I mourn the little girl I never got to be.
The one who was forced to grow up too fast.
The one who learned survival before play and vigilance before trust.
She saw the devils of this world long before she had the language to name them. Before she understood what evil truly meant, she felt it. In silence. In moments that stole innocence one piece at a time. Childhood was not gentle to her. It was demanding. It asked her to be strong when she should have been safe.
She learned early that tears did not always bring comfort. That love could be unpredictable. That the world did not pause for softness. So she hardened where she could and hid the rest deep inside, carrying weight far too heavy for small shoulders.
I mourn her laughter that was cut short. Her curiosity that had to be cautious. The dreams that never fully formed because survival took priority. I mourn the bedtime stories that were replaced with sleepless nights and the trust that was replaced with awareness.
But I also honor her.
Because that little girl did not disappear. She adapted. She endured. She became the woman standing here now. The woman who feels deeply, protects fiercely, and recognizes pain without judgment. The woman who knows how to survive storms because she was raised inside one.
Healing does not mean pretending she never existed. It means sitting beside her in the quiet moments and telling her she is safe now. It means allowing softness without guilt and joy without fear. It means reclaiming the innocence that was delayed, not destroyed.
I mourn the little girl I never got to be.
But I am learning to give her what she always deserved.
Gentleness.
Safety.
Love.
And this time, it is mine to give.