Born In To It

On leaving the role you were given

Sometimes growth doesn’t feel like progress. It feels unsteady and painful. What once felt fixed starts to move.

As I begin to change, I see myself and my history differently. That shift challenges everything. I see the roles others gave me — the ones I didn’t choose but was made to be.

This poem comes from that movement. From seeing the place I was expected to fill.
And from realising that both staying and leaving can hurt.

Born Into It

I am changing.
Or perhaps
the lie is loosening.

That should be a good thing.
Growth.
Healing.
Integration.

Why does it feel like loss?

The house is full of old air.

Guilt.
Rejection.
Hurt.

Sister stands where she has always stood.
Certain.
Solid.
Right.

And I know my place.

I know the lines.
I know the part.
Audience.
Comforter.
Apologist.

If I play it
everything stays steady.

If I don’t
everything trembles.

We were born into roles
we did not choose.

She was the good one.
The wanted one.
The easy child.

I was the difficult one.
The bad one.
The one who did not fit.

It was not subtle.
It was spoken.
Repeated.
Absorbed.

She was nice, clever, beautiful.
I was too much, too loud, too wrong.
Answering back.
Never quite right.

I learned my place
before I learned my worth.

And I stayed there.

Even when I left.
Even when I built a life.
Even when I succeeded.

Because she carried the “right”
and I carried the “wrong.”

And now I see it.

And I cannot unsee it.

And something inside me
refuses
to kneel there anymore.

But if I stand up
what happens to us?

If I stop being wrong
who am I?

If I stop shrinking
will I be left?

Not that she was loved.

That I was alone.

That is the ache.

There is a cost to changing.
There is a cost to leaving your assigned place.

The cost is tremor.
The cost is grief.
The cost is the fear
that love only exists
if you stay small.

I am changing.

And it hurts.