My parents raised to me into who I thought would be a strong, well rounded, enthusiastic, big hearted, cautious minded woman.
They taught me to navigate towards love always instead of hate. They taught me the importance of second chances and to give others the benefit of the doubt. But most of all, they taught me to choose wisely who I let into my life because no matter what, they’d leave their mark.
What my parents forgot to teach me along the way was the disappointment of it all. The heartbreak of losing the ones who said they’d never leave, and afterwards the doubts and worries of letting anyone else inside.
They didn’t tell me how bad it hurt. How bad life hurt; the times it would knock me down and not pick me back up. The times where my heart grew bigger than my head, so I just let myself shatter completely.
They didn’t tell me about the walls I’d shortly build. Brick by brick they stacked up; too hard to climb and too heavy to tear down. Every time a brick was added, another piece of me drifted further and further away.
The worst of it all was, they didn’t tell me who I’d be. They didn’t tell me I’d go from a lively, optimistic girl into a walking wall inside the body of a woman. They didn’t tell me that I’d keep falling apart.
Why didn’t they tell me I’d never stop falling apart?