Dear Big White House,

With your creepy hideouts and shadowed stairwells, I never thought I’d speak to you again. Your memory has been a silent echo, a place I locked away because the truth felt too dark to touch.

I always hated being the last one upstairs. Turning the light off at the bottom terrified me. A part of me felt constantly watched. I felt afraid while living there, especially at night. It sucked to be alone and afraid many nights, which is why I’ve always had trouble sleeping. I’m living proof I’ve never had a secure attachment. I learned to disassociate early. So many bad things happened, but that was just my normal. Disassociating allowed me to speak freely with the thoughts in my head, even in the craziest moments. It was a lifeline.

It was easy to fake a smile, pretending everything was okay, but I questioned it. I’d tell others what they wanted to hear to avoid the worst. Yet, it was never enough to keep me safe. I’ve felt on the run my entire life, not realizing I was running from myself. The past haunts me, but I don’t mind. Some things I shut away for a reason; things got pretty dark.

I’ve learned I can speak openly about anything. Yet some emotions I’ve not yet felt, and I struggle to cope. I’m still learning how to feel things authentically. There’s no right or wrong way to feel, so I go hard for my inner child. She was just a kid, carrying the brunt of so much hurt. This is me letting you know it’s okay for you to tell your story; I’ve got your back. Just use your words, and I’ll use my emotions to guide you through. I can’t go back, but I can show up and be a better example. I couldn’t protect you then, but no one could stop me now!

It’s okay to question your caregivers. It’s okay to use your voice and speak up. Even when scared, you can still be brave. Your story is yours. I’ve got your back, no matter what! I know how it feels to be alone, so we’ll get through this together.

So anyway, back to the story. People came over, and all the teens went upstairs. Teenagers can be very curious. The truth or dare game took a questionable turn. I wasn’t the oldest, but I was the most observant. It started with simple things like prank calls, texts, and crushes. Nothing was exactly happening, but I felt like I invited myself into something unexpected. How did we go from harmless fun to discarding clothes and asking obscene questions? I was curious, yet uncomfortable, specifically about how it would affect us mentally.

No one’s ever spoken about it again. Am I finally facing a core moment of my adolescence? No, I didn’t engage, but I was afraid of what would happen if I left. Other teens I cared about were in that room, so I stuck around despite my discomfort. Is it okay to experience uncomfortable moments with people, yet still feel oddly safe?

This memory has come and gone throughout the years, so I felt it was time to put my experience into words. Yes, I avoided harm; I felt I lost my right to choose. An apology or simple acknowledgment would have been enough, but everyone just went about their lives. I’m closer than ever with a few; others are always excited to see me. I’m not sure how to process that. It’s cool we’re older, but what does this ultimately mean?

You were a place of shadows, Big White House, a crucible of fear and uncomfortable truths. But you also taught me to be observant, to listen more than talk, and to reserve my energy. My voice, once silenced by your shadows, has broken down barriers. It’s more powerful than I ever thought, and I feel freer now.

My resilience stems from my determination to give my inner child everything she lacked, but love and kindness weren’t among them. She has the biggest heart and still loves unconditionally despite all the hurt. Spoken like a survivor who thrives no matter what comes my way. I can handle it; I am wired for this! Life can be confusing, but it’s up to you to keep pushing forward. No one else will do the work. You got this! My story is indeed mine to tell, and it’s a story of choosing bravery, speaking up, and never abandoning the child I once was. And for that, I thank you for the lessons you inadvertently taught me.