I can still feel myself becoming twelve years old around certain relatives

Dear Delyara, Not literally, of course. But in posture, yes. In tone. In the strange speed with which I become more careful than necessary. It happened again last weekend. The room was ordinary enough, the tea was poured, the small family stories were circulating, and I could feel the old version of me returning — the one who edits herself for safety, who keeps the bigger truth in another room, who scans before speaking, who knows exactly how much of herself is welcome and how much will create discomfort. I am not that girl anymore. But family has a way of summoning old roles more efficiently than almost anything else in adult life. The tiring part is not only the visit. It’s the recovery afterward, when I realize how much of me had been translated without my full permission.