Declaration of Independence

I’m an avoidant. One of those quizzes told me so. Not the ones you take online where you find out what type of sponge you are. This is from a book. One of those recommended by a friend during a late night drunken discussion where you talk about what you really want to talk about. For me it was sex, and why I wasn’t having any; for her it was why she wasn’t in a relationship.

It seems it all starts with your parents. Not ones to coo over a baby, especially one born to teenage parents, mine married for the sake of the child. They probably hoped I would crawl away and fall done some stairs and that would be the end of that. But they fed me and bathed me and clothed me and baby #2 was born. A boy. And he was rewarded for having the sense to show up the proper gender.

So the eldest distanced herself from the little love triangle and learned to soothe herself and suppress any need for praise and recognition. She grew up independent.

Coping they call it. Surviving they call it. Alone they call it.