It’s only with time — and often a fair bit of hindsight — that we realise how deeply our early experiences shape the people we become.
As I look back on my childhood in Exeter, Devon, I can see now how the quiet tension that hung over our home became something I carried into adulthood like an invisible suitcase. On the outside, I seemed fine. I was bright, capable, always polite. But inside, I’d learned from a young age how to shrink myself to keep the peace, to keep my voice down, to read a room like a weather report — constantly scanning for signs of a storm.
When you grow up in a house where walking on eggshells is the norm, you often develop an almost superhuman ability to sense other people’s moods. That might sound like a gift — and in some ways, it is. But it’s a heavy one. Because what gets lost in the process is often your own sense of what you want, what you need, and who you really are underneath it all.
For years, I thought this was just my personality — a bit of a people pleaser, always keeping the peace, always trying to “do the right thing.” But it wasn’t until much later that I started to see these patterns for what they really were: coping mechanisms. Survival strategies developed in childhood that no longer served me as an adult.
They showed up in subtle ways — like difficulty setting boundaries, or a deep discomfort with conflict, even when it was necessary. And in more painful ways too — like staying in situations longer than I should have, because deep down I was still that little girl trying not to upset anyone.
But here’s the part I want to share most: awareness is powerful. Once we start to notice these patterns, we can begin to gently loosen their grip. We can rewrite the scripts we were handed and start to live more from a place of choice, rather than reaction.
For me, this has been the work of my Second Bloom — a phase of life where I’m learning to listen to my own voice, to trust it, and to speak it clearly. Not to shout. Just to speak. To take up space. To know that I deserve to.
And perhaps most importantly, I’ve come to understand that my past shaped me — yes — but it doesn’t define me. It’s just the soil I grew from. And even rocky soil can produce something strong, beautiful, and unexpected.
If any of this resonates with you — if you’ve carried silent stories from childhood into adulthood — know this: you’re not alone. And it’s never too late to do the inner gardening that lets you bloom again, on your own terms.
Roots and Undercurrents: A Childhood Remembered
Second Bloom 