She deserved a childhood where love did not feel confusing. She deserved parents who made her feel safe instead of afraid.
She deserved a home that felt warm instead of unpredictable. She deserved to sleep peacefully at night without waiting for the sound of the door opening.
Nowadays, I keep seeing children growing up surrounded by love so natural that they never even have to question it.
They laugh loudly without fear. They cry knowing someone will hold them gently. They run to their parents knowing they will be protected.
And every time I see that kind of love, something inside me breaks a little.
Because my younger self was never supposed to carry so much pain.
She was just a child.
A child who deserved bedtime stories instead of arguments echoing through the house.
A child who deserved comfort instead of confusion.
A child who deserved parents she could run to, not parents she had to emotionally survive.
Sometimes I sit there wondering what she did to deserve all the pain she carried at such a young age.
She was just a little girl trying her best to love everyone around her while silently begging to be loved back the same way.
I kind of miss my younger self.
I still remember how she used to wait all night for her father to come home, worried no matter what kind of person he was. She still cared. She still waited.
I miss how she used to run after her mother, terrified she would leave. The fear of abandonment lived inside her before she even understood what abandonment meant.
How she cried the entire way home thinking she had lost her brother in the crowd, panicking as if her whole world was ending.
That’s how deeply she loved people. That’s how deeply she feared losing them.
I miss that heart.
I miss who I was before life hardened me.
Before survival became my personality.
Before overthinking replaced peace.
Before she became someone who needed reassurance just to believe she mattered.
Before she learned how lonely it feels to cry quietly so nobody hears you.
And now sometimes I barely recognize myself.
I look at my childhood photos for too long sometimes. I stare at that little girl completely unaware of the sadness waiting for her in the future.
And it destroys me.
Because when I look at her, I don’t see someone difficult to love.
I see a child who deserved the entire world.
I see a child who needed someone to sit beside her and say, “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
I think growing up emotionally hurt changes you forever.
Even when life becomes quieter later, your heart still prepares for chaos.
Even when people love you gently, part of you still waits for them to leave.
You become someone who struggles to trust happiness because pain has always felt more familiar.
Sometimes I wonder who I could have been if life had loved me more gently.
I don’t know.
I wonder if my younger self would be proud of me today.
Would she be proud that I survived everything that tried to destroy me?
Would she be proud that despite all the hurt inside me, I still try my best to love people gently?
Or would she cry seeing how tired I became?
Would she feel sad knowing I still struggle to feel enough?
Would she hold me and tell me to stop being so hard on myself?
I think she would.
I think about her a lot lately.
I wish I could hold her.
I wish I could go back in time and sit beside that little girl and tell her none of it was her fault.
I would tell her she was never difficult to love and she deserved so much more than this.
And, maybe I would cry with her too.
Because even now, after all these years, a part of me is still that little girl waiting by the door for love to finally feel safe.
