“You seem harsh lately – almost mean”. She paused and looked me in the eyes and continued “You used to save the little insects and was so nurturing towards everyone, especially animals – what happened?” 

I did not have an answer for my friend – I remembered what happened that day, how I had reacted and the shame I felt in that moment. I was not even aware I was doing what had just been pointed out to me. 

The sad truth is, I had forgotten the girl who wondered where butterflies lived, especially when it rained. The one who liked to walk into the tall grass looking for lady birds – the one who wanted the spiders to be safe and not harmed. I had forgotten that little girl completely.

As we walked on, I acted okay but deep down I was ashamed, angry and sad. 

The contrast of that nurturing kind child and the adult who was navigating through life with quick responses that sometimes came across quite harsh –  that contrast was jarring. And she had noticed it in a single sentence – something I had said to someone who simply asked a question.

What happened? – that question stayed with me since that Saturday afternoon. It would take years for me to finally see what had happened and the cost. 

I lashed out because there was a little girl inside who had been forced to carry the burden of being useful – because being the carefree version of herself was not safe.

So I adapted in many ways to survive. I became the people pleaser, the invisible one who fixed everything.

The one who was always there for everyone. 

Even that moment with my friend was because I had agreed to help her move while I was unwell – I could not say no. I was afraid of disappointing her. So I pushed through.

Tired, afraid and stretched beyond my capacity, I felt I was of no use to her and the move and that our friendship would suffer.

So I lashed out.

Over the years, people who genuinely cared and wanted to help – I had pushed away because I didn’t believe I was worth helping. I had always been the helper, the one carrying it all. I needed no one – because I had never been supported just because.

Help meant I was weak and I was failing at what I had done so well to survive – because who was I if I was no longer useful? 

Could I simply exist and be held in softness without proving that I am easy to deal with and didn’t need anything?

These questions – they broke me.

It would be years later in therapy that I would begin to understand what had happened. It would take years to finally start responding differently when triggered. 

I heard a therapist say something that helped me answer what had happened – she said that the course of our lives can be compared to the hermit crab.

As we grow, we need different skills, support and guidance (shells) to help us navigate the different stages of life. Every stage requires a new shell that would be able to contain growth and expansion. Unfortunately for me, there were several stages where I had no shell at all – I was raw and exposed –  this hardened me, same way scars do. To protect myself and to survive I learnt to build an armour.

I learned early that softness hurt – especially when you’ve had no protection. The sharp edge was protection – so I would never be vulnerable.

You see, that little girl who existed alongside animals most people found scary or not cute – she was not weak. She was outgoing and witty – however, she was made to believe she was too much. So she built an armour. One that said, I am not too much, I am useful – accept me. Love me. Choose me.

And to be honest, I owe that armoured little girl my life – we survived because she found a way to protect us.

She was worthy of love, acceptance and care without having to prove it. She was and is enough.

I am enough.

That was the turning point. 

I started becoming aware of when I lashed out and acknowledged the emotions behind the sharpness. For me, it was fear and shame.

The sharpness was there to protect me from ever feeling useless again.

The shame was heavy – but I could no longer pretend that there wasn’t a hurting version of myself underneath it all.

So instead of judging myself and wallowing in shame – after I realise I have been sharp with someone, I ask myself “What emotion am I avoiding feeling and what or who is it protecting?”

Perhaps, you can ask yourself the same question, not to get answers or fix yourself – but to encourage curiosity and witness who is buried under all the survival armour.

Dismantling my survival armour is an everyday journey – I am still meeting parts of me I left behind and forgot about all those years ago.

Maybe reading this stirred something in you and perhaps you remembered a version of yourself you buried under survival years ago.

She is not lost and the you who survived is a part of your story, not the end of it.

If you’ve lived under the shame of who you had to become to survive, When Did I Disappear is a private, gentle place to begin finding her again.