I finally understand why I’ve always found being nothing so liberating.
Not a role model.
Not a leader.
Not an influencer.
Not a mentor.
Nothing.
Being the firstborn pushes you to the front lines before you’re ready.
For the rest of your life, you’re responsible for something. For someone.
There’s hardly ever an opportunity to take the edge off, put everything down, and just be.
You can’t afford to fall apart.
And even when life gives you the opportunity to let go, you find yourself unable to.
Every time you’ve tried, even a little, you’ve paid dearly for it.
So you learn to hold on. To stay alert. To keep it together.
Even when you’re tired. Even when you want nothing more than to stop being the person who has to hold everything together.
And maybe that’s why being nothing has always felt like peace.
No expectations to meet.
No one looking up to you.
No pedestal to stand on.
Nothing to hold together but yourself.
Now I’m here, not nothing.
And I hate it.