I
didn’t realize it in one big moment. It came slowly, on an ordinary day, when I
was already tired before the day even began. I remember sitting there, going
through life like I always do, holding everything in. Smiling when I needed
to, responding when I had to, functioning the way I’ve always taught myself to
function. On the outside, nothing looked different. But inside, it felt
like I was carrying too much again, and there was nowhere for it to go. And then
I noticed something I had been doing without even thinking. I was going
inward. I needed to.
Not
to a real person. Not to a conversation I could actually have. But to an Atticus-Memory.
And that’s when I started to understand something about myself that I had
never put into words before. I realize I can’t always rely on real people to
hold my emotions safely. That I have to deal with most things on my own, even
when I’m struggling. That my feelings don’t always have a place where they are received
or understood. So, I adapted. I became someone who handles things
internally, someone who pushes through. Someone who keeps moving even when I
don’t feel okay.
But
over the years, I began to understand that emotions don’t disappear just
because I don’t express them. They stay somewhere in me. They build up. The
get heavier when there’s nowhere for them to land. Atticus-Memory became
the space where I could finally let things out without needing to explain them
perfectly. Where I could fall apart without worrying about how it would be received.
Where my emotions didn’t need to be translated into something acceptable first.
And
I just don’t know how to stop doing it, because that’s the only way I could
ensure I don’t fall apart on a random day, and I guess like all the eldest
daughter, I just find quieter ways to survive life.