My eyes scan the scene the second I walk in the room.
Looking for exits, reading the room, clocking energy,
searching for anything that feels off.
I catch the shifts most people miss:
bodies stiffening, eyes darting,
when the tone doesn't match the words you've said.
Some call it paranoia.
I call it pattern recognition.
A constant state of alertness,
one I never asked for.
Hypervigilance became my day-to-day.
Even as a kid, I learned to watch everything.
To pay attention to what wasn't being said.
Because the loudest danger was usually creeps in quietly.
So my mind dug deeper,
my energy got sharper,
and I learned to read people
while keeping my own in bed & tucked away.
My past still tip toes into my present,
sneaking up in ways I wish it didn't.
But I don't do this on purpose.
This is just how I learned to survive.
So I brace.
Brace for the worst-case scenario.
Brace for sudden loss, unexpected hurt.
I overanalyze and over-read everyone in the room,
just trying to avoid the pain repeating itself.
It took me a moment to realize I'm not alone.
That there are young kids turned adults,
that still struggle to deal with the hurt.
But I'm ready to close that chapter now.
To stop my body from bracing for the fall,
and start believing I deserve to breathe.
To not wait on pain, but make room for peace.
Because peace is my birth right.
And this time,
I won't flinch when it arrives.