TRIGGER WARNING: This post includes a brief mention of childhood physical abuse and may be triggering to some readers. “The person who tries to keep everyone happy often ends up feeling the loneliest.” ~Unknown It’s Christmas morning.
I’m seven years old. I sit on the hardwood floor with my sisters, in my nightgown surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper. I grab the next present to open.
I tear off the paper. It’s a ballerina costume with a pink leotard, tutu, and pale pink tights. As soon as I thank my adoptive parents, I leave the room with my new gift, keeping it hidden behind me.
I get upstairs to my bedroom and stand in front of the mirror, rushing to get it out of the package and put it on, struggling to get the different fabrics to cooperate.