January 26th, 2024
Today was hard.
Ethan wouldn’t speak at first. Just sat there with his hands folded like he was waiting to be told he’d done something wrong.
He’s eight. Eight.
His shoulders hunch at the slightest shift in tone, as if his skin remembers bruises that haven’t happened yet.
When I asked him what he was afraid of, he said, “When it gets quiet.” He said quiet means someone is thinking. And when someone is thinking in his house, it never ends well. I hate that he’s learned to measure silence like that.
So I sat with him. No clipboard. No questions. Just… quiet. But a different kind. The kind that doesn’t hurt. Eventually he leaned against me. Not much. Just enough to test it.
He fell asleep like that.
Sometimes I wonder what it would take to unteach a child fear. Sometimes I wonder how many adults are just children who never got that chance.
I keep thinking about how easy it is to break someone…and how much harder it is to put them back together.