LOST AND FOUND

I was born a confident kid. I know that. I wasn’t meant to shrink, to be quiet, to be unsure of myself. But somewhere along the way, life got in the middle.

I think it started with being the second child. My parents had already gone through the stress of raising my brother, so by the time I came around, they probably thought, she’ll be okay. They didn’t worry too much, didn’t stress over me the way they did with him.

And then there was my aunt. She took care of me after my mom passed, but she always preferred her own son. It wasn’t even subtle. She didn’t like me speaking too much, didn’t like my creativity. So I started believing I didn’t deserve to stand first. Didn’t deserve to be right. Didn’t deserve niceness.

I used to always come first in class when my mom was alive. She gave me attention, she pushed me, she made me feel like I could be great. But after she passed? I never came first again. I stopped caring. And no one pushed me.

It’s funny how childhood shapes you. When you grow up being made to feel like you shouldn’t shine, you start dimming your own light.

But I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve found glimpses of her, in moments when I feel truly alive. I felt her when I did yoga in New York and sweat out all my exhaustion. I felt her when I topped my yoga teacher’s training, and for the first time in years, I was proud of coming first again.

Maybe she never left. Maybe she was just waiting for me to bring her back.