and freedom. A tap on my shoulder, a small “no”, and stopping myself when I am blaming myself. That’s the real work now, building a life that I can proudly say is mine.