Born Into Survival

The first addiction was my thumb. My first lie was that I was okay.

I’ve been in survival mode since the day I was born.

Not because I chose it.

Because I was born into it.

My mother had severe postpartum depression. She wasn’t nurturing. She wasn’t connected. She’s since told me how she’d call the doctor to ask how to make me stop crying — as if I were a malfunctioning machine, not a baby desperate to be held.

Picking me up?

Wasn’t her instinct.

Holding me?

Didn’t happen.

So I found comfort the only way I could — by putting my thumb in my mouth.

And just like that, I became addicted to self-soothing before I even knew what the word soothe meant.